Page 8 of Star Crossed Delta

MAK

M ak loathed crowds and the cloying closeness of people.

It was why he had a private lodge on the Sombra , by the lake, far from the others’ cabins.

More extensive than the rest of the Signet members’, because his Sauvage wealth had paid for it, the six-bedroom home had every convenience possible.

It had a full security detail of Sauvage strongmen, separate from the Signet security team, guarding it day and night.

While Mak was part of the Signet crew, he similarly adhered to his family’s legacy, business, and his Akkadian responsibilities.

The truth was that his blood clan had its own rules, traditions, and culture, based on the Akkadian order.

Of the Signet pack, he, Kaal, Bone, and Boaz were members of his ancient tribe that until a decade ago had been inconsequential and tiny.

Now, due to the Sauvage dynasty, their collective influence had grown, and many Akkadian houses revived and thrived as a result.

Now more than ever, as the guardian of this legacy, he had to uphold its tenets and protect them for the sake of his people.

Still, he refused to live on board the Sauvage ark ship, for it was a bore for one, and he preferred the high adrenaline ambiance of the Sombra .

Additionally, because he was a Signet pack member and loyal to his fellow wolves.

Regardless, he despised the forced smiles and fake pleasantries required of him.

Especially on a day like this, when the room was filled with a sea of fake smiles and made-up faces.

Add to that the bright lights, colorful decorations, and diamond headdresses that sparkled with a brilliance that burned his eyeballs.

Seated at the wedding table, he sipped on amber, scorching whiskey.

It helped to strip the rising bile and disdain at the scene before him, while cleansing the lingering bitterness from his encounter with the sachem creature.

Brooding, he swirled the tumbler in his hand, fighting the urge to flee the heft of social expectations and artificial pleasantries, suffocating him in a sea of forced interactions and superficial chatter.

Fokk, he could not wait to steal away.

His mood was dark, and it radiated, so most avoided the bridal dais.

Sensing his simmering ire, even his fellow strong guards moved away to meet guests and exchange small talk.

He slumped into his chair, his heated, pensive eyes navigating the crowded room as the tinkle of laughter and the hum of conversation filled the air.

His gaze paused on one woman.

She’d stepped into a gaggle of women who surrounded her, laying their congratulations and jostling to be acknowledged by the new ?arim .

His narrowed, angry eyes locked on her amid the sea of faces.

He had never wanted to destroy anyone as much as her at the altar when he’d set eyes on her face and realized her deception.

He’d waited seven long years for one promised bride and another seven for the next. Only to find out she was not the one he had been waiting for all this time.

Fokk the lies, the betrayal, the subterfuge.

He hated it all.

He loathed the fact he’d been swindled again.

Yet, he was unable to ignore her.

Despite her stated plainness, she had an aura that captured every shard of illumination from the dripping crystals above, giving her a glow from within and without.

Her luminosity contrasted with her actions.

Damn it all to hell, but much about her drew him in against his will.

Her understated, natural beauty was a stark contrast to the room’s overdone makeup and loud fashion choices.

She’d claimed she was not considered a prize by most standards, but he begged to differ.

While ropable, he wasn’t fokkin ’ blind.

She was different, no doubt, from many of the overblown beauties and drama mamas he’d met in the past. Several of whom were swirling around the room, casting doe eyes on his hermanos and him.

She was not trying to impress anyone, yet she exuded a quiet confidence that drew his gaze.

Her features were classic, not overdone.

Her skin was sun-kissed and smooth.

Her lips were soft and full, begging to be caressed.

He scoffed, yet his mind would not let go of the fantasy of tasting her mouth. He imagined they’d be an utter temptation, pliant, yielding, and sweet.

Below her trailing veil, her hair was simple, with loose waves cascading down her back, rather than being styled into an intricate and impossible bouffant.

Her figure was an hourglass, with curves in all the right places that accentuated her feminine form.

As she moved, her body swayed, as if inviting his touch, beckoning the brush of fingertips or the press of lips.

A flash of desire went through him as he had an unbidden fantasy of her beneath him, writhing against him as he plunged deep into her softness.

He cursed under his breath and summoned a refill of his glass, swirling the dark amber liquid under his nose in an attempt to erase her foil.

Fokk , it drove him wild with its strains of jasmine and vanilla, lingering wherever she went, sweet and alluring, drawing him in like a magnet.

Adding to his agony was her laughter. It filled the air, a husky, sensuous chuckle of joy and delight, intoxicating and irresistible.

Her voice, too, carried a dulcet resonance, far from the shrill tones of some of the women he’d encountered before.

Her entire essence danced with notes of sensuality emphasized in her hips as she swayed with grace.

She was a vision of femininity, with no real clue of how appealing she was.

He also sensed a gentleness in her nature. She’d not been hardened by the harshness of her uncle’s apparent greed. Instead, she emanated affection, kindness, elegance, and authenticity from every pore.

Yet, strength, resilience, and defiance flitted in her eyes, a promise that she would not be broken without a fight.

In conversation, she’d already revealed herself as intelligent and more thoughtful than most women he’d met, a breath of fresh air.

Still, she’d aimed to deceive him, and he inhaled, in part to deflect the harsh reality that threatened to suffocate him.

His lips twisted.

He had to find a way to punish her, to make her beg for mercy as payback for what her family took from him.

When she’d faced his glare in that office earlier and tried to convince him to respect her, he managed to stop himself from ripping her head off.

She thought she’d charm him into letting her into his world, but she didn’t know him or the darkness that danced within his soul.

Despite his desire to see her suffer, his eyes locked on her as she stood by the gallery windows. With a contemplative expression, she turned at that moment as if sensing his gaze on her, and their eyes met across the expanse of the room.

His heart lurched then quietened as he found surprising solace in that unspoken, unexpected link.

Then he recalled her family’s betrayal, and his spirit raged once more.

He denied the indisputable pull toward her and refused to believe she held the promise of a genuine connection.

‘There you are, ?ar !’

The booming voice belonged to Don Tewa Lisades, his bride’s uncle, a portly man with an overbearing presence.

Mak hid a grimace, for he disliked the man.

To be frank, he loathed him.

As well as being an oily, snake-like sycophant, he was the architect of Mak’s present agony.

‘Is all well?’ he whispered, leaning over the banquet table to where Mak was seated.

Mak studied his face, noting the beads of sweat on his oily skin and the rank odor of fear that permeated his form.

‘Apart from a sachem trying to cut us down, we’re laughing.’

‘That was quite the display,’ Tewa said, his chin wobbling.

Mak narrowed his eyes at him, sensing deceit, and wondered if he knew who’d ordered the hit.

Tewa trembled under his scathing regard. ‘I’d like to speak about the bride, I know she was not -’

This was no time for making amends or entering into any freakin’ negotiation. ‘We shall talk about the matter later.’

Tewa blinked, then recovered with some aplomb. ‘Until then, let me introduce you to some esteemed Lisades guests,’ he declared, clapping a heavy hand on Mak’s shoulder.

Despite his protest, the enthusiastic Don ushered him through the crowd, determined to show him off like a prized bull.

They mingled with the invitees, exchanging pleasantries and small talk, which Mak endured with a clenched jaw.

Fate intervened as he was about to roar in frustration at the relentless parade of introductions and forced conversations.

Dancers descended onto the wedding hall, and all eyes and attention fell on them.

They glided across the polished floors, their movements fluid and mesmerizing.

Music filled the air, a hypnotic melody that transcended time and space.

Mak stood at the crowd’s edge, his gaze drawn back to Saba. Her eyes were on the entertainers, with a soft smile curving her lips.

When she clapped over her mouth in delight, he saw her in a different light - not just as a bride bound to him by duty but as a woman with her desires and dreams.

She radiated such stillness and inner joy that he found his jaw easing, but a wistfulness lingered in her expression, giving him a stab of longing.

He stepped toward her on instinct until he spotted a man shouldering his way to his new wife.

The newcomer stood as tall as Mak, broad, radiating strength and masculinity.

His muscles rippled beneath his tanned skin, and a matching pair of distinctive scarified tattoos ran down both sides of his face, adding to his rugged appearance.

His presence commanded attention, and his gaze held a hint of danger.

Mak’s frame locked.

Zolan fokkin ’ Asivan.

His sworn enemy. Also, his cousin.

With his slicked-back hair and cold face, he exuded an air of entitlement that had always rubbed Mak the wrong way.

Mak loathed the kinai, eyes tracking him u ntil he made a move that had Mak tensing.

His nostrils flared as Zolan reached his new wife’s side and bowed over her offered hand. Blood rushed into Mak’s head, so hot that his ears just about steamed.