Page 16

Andros

I expected her to be dragged here. Part of me hoped for it. I’d imagined it more than once—Garrick’s hand tight around her arm, her lips curled in defiance, her body stiff and furious, spitting venom the whole way down the hall. It would’ve made things simple.

Predictable. But when the door opened. When I saw her— Fuck . She didn’t walk in. She arrived . Every inch of her poured from that doorway like sin spun into silk.

The dress was red. Not just any red—blood red.

The kind that begged to be licked off the floor after the kill.

Tight, obscene, the slit up her thigh flashing smooth, lethal skin with every step.

The neckline dipped so low it was a goddamn invitation, and the way it clung to her waist, to the subtle curve of her hips…

I forgot the food. The wine. My own fucking name. The wolf in me went utterly silent—then growled. Low. Warning. Something was wrong. She was too perfect. Too smooth. Too calculated.

Lexa never moved without purpose. And right now, her every step was choreographed seduction. The sway of her hips, the flick of her lashes, the subtle way she touched her hair when she glanced at the firelight like it meant nothing.

I had no idea what the game was. But gods help me— I wanted to play it with her.

She sat across from me, graceful as a queen, not a single glance out of place. She crossed her legs slowly, letting the slit of her dress slide up just enough to be felt more than seen. She didn’t look at me right away—no, she let me look at her first.

“Not what you expected?” she asked, voice honey-drenched poison.

My throat was dry. I reached for the wine just to have something to do.

“You clean up well,” I muttered, eyes dragging down her neck, over the delicate curve of her collarbone. “Almost made me forget I told Garrick to bring you here in chains.”

“Almost?” She tilted her head, lashes fluttering as if amused. “Pity. I could’ve made chains look good.”

She sipped the wine like she wasn’t trying to drive me mad. But she was. Everything about her tonight was designed to distract, to tempt, to disarm. And gods , it was working.

I leaned back in my chair, letting her watch me watch her.

“So tell me,” I said, voice low, dark, curling like smoke in a locked room, “what changed?”

She gave a small smile and tapped her fingers along the stem of her glass.

“You said dinner,” she purred, “not a negotiation. I thought I’d dress for the occasion.”

“I thought you didn’t drink with enemies.”

“I don’t,” she said, sipping again. “But tonight, I’m making an exception.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Why?”

She looked up from her glass, eyes like green fire under frost.

“Maybe I’m curious,” she said. “Maybe I’m tired of fighting.” A pause. Then, with that wicked smile: “Or maybe I’m just here to see how long you can keep your hands to yourself.”

She was baiting me. Every word, every glance, every flick of her fingers along the rim of her wine glass was designed to provoke. And gods, she was good at it.

But I had teeth, too.

She leaned forward slightly, the fire casting golden light across her bare shoulders, her voice light and careless—too careless.

“I heard whispers,” she said, swirling the wine lazily. “That your little hunt was a success.”

I didn’t answer.

“So that makes me curious.” She tilted her head. “Why summon me to celebrate? Why not…” a pause, deliberate and full of venom, “that bitch Tanya?”

The word slid from her tongue like a blade laced with sugar.I smiled. Slow. Sharp. And cut into the first piece of meat on my plate, dragging the knife through the flesh like it had wronged me.

“Because the hunt was less than satisfying,” I said. “Boring, even.” I took a bite, chewed, and let the silence stretch. “I needed something more… challenging.” I looked at her, eyes burning into hers. “Something worth my attention.”

Lexa’s lips curled into a smile. Not sweet. Not grateful. A wolf baring her teeth in return.

“How flattering,” she murmured. “To be hand-picked as your post-massacre entertainment.”

“I never said it was a compliment,” I replied, sipping my wine. “Just the truth.”

She laughed then, quiet and dark, leaning back in her chair, the slit in her dress sliding a little higher. My wolf snarled again—hungry, restless, but still cautious. Watching.

We danced like that for a while. Words laced with venom and wine, traded like weapons. But toward the end of the meal, when most of the food had gone cold, I mentioned it.

“I saw your boy in the yard today,” I said, refilling her glass without asking. “Training with the pups.”

She didn’t move.

“Quite brave for a human,” I added. “Took a few hits and got right back up. Reminded me of one of mine when he was that age.”

And that’s when it happened. The change. It was like a mask slipped. Just for a second—but long enough.

The muscles in her jaw tightened. Her hand gripped the stem of the glass a little too hard. And across her face—just a flicker—was rage.

There she was. The woman who spat in my face and didn’t blink. The one who would rather burn alive than kneel. She set the glass down, slowly.

“You stay away from my son.”

There was no tremble in her voice. No plea, no desperation. Just a still, razor-sharp command that sliced through the air between us and buried itself in my chest.

Now that was her. Not the temptress in red. Not the silken words or the soft, deliberate way she sipped her wine. This was the real Lexa—the wolf beneath the bone. The fury stitched into flesh.

My wolf went still. Silent. Watching. We both understood in that moment—this woman wasn’t ours.

I leaned forward, elbows on the table, voice low. “Why the mask, then? The game?” I let my gaze drop, slow and deliberate, over the length of her body. “You dress yourself up like a fantasy and then bare your fangs like a curse. What do you really want, Lexa?”

She didn’t answer. Not with words.

She stood—slow, unhurried, each movement a study in intent—and crossed the space between us like a queen approaching a throne she already owned. The fire behind her made her skin glow like molten gold, casting shadows across her collarbones, her thighs, the dark slit of that dress.

Then she moved toward me, slowly, deliberately, as though every step she took was designed to unravel my control, and carefully settled herself into my lap.

My breath hitched sharply when her thighs parted over mine, when her body pressed close enough that I could feel the heat radiating through layers of cloth, her fingers resting lightly against my chest—not hesitant or shy, but calm, assured, possessive.

I didn’t move, didn’t dare breathe, because I knew this was more than simple seduction—it was dominance, deliberate power wrapped in silk and fire. She leaned closer, her lips hovering just above mine, parted slightly, the soft warmth of her breath ghosting across my skin.

“I know exactly what you want,” she murmured, voice like heated velvet brushing against the edges of my senses. “I can feel it every time you look at me, every time your wolf rises beneath your skin when I speak.”

My hands found her hips instinctively, gripping her carefully—not roughly, but in quiet desperation, as though I feared she might vanish if I didn’t anchor her to me. Her lips curled into a faint, victorious smile—a queen satisfied to see a king rendered helpless beneath her touch.

“If you want me,” she whispered softly, dangerously, “I’m yours tonight.”

Her mouth drifted along my jawline, her touch slow, delicate, but impossibly possessive.

“Tonight, you can do everything you’ve dreamt about,” she breathed into my skin.

Her fingers slid down my chest, nails scraping lightly through fabric, leaving faint, burning trails in their wake.

“You can put me on my knees, or bend me across this very table. Wrap your fist in my hair and see how many times you can make me scream your name until the guards hear it echo down the hall.”

My pulse thundered in my veins, my entire body responding to her challenge, my breath ragged and uneven. She moved slightly, brushing a slow, teasing kiss to the very corner of my mouth, achingly soft and maddeningly sweet.

“I’ll be your ruin,” she whispered, voice a silken promise edged in steel, lips still warm against mine, “if that’s what you truly want. But in the morning, when the sun rises, I walk through that door. Unbound. Free from your chains. Unclaimed. And you’ll let me go.”

Something primal cracked in me. Not a thought, not a decision—just a raw, blind urge that shattered the careful leash I’d kept wrapped around my instincts. Control broke like brittle bone. Every part of me screamed to take, to mark, to own.

I lunged.

One hand tangled in her hair, the other anchoring her hips to mine as I crushed my mouth against hers.

There was no patience in the kiss, no hesitation—only hunger, only the savage rhythm of two wolves colliding.

Her lips opened under mine with a soft gasp, and that sound undid something in me.

I lifted her—rough, hard—and slammed her down onto the table.

Plates clattered to the floor, wine spilled like blood, glass shattering around us.

The fire in the hearth crackled louder, as if it too was feeding off the violence between us.

Lexa arched her back, dress pulled taut over her thighs, breath catching in a moan so low and sweet I almost lost myself right there.

She whispered something, lips grazing my ear—words meant to tempt, to bind.

Little lies dressed in silk. Promises she’d never keep.

But fuck, I didn’t care. Not in that moment.

I kissed her again, deeper, harder, letting her hips grind against me.

Every inch of her burned, slick with heat, trembling with the same madness clawing through my veins.