by Hettie Ivers
On the surface, he appeared the perfect male specimen. I was certain many of the girls I’d gone to school with would’ve fallen all over themselves just to gain a moment of his attention. But beneath his polished veneer, I knew he was just a monster. A brute who had murdered my brother. And never before in my life had I wished more horrific, fatal harm upon another human being as I now fervently hoped to befall him.
As he breathed deeply in and out, audibly inhaling as if to suggest he could actually smell me from across the foyer, he seemed to regard me much like Alessandra first had—as if he was encountering an apparition.
Then his eyes widened further, and I could’ve sworn the most unfathomable expression of pure elation and inconceivable rapture transformed his confused, horrified features for the briefest of moments.
Strangely, it reminded me of the expression on the face of this lost little boy I’d helped once at the mall—his look upon laying eyes on his mother when they were at last reunited. It was an odd amalgamation of unmitigated joy mixed with relief juxtaposed against the profound terror of realizing one’s own supreme vulnerability for the very first time. The face of one who’d just been saved but would never be the same again for that rescue.
Only in this case, the man before me still appeared hopelessly lost. And judging from the way his expression swiftly morphed into that of unadulterated rage, I wasn’t sure he’d wanted to be found at all—much less saved.
“Fuck,” Alessandra swore under her breath at my side.
Fuck was right. I was sure if eyes could spit fire, Alex’s would have charred me alive already.
And then they did. Either I was going completely mad or his irises had turned a bright golden yellow color as they glowered wildly at me.
Alessandra whisper-swore again as every single pair of eyes in the room seemed to fixate upon me in marked disbelief.
Alex’s lips pulled back into a snarl, and a deep, unearthly growl vibrated up from his chest and ricocheted off the walls.
“No,” he ground out in a low, deathly grim rumble that sounded more animal than human. “Not mine!”
I hadn’t a clue what he’d meant by that proclamation, but I was pretty sure any small chance I’d had of surviving the night had just evaporated.
“This … can’t be happening,” Alessandra stammered cryptically. “You’re … human … you’re Raul’s sister … ”
“Fuck me sideways!” I heard Alcaeus’s voice buoyantly exclaim. “No wonder she smells so good and I feel so protective.”
My eyes darted to where Alcaeus stood a few feet from Alex. He was grinning from ear to ear like a man who’d just won the lottery. Earlier he’d wanted to save me from Alex. And now, right as I was about to be murdered in cold blood, he looked ready to celebrate.
“Well, isn’t this just a juicy slice of poetic justice?” He chuckled, slapping a thoroughly unamused Alex on the back.
“Alex, please meet Raul’s little sister and my new best friend, Milena,” Alcaeus introduced with a flourish.
“She’s injured,” he added happily to the otherwise silent, tension-saturated room. “Head trauma,” he informed the incensed-looking Alex with glee. “You might want to get right on that, in fact, because Remy and I weren’t able to get her to cooperate long enough to heal it.”
“Alcaeus, please stop?” Remy’s distressed voice implored. He was standing on the other side of the room. He didn’t seem to find the situation as funny as Alcaeus did. “This is not the time to antagonize him. Think of Milena.”
My eyes darted back and forth across the room from Remy to Alcaeus to Alex. Remy was right. Whatever Alcaeus was doing seemed to be exacerbating the situation and escalating Alex’s level of ire. His face was flushed and he’d begun growling at the mention of Remy and Alcaeus’s failed attempt to heal my head injury. But Alcaeus waved off Remy’s warning.
“I mean, sure,” Alcaeus broadcast to the room as he absorbed Alex’s every strained reaction with relish, “she enjoyed me licking her inner thighs all right, and she most definitely enjoyed Remy kissing her,” he said with a mischievous wink in Remy’s direction, “but in general she doesn’t much care for warlocks creeping around inside her head. Isn’t that right, my dear?” He looked to me for confirmation.
I shook my head in bewilderment. Alessandra was now swearing like a sailor next to me. Alex hadn’t ceased growling; his unearthly yellow eyes raked over me as he fisted his hair and his whole body shook with barely suppressed fury—the personification of a geyser ready to blow.
“Alex, please?” Remy beseeched, “I beg you, please don’t hurt her. None of this is her fault. Take your anger out on me.”
Alcaeus snorted. “He’s not going to hurt her. He might be a stubborn, bitter asshole, but he’s never been stupid.”
I didn’t know what the deuce was happening or what they were talking about. All I knew was that Alex had begun cursing a blue streak and yanking at his tie until he’d torn it to shreds in frustration from his neck. He’d just managed to shrug out of his fancy tuxedo jacket when suddenly with an angry roar he burst from his own skin before my very eyes!
Buttons went flying and expensive-looking fabric was torn to shreds as an enormous, viciously snarling black and grey wolf took the place of the enraged man faster than I could blink.
Werewolf!
Almost all the other occupants in the room parted and backed away, bowing their heads in deference to the beast and affording him greater space as with hackles raised he took his first horrifying step forward in my direction.
My mouth fell open and I instinctively took a miniscule step backward. Alessandra’s hand shot out and captured my wrist.
“No! Don’t move,” she warned.
The beast increased his growling and snarling the moment she grabbed me, prompting Alessandra to swear and release my wrist.
“Don’t make any sudden movement,” she cautioned, speaking slowly and clearly, her voice never rising above a whisper as she began to sidestep away from me.
“And no matter what, do … not … run,” she stressed. “When he comes at you, don’t panic, okay? Please, please, listen to me, Milena?” she appealed. “Alex won’t hurt you; just let him scent you.”
She didn’t want me to run from him? Wouldn’t hurt me?
He’d just announced to the whole room that I was dead meat next!
Not only had he freely claimed credit for the murder of the only family member I had left, but I’d just witnessed him crush a man’s throat with his bare hand after heartlessly denying Felix’s dying request to spare his son’s life.
What’s more, now that the room had cleared, I noted that Felix’s compadres seemed to have suffered even worse fates, as their bodies lay lifeless on the marble floor, their chests torn open and their un-beating, bloody hearts strewn thoughtlessly beside them.
And now, when Alex was snarling at me in his true monster nature form—that of a vicious, oversized, supernatural killer dog—Alessandra expected I wouldn’t run? If she thought I was going to stick around and let some cross between Cujo and Hannibal Lecter get close enough to sniff and lick my hand, she was out of her goddamned mind.
I didn’t run. I pivoted on my heel and flew!
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About the Author
Hettie Ivers is an accidental romance author who likes to escape the stress of her work week with a good dirty book—preferably one that’s also funny.
Her current career does not allow much time for creative smut writing, but she loves to write after hours and on weekends and strives to publish one to two books per year, as life permits.
To learn more about Hettie and the books that she has written, please feel free to visit her website at www.hettieivers.com, sign up for her Newsletter, friend her on Facebook, or join her Facebook Group to keep in touch.
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