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Chapter Fifteen

D ray

I love making a fucking entrance and tonight we are making a hell of a one.

Our thrall looks stunning – like whip your breath right away and leave you with a hard-on so stiff it’s painful to walk stunning. I can’t stop looking at her, can’t stop touching her. And I really, really want to fucking lick her because as always her scent is like wolf-fucking-nip!

As the elevator doors draw back, everyone in that Onyx common room spins our way and I just grin.

Yeah, eat shit, dickwads. You think we picked the wrong thrall? You have no fucking idea. Because our thrall is the most beautiful woman in this room. In the entire academy. Probably in the realm.

“Hey shitheads,” I call out. “I thought there was meant to be a party happening here tonight. But I guess you were waiting for me, were you?”

I pull the little kitten right into the center of the room, the crowd parting to let us through, their mouths hanging so far open, they’re practically hitting the floor.

I twirl her under my arm and drag her close.

Then I lift my right arm above my head and click my fingers.

The music starts. I twirl her around again.

“Stop fucking drooling over our thrall, you perverts,” I yell my eyes not leaving hers, “unless you want the three of us to rearrange your faces. And let’s face it, you’re all ugly enough as it is.”

Slowly, continuing to steal glances our way, the other shadow weavers, a few thralls among them, start dancing, drinking and talking again. I can see the Smyte sisters in the corner with their thrall. If looks could kill, I’d be bleeding from every orifice.

“Hold on tight, little Kitten,” I whisper into her ear. “We’re going for a little journey.”

“What–” she starts, her brow crinkling, but then I’m twirling her around and around again, leading her right across the floor towards the place where the Smyte sisters are hovering like a pair of hags.

Seriously, what the hell did Beaufort ever see in Henrietta? Okay, she’s hot and unhinged, which can be fun, but the girl is way too high maintenance – and not in the good way. Besides, I’ve heard them fucking. The girl is a bad lay.

“Hey ladies,” I say, as they scowl at me. “I believe you’ve met Briony before.”

“Yeah,” Briony says coolly in a way that has my wolf sitting up and taking notice. “We’ve met.”

“How lovely you look, Briony,” Henrietta says, smacking a brittle smile across her lips. “What a pretty little dress. Where on earth did you find it?”

I’m guessing this is some girly shit, a disguised insult – although fuck me if I understand how that works.

“It looks good enough to rip off,” I growl, “and that is all that matters.” I lean down and nibble my kitten’s throat, the little thing wilting against me despite the audience.

I can literally feel the sisters seething at us.

I have a feeling Henrietta saw herself with more than just Beaufort.

I think she hoped she’d be all of ours. I peer up at them.

“Enjoy your evening, ladies,” I say with a wink, and then I spin our girl away, back towards the other side of the room where Thorne’s lurking.

“I think we made our point,” I say, “wanna go to this ball?”

“Go?” Beaufort says, appearing from behind us. He’s carrying four glasses of champagne in his hands. “I just got us drinks.”

I take one from him and knock it straight back.

Thorne shakes his head so I take his too and finish it off.

I tilt my head towards the remaining two.

“You having one, Kitten?”

“What is it?” she says, peering at it with suspicion.

“Champagne.” I take the glass from Beaufort and offer it up to her. “You ever had champagne before?”

She cocks an eyebrow at me. “What do you think?”

“It’s meant to taste like the wolf’s bollocks. Personally I think it tastes like sweet grape juice.”

“The wolf’s bollocks?”

“It’s a turn of phrase among us shifters.”

“It’s because they all think their balls taste like the best shit on this earth,” Beaufort mutters .

“I wouldn’t know,” I tell her. “That’s not really my thing, but from what the girls tell me …” I wink.

“Jeez,” she says, rolling her eyes and knocking back the champagne. She wasn’t expecting the bubbles, and she wrinkles up her nose and blinks rapidly.

“Easy,” Beaufort says, taking a sip of his and then resting it down on the nearest table.

She glares at him and before the two of them can start arguing again, I weave my arm around her waist and lead her back to the elevator.

“Come on, let’s get to that ball. We made our point.”

“And what point exactly were we trying to make?” she queries as the others follow us in and I hit the button for the first floor.

Trapped inside this tin can, her scent is contained and amplified and smells so fucking awesome my fingers are twitching to slam her against the nearest wall and devour her.

But there’s no way Beaufort would allow it, even if he did have her over his desk himself.

“Just wanted to remind them all that you’re ours and under our protection,” Beaufort says, “seeing as you won’t tell us what happened in the maze or who’s been hurting you.”

“And you refuse to wear our collar,” Thorne mumbles, staring straight ahead at the metal doors.

Rather than argue, like this little kitten is prone to do, tonight she simply nods.

The ball – if you can really call it that – is held in the Great Hall.

An old decrepit building with none of the modern conveniences most ballrooms back in Onyx Quarter have.

No grand chandeliers, no full-piece band, no ornamental lighting show.

It’s pretty basic, although some effort has been made with glowing orbs floating up near the ceiling and a table laid out with some basic food the commoners are crowded around.

The little kitten tips back her head though, her eyes go wide and her mouth forms an oh shape. She’s impressed – possibly even wowed.

I shake my head. “If you think this is impressive, you’ll be blown off your feet when you see Beaufort’s place.”

She looks at me with curiosity, opening her mouth to ask me a question, but I’m bored with talking.

“Wanna dance again, Kitten?” I ask her, already leading her to the dance floor, ignoring Beaufort’s complaints that it’s his turn.

There are more people dancing here than there were back in the common room and it gives me the excuse to press her body right against mine, lean down and nibble on her throat, breathing in mouthful after mouthful of her delectable scent.

I would die a happy wolf with my nose pressed in the crook where her neck meets her shoulder, where her scent is vivid and intense. It makes my head spin. Makes me wild. Makes the wolf howl inside me. I hold her close and grind against her.

“People are watching,” she hisses, although she isn’t pulling away, isn’t telling me no. In fact, her scent is screaming yes fucking please.

“Let them watch. Half of them will be fucking before the night is out.”

I growl lowly and grind some more.

This time she tuts and to my delight tugs on my hair. Wonder if the kitten would do that in bed? “Don’t you know how to behave?”

“Kitten, where the fuck is the fun in behaving? Besides, if you wanted me to behave, you shouldn’t have worn this dress. All my wolf wants to do is tear it to pieces with his teeth.”

She stops tugging and, as I nibble with more force down her throat, she sighs and buries her fingers in my hair.

“Beaufort’s giving us the evil eye,” she murmurs.

I spin her around so she’s no longer facing his way. While I’m willing to share and all – a condition of our brothers’ bond, one of those things we have to live with – I don’t want the little thing thinking of him when she’s in my arms. Not right now, anyway.

As if she can read my thoughts, she yanks on my hair more forcefully, forcing my head up so I’m staring into her face.

“How does this work exactly? The sharing thing? I mean, you three could have anybody you wanted in this academy. Why would you want to share? Why would you want to share me?”

“Sweetheart,” I say, “there can be a lot of fun sharing. Just imagine it.” I lean down and whisper right into her ear: “Three men pleasuring you together, pleasuring you at the same time.” She’s silent but I don’t miss the shiver she tries to suppress.

I’m hardly surprised. I bet everybody has that fantasy, even if they never admit it.

“You thought fucking Beau was intense – imagine fucking all three of us at once.”

“You’ve done that before?” she asks, a little astonished.

“Nah,” I say, “but we want to. We want to have you together.”

“Thorne doesn’t want me,” she mutters, but I note she’s not arguing about the concept, the idea of it.

And fuck, that turns me on. I’m so hard, I feel like my balls are about to explode.

Who am I kidding? They’ve been like this for days.

Probably weeks now. That comes from the lack of fucking around.

Usually I’d have a different girl visiting my bed every night – my brothers weren’t wrong about that.

Heck, they wouldn’t even need to be visiting my bed.

But since this little thrall walked into our lives – black eye and a little grubby looking – I’ve been fucking hooked. No other girl is doing it for me. Which is fucked up when you’re a wolf-shifter with a fuck load of wild oats to sow.

“Maybe not in that way,” I say, “but don’t take it personally. He’s not into anyone in that way. Doesn’t mean he doesn’t want you as ours.”

She gazes over at my quiet bond brother and bites her lip.

“Hmmmm, I like it when you do that, Kitten.”

Her eyes flick back to mine. “Do what?”

“Bite your lip like that.” I pull her right up close against my stiff cock and lean down to her ear again. “Your lips are sinful. All I can think about is them wrapped around my cock.”

One thing about my kitten I’ve noticed, she can’t get enough of my dirty mouth. Hell, wait till my dirty mouth is fixated on her pussy, then she really won’t be able to get enough!

My words make her wet. I can smell that sweet musky aroma of hers, permeating the air.

It makes my head spin and my balls ache even harder.

I lick around the shell of her ear and she whimpers a little.

“Your scent is sinful too, little Kitten. You smell just like a wet mate ought to.”

“Mate–” she begins to say, not finishing her words because I’ve had enough. The dance floor is filling up. Too many people pushing and jostling around us. Not enough room, not enough space to do what I want to do to her.

Hooking my arm firmly around her waist, I guide her through the crowd of people – way more wasted than they were an hour ago – and towards the far side of the hall, into the shadows.

We pass one couple making out against one of the stone pillars, a girl sobbing on the floor being comforted by her friend, and a boy with a tie wrapped around his head, vomiting into a bowl he’s pinched from the food table.

We walk further into the shadows, where the glowing lights don’t penetrate and we’re hidden from prying eyes.

“Where are we going?” she asks.

“Somewhere private, little Kitten.”

Except we don’t make it any further because blocking our path, arms crossed, scowl on his face, is Professor Tudor.