Page 13

My blood rushes harder, hotter. Everyone knows Baldwin to be a horrendous flirt, womanizer and collector of beautiful things.

You do not leave your wives or daughters with him and expect to find them as you left them.

His hands are on her waist, guiding her in the waltz, and the thought that he might be imagining what she'd look like beneath him makes my vision go razor-sharp.

The vodka glass cracks under my grip. Shards bite into my palm, but I barely feel them. I toss the ruined glass onto a passing tray, tearing my eyes from them. "Any sights on Callahan?"

Eric reluctantly pulls his eyes from a curvy blonde twirling across the floor. "Not since the call. He isn't coming. Our eyes in the Red Wolf pack say he's throwing his mother a party tonight. He's toying with us because he thinks we're desperate, making us wait until we cave."

I slip my already healed palm into my pocket, swirling my fingers over Seraphina's washed out necklace. I wonder if she notices it is gone. That I've had it since I saved her. "War will be tedious."

Eric hums in agreement. "Colorful, you mean." He downs the rest of his drink. "But it could be avoided with the right... sacrifice. If letting her go haunts you so, we could wait until she's had the child. That way, you can keep her and beat Ronan at his own game, too."

It is a solid idea, one I have mulled over myself and thrashed. I may be regarded as cruel, but tearing a mother from her child for my own gain? That's a different breed of monster. Seraphina would never forgive me for it.

I must have said the last part aloud because Eric says, "You don't need her forgiveness to keep her. She signed the contract, did she not?"

Ah, that.

The little clause at the bottom, the one written in just-faded-enough ink, stating that she could only annul our marriage if I allowed it. Signing the pre-nuptials in a state of duress and fatigue does wonders for one's eyesight.

Cunning. Sly. Dishonest. A darned bastard. Seraphina would call me every name under the sun if she learns of my trickery. Maybe even slit my throat if she can get close enough.

But do I regret it? Fuck no.

Lately, I'm a walking contradiction, but in my defense, the contract was prepared before I promised her freedom.

I start to respond, but a hand claps down on my shoulder.

I twist, finding myself face to face with Alpha Atticus.

"If I didn't know better, I'd say you were avoiding me," he grins, turning to Eric.

"Last I heard, you were rotting in the Southern dungeons, moments away from losing another middle finger. "

Eric barks out a laugh. "Old fucker."

Atticus looks older now, his once-dark hair streaked with gray, but his eyes, sharp and kind as ever, haven't changed.

Rayne's eyes. He might have become my father-in-law if things had gone differently.

Even after Rayne called off the wedding, we both chose not to say why, to keep her reputation intact.

But Atticus never stopped treating me like a son.

Some days, I think he knew the truth anyway.

I smile, the first genuine smile I've had in a while. "And you do not look quite as old as I expected you to, Atticus."

He shrugs. "Stepping down does have its perks." His hand falls away from my shoulder. "I do not believe we have extended our congratulations, yet."

I frown at his use of we , until he steps aside and reveals Rayne. I wait for the ache in my heart to come at the sight of her clad in blood red—a color I'd once told her could bring me to my knees, or her hair in a high ponytail that I used to love wrapping around my fist.

I wait for my pulse to quicken at the thought that she very well knew what she was doing, dressing up for me, peering at me with wide gray eyes and long dark lashes, but I feel nothing at all.

She steps on her toes and kisses both my cheeks, lingering for a moment too long. "I'm so happy for you, Soren."

There is a strain to her smile, and I am unsurprised when I find that Atticus has steered Eric away in the direction of more liquor and unmated women, leaving me with his daughter.

He must still think something resides here.

Rayne speaks first. "She is lovely."

We both look over to where Seraphina stands, radiant in a silk blouse and flowing skirt. Baldwin leans in again, saying something that earns another fucking smile.

What could they even be talking about?

"Not nearly your type," Rayne adds when I don't respond fast enough.

I meet her grey eyes that glitter with knowledge.

"You like them strong. Less...breakable.

" She reaches out to flick invisible dirt off my lapel and scrapes her nail deliberately up my throat. "Are you doing this to get back at me?"

I tilt my head. "Why would you think that?"

Her answering smile is dangerous, lit with lustful fire.

"Because she wouldn't be here, able to walk right, if you've had her in your bed.

" She leans in close enough to press her chest to mine, brush her lips against my ear.

"Because you leave bruises and love bites on your lovers and she has none.

Because your scents aren't entwined yet.

Tell me, when was the last time you had a woman touch you like you crave to be? "

My nostrils flare at her familiar scent that threatens to send me down memory lane.

It is nothing at all like Seraphina's—sweet, heady, mine.

I start to step away when she says, "I've learned from my mistake.

I would never betray you like that again.

Not the way she openly is, flirting with Baldwin like that. "

Jealousy is an ugly emotion. Never in my life have I spun out of control so quickly. Rayne always did have a way with words, twisting them and ripping you in half without breaking a sweat.

And it only worsens when Seraphina laughs again. Too long. She's been dancing and speaking with Baldwin for far too long.

And I haven't touched a woman in several months, either. It must be why I cannot control my synapses, control Kaelin, as he snarls inwardly, driving me forward.

"What was your mother's name then, child?" I barely hear Baldwin say before my fingers wrap around Seraphina's arm possessively.

Both look up at me in the same surprise that half the hall must be, but I can barely think past the pounding in my chest. The anxiety. The yearning. This...madness that controls me, the urge to mark, fuck, taste, hurt and heal her. To own. To fucking possess.

"Forgive me," I say. "Seraphina was just retiring. She doesn't like these things much."

She tries tugging her arm from my grip and it only makes my muscles tense, at the possibility that she prefers Baldwin's company to mine. "But I'm not?—"

Baldwin nods, wizened blue eyes searching between Seraphina and me. "I understand." He takes Seraphina's pale hand and kisses her knuckles. "We will continue our conversation another time."

She nods, letting me steer her away, but not before she says, "Her name was Ceri, my mother."

Seraphina doesn't notice as I lead her away, but Baldwin is frozen to the spot, his complexion paler than it was seconds ago. I file the reaction away for later as we reach the foyer.

Snatching her arm from my grip, Seraphina whirls, glaring at me in a way no one else would dare to. "What is wrong with you? It's a little too early to go territorial on me, don't you think?!"

I blink at the anger in her tone, her scent as her temper flares higher. It's like flames crackling. My cock twitches. Gods, I'm fucked. "You do not smile for me like that."

She frowns. "What?"

I touch her without realizing I have, trace my fingers along her jawline. She tenses and I hear her heart beat a little faster. From anger, no doubt. "You must dislike me very much. This arrangement. Our marriage."

She trembles, her chest rising. "It isn't even real?—"

"You see," I whisper, sliding my hand around her neck to cup it firmly, the other gripping her waist tightly.

"That is the wrong mindset. You keep thinking it isn't real and everyone else will begin to think it, too.

If we're going to make this work, it'll have to seem real. " I lean over her, nuzzling her cheek.

I can't help it. She smells so good.

Her ear. Behind it. Her neck. I bury my nose deeper, unable to stop a growl from vibrating in my chest as I catch a whiff of fear, rage, and something else. "Do you like being bitten?"

"Stop it, Soren," she breathes harshly.

I kiss her neck slowly. The sound she makes at the stroke of my tongue against her skin doesn't sound at all like anger. My pants tighten painfully. She fists my jacket, to lean against me or push me off, I am unsure, but I don't stop, not as my canines graze her pounding pulse.

Seraphina gasps, back arching, and before I can give in to the haze of red blinding my vision, she pushes me away, her breaths hard.

For a moment as we stare at each other, I think she might cuss me out. But her cheeks are a flaming red and she turns, running up the stairs faster than I can stop her.