Page 62

He saunters behind the desk, wordlessly leaving me in a state of befuddlement. He's tearing through drawers like he's on the world's worst Easter egg hunt, manhandling the innards like an elephant doing a waltz in a china shop. I step away from the desk and question him with fear and worry. The rules of this mansion are clear; wherever we are, it’s off-limits. Still, he doesn’t respond, infuriating me more by his silence.

Eventually, he pockets something, turning back to me.

Oh no, he didn't...I slam my hands down, tremors rocking the room. "Seriously stealing too?! It's lies, murder, theft—who the hell are you?!"

Rhyland's eyes drop to the desk, bugging out. "How are you doing that?"

I look down. Shit. My hands are glowing again! Damn, mood ring extremities. I snatch them up and hear him exclaim in shock.

“What the fuck was that?” He steps around the desk and comes closer, his tall, muscular physique surrounding mine. His hand slides around my neck and grips the back of my scalp firmly as he forces my chin up to look into his eyes.

They are pools of confusion, fear, and hesitation as he searches my face for an answer. “Because you’re my mate!” he finally states.

I blink, lost. "Your what now?" He tries to kiss me, but I shove him away forcefully. "No. We're done."

Suddenly, we hear the door handle rattle loudly. "Someone in there?!" a frantic voice from beyond asks.

Rhyland steps away from me and curses under his breath, “Fuck.”

My eyes widen to the size of dinner plates. I hastily move away from him. I scan the room for an exit, but there’s only one. With desperation in my voice, I ask, “Now what?”

He grasps my face between his hands as if he can make me understand. His eyes search mine as he speaks, “March right out that door and explain to the man that you had to take a moment away because your boyfriend had upset you.”

I mean, he’s not far from the truth on that one.

I’m fucking pissed!

The bastard now expects me to be his partner in crime? I want to slap the shit out of him. But I also want to get out of here. I have to get the fuck away from him now.

Rhyland crouches in the corner shadows as I stomp over, fists clenched. I shoot him a death glare that could pulverize diamonds. "Give me back my panties," I demand coldly. He stares dumbly until I snap my fingers twice, hard. "Panties. Now." He fishes them from his pocket. I wiggle into them awkwardly, ignoring the continued banging.

Showtime.

I arrange my face into a mask of distress and fling open the door. Time for an Oscar-worthy performance...

"What's going on in here?" the man questions suspiciously. "This area's restricted."

I dab imaginary tears. "I'm so sorry, I just...needed space from my...boyfriend..." I warble pitifully.

His shoulders relax as he exhales. "There are restrooms near the ballroom, miss."

I lift my eyes sorrowfully. "I panicked and ended up here by mistake."

Placated, he steps back, gesturing me out. As he escorts me away, I spot Rhyland skittering off down the hall.

Asshole.

Rhyland

32

Guilt's got its claws in me, deep down, after I laid it all out for Danica. Slogging my way through the Ball, doubt's kicking my ass with every step. My insides are a fucking battleground—all tangled up, questioning whether bleeding out the hard truth was worth putting her heart through the grinder.

The second-guessing's like ice in my veins. I slither past blissfully ignorant party-goers, my head spearing me with the nasty shit that's looming over them. Danica's sad expression is seared in my brain—the pain, the sense of betrayal, nearly wrecks me.

And what the hell was up with her hands sparking up like she's a damn power plant?

Her questions have me edging on crazy and wanting to tear my hair out for keeping my trap shut too long. Should've spilled it all when she first came to the club asking and told her then she got spiked. Why the hell did I drop the mate bomb and drag Max's dead ass into this?