by L. C. Davis
This couldn't be happening. I leaned away in case he planned to clip that thing onto my collar, still convinced there was a mistake. Unfortunately, the panic-induced bout of nausea and vertigo I'd been fighting off all night kicked in and I wobbled.
“Whoa, easy there. Can I get a wolf to come up here and leash this pup before he falls offstage?” he laughed.
My panic wasn't aided by the fact that Sebastian and the one who'd been glaring at me stood up at the same time. They were suddenly the least of me worries as I struggled to keep my head from swimming. It seemed like it was ready to upgrade to deep sea diving, judging from the way my legs were trembling. The flood lights weren't helping as they beat down on me.
The ceiling became open for an instant, high and barely visible through a set of blaring white lights and the silhouette of a man's head coming towards me. I raised my hand to block them and leaned away. The hallucination lasted just long enough for me to lose my balance, but by the time I realized there was no one in front of me, it was too late.
I felt the horrible surging feeling of falling in my core. It happened in slow motion, and my body felt too heavy to contort into some position that might give me a chance at not hurting myself.
When I expected to hit ground, strong arms caught me once again. He was just a silhouette against the stage lights, but the upper body that cradled me was undeniably solid.
“Easy there,” he said in a voice that definitely wasn't Sebastian's. He moved just far enough out of the lights for me to realize that it was the wolf who'd been watching me with all the intensity of a serial killer.
Sebastian would have been a welcome sight at the moment.
“I-I'm fine,” I assured him, squirming to get out of his arms. It would be true if I could get away from him.
“You could have split your skull from that height,” he muttered. “I told them the pedestals were an irresponsible idea.”
Well, that didn't sound like something a crazy axe murderer would say.”
“I'll take him, Victor,” said Sebastian. He was a welcome sight, even if he looked uncharacteristically stern as he reached me.
“Of course,” said Victor. I was passed between them with the ease of one adult taking a child from another.
“The presentation will have to wait. He needs medical attention,” he said, turning to the announcer.
“Oh, uh, right,” he said, obviously displeased. Not displeased enough to argue with a wolf, apparently.
My head was still foggy from what I now recognized as a hallucination. It had seemed too real, too solid to be just a trick of the light. A doctor probably was what I needed, I just wasn't sure it was the kind they had on hand.
If the medical attention wasn't just a ruse to get me off somewhere. This place had a literal dungeon, after all. As they carried me off down the hall behind the stage I began to regain my lucidity enough to realize what a bad situation this was turning into.
“Put me down,” I demanded, pushing against Sebastian's chest. He ignored me. “I need to get back to my friend.”
“Your friend can wait,” said Sebastian, turning a corner that was at least well-lit. “I'm not letting you go until our nurse checks you out. Anyway, you have to meet the alpha.”
“Can't I do that tomorrow?” I pleaded. I hated how pathetic I sounded, but I had used up all my spunky points on an ill-thought out plan in the dressing room.
“Nope,” he replied in that infuriatingly matter-of-fact tone.
I tried to glance behind him for any sign of Victor, but I couldn't see over the mountainous man carrying me.
“Settle down,” Sebastian said gruffly.
Rage burned in my gut, but I complied. We were far enough from the stage that screaming would be a moot point now. As he headed up a flight of stairs, any hope of escaping disappeared. In hindsight, I saw a million things I should have done. Run, scream. Do whatever it took to get back to the crowd. As always, I had been too worried about what people thought. What if I was wrong? How silly would I look then?
Now it was too late, and my gut told me I wasn't being whisked away to a secluded part of the Lodge just to get a bandaid from this bizarre fraternity's “nurse.”
We came to a stop in front of a huge wooden door with a surprisingly modern security scanner. I groaned. If the dungeon was downstairs, I didn't want to know what was behind the heavily secured door upstairs.
“I've got it,” said Victor from somewhere behind us. He came into view and tapped a pin number onto the pad.
“Thanks, brother,” Sebastian said as the door made a loud clicking sound. Victor opened the door and Sebastian carried me into a promisingly well-lit area. It was a massive room with a fireplace not much smaller than the one upstairs.
It seemed to be a study of sorts. Massive bookshelves lined an entire wall from floor to ceiling and there were huge leather sofas arranged around a large wooden coffee table with a glass surface. A few shallow steps led up to an office area with a massive mahogany desk and an intimidating high-back leather chair. The head of a massive lion hung over the desk, his jaws stretched in a fierce roar. I stared into its soulless black eyes and felt queasy again.
“Don't worry, his biting days are over,” said Sebastian with an amused chuckle at his own joke.
I didn't find it funny. Judging from his silence, neither did Victor.
“You'd think you'd just lost a funeral, not won a contest,” Sebastian remarked, placing me down on a plush leather couch. I tried not to get comfortable as I sank into the buttery soft leather. Sebastian had laid me sideways, so I tried to at least sit up, but he put a hand on my bare chest to keep me lying down.
“Until the nurse takes a look at your head, stay down,” he ordered, his puppy-dog-brown eyes infinitely intense as they locked on mine. Suddenly I understood why the announcer hadn't argued with them. I began to wonder if anyone did.
They were taking the nurse thing a little far. Maybe they really were worried about me. A club this size must have its litigious element. Maybe they were just worried I would try to sue. I had been so unsteady on my feet that night, maybe they even thought I was trying to stage an accident.
Warmth rushed to my face at the thought. As my embarrassment rose, my fear began to decline. I had a twenty-two year streak of suppressing my gut instincts, but what little were left were telling me that this probably wasn't a dangerous situation, even if it was an unusual one. Even if common sense dictated otherwise.
“He looks hot.” Sebastian frowned, pressing a massive hand against my forehead. It was only when I pushed his hand away that I noticed the absurd difference in size between his and mine. “Where's the nurse?”
“I fetched her before I followed you up here,” said Victor, taking a seat in the ottoman across from us. “She said she'd be right up as soon as she finished looking over a kid who slipped on the dance floor.”
“There's always one,” Sebastian muttered, confirming my theory. Unfortunately, it only made my cheeks get hotter.
“I'm fine,” I insisted. “I'm anemic and I have low blood sugar, it was stupid of me to get up there in the first place. Although it wasn't exactly my idea,” I said, shooting Sebastian a dirty look.
He tilted his head and frowned. He shook his head and dismissed it a second later. “Well, I'm not taking that chance. Not after it took me this long to find you.”
It was my turn to frown in confusion. “What are you talking about?”
Victor cleared his throat. Sebastian shrugged it off and I couldn't help but think that Victor had something to do with it. “Never mind,” he said. “I'm gonna get you something to eat.”
“What?” I asked. “Why?”
“For your blood sugar. That's like diabetes, right? You need to eat something so you won't pass out again.”
I hesitated. I hadn't eaten lunch that day. I'd mistakenly assumed they would be serving food at the club, and I'd been too nervous to keep anything down anyway after my embarrassing incident in the
dorm.
“That would be nice, I guess. Thanks.” At least if he was this worried about me, as misplaced as it was, he probably wasn't going to kill me.
Victor, on the other hand. Sebastian disappeared and I was left alone with him. I brought my knees to my chest and tried not to look at him for fear that the strange side of him I'd seen from onstage would resurface.
“How is your head feeling?” he asked cordially.
“It's alright,” I replied. “Like I said, that just happens sometimes.”
“Have you seen a doctor about it?” he asked. I looked up to find him watching me with what seemed like genuine concern. Just like Sebastian, it was far too much concern to show a stranger, but at least it wasn't malice.
“Yes,” I lied.
He frowned. “No, you haven't. That's a risky symptom to be playing around with.”
I jolted. Either he was incredibly perceptive or incredibly presumptuous. Either way, I was offended. “Excuse me? I don't think my medical history is any of your business.”
I regretted my words almost instantly, but rather than the indignant rage I was expecting, he sighed and leaned back in his chair.
“You're right. My apologies. I would just hate for something to happen to you,” he murmured. His voice was so gentle, I was only a bit tempted to take it as a threat. “I've just never seen... my brother so enamored.”
“Your brother?” I asked, shocked. For some reason, they were the last two out of the pack that I would have expected to be related.
“Well, yes,” he blinked. “You haven't noticed his peculiar habit of calling me brother when he's annoyed?”
“I just thought it was like a guy thing,” I explained. “I heard another one of you calling someone bro.”
He laughed. “Sebastian is a bit stunted in terms of vocabulary, but he's not quite as bad as Brendan.”
I made a slight move to sit up and watched for any signs of interference. He watched me closely, but kept quiet, so I sat up all the way. “I don't know why I'm so surprised,” I admitted. “You just seem so different.”
That earned another chuckle. “We're not identical, that's for sure.”
I stared at him in surprise. “You're twins?”
He gave me a smile that didn't come close to reaching his eyes. “Sebastian and I are quite different, but we are unfortunately similar in a few ways. The ones where it counts.”
I shifted uncomfortable, if it was possible to be uncomfortable on what was probably the plushest couch in the world. It felt like there was some hidden meaning in his words, but if I was meant to detect it, I lacked the proper tools.
“Well, you must be excited about winning the contest,” he said, putting on a whole new demeanor. I could tell it was fake, but I don't think he was making an effort to hide it.
“Not really,” I muttered. “Your brother entered me without my permission.”
“Did he?” He brought a finger to his lips and crossed one leg over the other. “Why do you think that?”
“Who else?” I asked. “You said yourself he's 'enamored' with me. He was kind of sleazy at the door, no offense.”
He laughed. “None taken. I won't defend him on the sleazy part, but I don't think he would have done something like that.”
“Well, he did something,” I said, holding up my palm. “He stamped me with this and it's been causing me trouble all night.”
“Ah, yes. His personal seal.”
“What does it mean?” I asked. If I ever stood a chance at getting an answer, Victor was starting to look like my best chance.
“Well, what did he tell you it means? Let's start there.”
I sighed. “He said, more or less, 'It means I think you're cute and wanted to talk with you.'”
Victor snorted. “To him that's what it means, yes. That's what the stamp means, I suppose. But the seal has a much larger purpose. It's only to be worn by the things and people we hold most dear. I'm really not surprised my brother would have made his into a door stamp.”
I listened, trying my best to take in what he was saying. “So, it's basically like a super secret crest that's supposed to be used for important things, but he uses his to mark his stuff in his refrigerator. And I'm the jug of milk.”
I got a wry smile that time, but it was a genuine one. “Something like that, yes. If the trouble you encountered was from any of us, or the staff, they were probably appalled at the, well, tackiness, for lack of a better word.”
“No, I think that word fits fine,” I muttered. The only thing keeping me from licking my hand and wiping it off was the fact that he was watching.
“Maybe you can answer another question for me,” I hoped.
“Hm?” He raised his eyebrows and watched in amusement as I tried to wipe the stamp off on my pants.
I stopped.
“Everyone in this club, including my roommate, seems to think I'm what you guys call a submissive,” I sighed. “I'm not even into this, any of this. I just came to support my friend, and now everyone thinks I'm someone I'm not.”
“Well, I can see the problem but I'm not sure I see the question,” he admitted.
I swallowed hard. “Do I really seem like that much of a doormat?”
“Ah,” he murmured, taking a bottle of Scotch off the liquor cart beside his chair. He poured two glasses and I gulped again. The last thing I needed on my stomach was hard liquor. “Now that's an interesting question, and a bit of a loaded one. Submissive isn't an interchangeable term for door mat. It's a very special term to be affectionately bestowed upon those who have earned it, whether by nature or training.”
“Oh,” I said, blushing again. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to insult-”
He stood up and put the other glass in my hand. I took a small sip to be polite, hoping the others would come in before long and I wouldn't have to finish it.
“Don't be sorry. We all have to learn. But to answer your first question, yes, I would say you seem like a door mat.” He said it so politely that it took a moment for the shock to set in. He gave me a pitying smile. “You just took a sip from a glass of liquor you didn't want from a stranger who didn't ask without a single peep. And you're here, alone in a strange room with a strange man, after winning a competition you didn't want to enter because you went to a club you didn't want to go to in order to please a friend who didn't take no for an answer the first time. A submissive, it's hard to say for sure, but you, my friend, are most definitely a doormat.”
It felt like someone had just knocked the wind out of me, but he'd given me exactly what I'd asked for. An honest answer. I lifted my glass for something to do and stopped halfway to my lips when I realized what I was doing. I set the glass on a coaster on the table beside me and sighed. “Thanks. I guess I needed to hear that.”
“Sometimes it takes a stranger to do you the favors your friends are too friendly to do,” he said with a sympathetic nod as he raised his glass and took a swig. “What you do with that information is up to you.”
I pursed my lips, unsure why my eyes were choosing this moment to fill with tears. Whenever I needed to be strong, they always rose to make me appear wear. Maybe I was. “I don't know,” I admitted. “I don't even know why I'm here. I keep wavering back and forth this entire night, trying to convince myself to stay. I shouldn't even be here.”
“But you are here,” said Victor. “And I don't think you're trying to convince yourself, I think you want to stay. For one reason or another, you were drawn here. Maybe the reasons were bad, but the reasons don't matter. You're obviously trying so hard to stay in control, but it doesn't seem like it's given you any clarity.”
I shifted again. “That's a bit metaphorical for a glorified wet T-shirt contest, don't you think? And anyway, weren't you just telling me to stick up for myself?”
He smiled. “Sometimes the best way to stay in control is to just let the current take you.”
“Sounds like something a dom would say,” I replied.
Hi
s smile widened. “Now you're catching on.”
The door swung open and Clara stalked in, being all but pushed along by Sebastian. “His face is hot and he went all swoony onstage,” he said.
Clara gave a perplexed nod and set a black bag on the table where my scotch rested. “Thank you, Sebastian. I'll take it from here.” Her gaze flickered warily between me and the scotch glass, but she fortunately said nothing. “Hi again. I hear you're not feeling well?”
“I'm anemic and I have low blood sugar,” I said for what felt like the hundredth time that night. “I just got a little sick on the pedestal with the bright lights, but I'm fine now.”
“Oh shit, I forgot the food,” Sebastian yelled, darting to the door. “I had it, then I saw her and – shit, I'll be right back, don't faint,” he said, pointing at me.
Clara rolled he eyes. “Now that the mother hen is gone, let's take a look at you,” she said, digging what I recognized as an eye light. My medical terminology didn't extend far beyond Popsicle stick, eye light and ear window, but I at least knew what it was for.
“Look straight ahead for me,” she said, flashing the light in one eye, then the other.
“I see veins,” I said warily.
“That's normal,” she said, putting the light back into the bag. “I don't see any pupillary abnormalities, but that doesn't mean you don't have a concussion. You're sure you didn't fall?”
“Positive,” I said. “I just uh, practiced a lot.”
“I'm sorry I wasn't around the first time, I would have pulled you offstage,” she sighed. “I keep telling them the pedestals are a stupid idea.”
I couldn't help but smile. Her presence was comforting and chased away any lingering doubts about my fate as an axe murderer victim. “I'm fine, really. This happens sometimes, but I'm okay. I can sign a waiver if you guys want.”
She frowned again. “This happens often? What condition do you have, exactly?”
“Anemia and-”
She shook her head. “No, anemia and low blood sugar wouldn't cause regular bouts of fainting. Who's your general?”
