Come for Me, page 12
“It would’ve been worth it.” Caleb winks. Despite Caleb’s words, I know he won’t dare call me babe again. “Take care of yourself. Let me know if you need anything.”
Caleb leaves, and I get off the table and leave the infirmary. His words echo through my mind as I trail through the castle.
Long corridors pass by my feet, and I lead myself to unknown directions, making myself just as lost as I feel.
I consider how I’d react to finding my mate in such positions he continues to find me in.
When Dax took me against the boulder, leaving his scent on me and lay ownership to our bond, he waited and gave me time to adjust to his title and the future.
Dax has shown me his home, has cleared the air and among the Crescent and Bloodhound pack, when Alpha Jack thought I was unrightfully claimed. Dax made sure to claim me then, showing everyone I was his.
Then, when he abandoned me, pushing me aside for his duties to the throne, I saw his fiancée and became jealous. But how did I react? By running into Caleb’s arms to be marked.
How mature of me.
Moving through the castle, I take in my surroundings. My pack’s grounds don’t hold a candle to the grandiose nature of the castle I’ll now call home. My wanderings disorient me as I contemplate my life, my wolf’s incessant desire for our mate dulled by my need for understanding.
I turn a corridor, my eyes glued to the paintings and ornate trims adorning the walls, when I bump into a hard form and stagger with a familiar scent.
Sam stands before me, his shoulder leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his broad chest with his tongue in his cheek.
It takes me a second to realize why he’s looking at me like I’m enemy number one. Then I remember a certain purple nurple.
If he means to intimidate me, he’s got the wrong girl.
I narrow my eyes back at him, matching his body language by crossing my arms and leaning against the wall adjacent to the door Sam must’ve emerged from.
I tilt my head and smile at him.
Sam sizes me up, then chuckles when he sees Dax’s mark on me. He thinks I’ve submitted myself.
Charm seeps from the dimples on his cheeks. Sam strikes me as someone who would be hell-bent on getting your attention at the bar all night, and while blonde-pretty-boy isn’t your usual type, his persistence and the innuendos he slathers in his charismatic statements make your entire night. Immediately, you’ve handed over your power the moment you realize his attention is what’s made this night so great. You start thinking his personality makes up for his preppy-boy quality and take him home, only for him to rub your labia raw while trying to find the clitoris and never calls you again.
I’d bet money that’s the kind of beta he is, Mr. Playboy.
As if right on cue, like I have solved the puzzle, a woman appears behind door number one. She looks from me to Sam, taking note of the tension judging by her nervous smile.
The awkward silence is deafening.
The girl goes to leave, clearly not wanting to stand between us anymore. She thanks Sam for tonight and hopes to see him again. In Mr. Playboy fashion, Sam just nods with a quick lift of his chin, then returns to our stare-down.
I give him the Well, well, well . . . look who was right stare. I think, and I know my face reads “smug” all over. I scan him with my mark for punishment.
I chew on the inside of my cheek, sending a smile intent on casting judgment while also thinking about Taya and how I wish she were here. Mr. Playboy is exactly her type. Taya loves making players into puppies, and this dog could use obedience training.
“Dax says you’re to join for dinner. He guessed his queen was likely famished. Now I see why.”
His eyes flicker with mischievousness.
This snarky motherfucker wants me to punch him.
He steps to the side, bending forward dramatically, motioning me to the boisterous noise at the end of the hallway.
I huff but make my way toward the two massive cedar doors propped open at the end of the hallway, with Sam snickering as he follows.
Laughter bursts from the dining hall as I near the doors. I sigh in relief when I inconspicuously slither into the crowded room.
Sam clears his throat, cutting off my reprieve, informing everyone of my entrance.
People at the large table turn in my direction, chairs screeching as they rise out of respect for my new rank. The roaring flames crackles in the hearth, sending shadows dancing over the faces before me.
I’m met with silence as they take me in, assessing the she-wolf “nobody” I bet they were laughing about moments before. At the end of the table are two empty velvet high-back chairs, the largest clearly meant for their king at the head of the table, while the other is placed to its right.
Olivia sits in the chair to the right side of where I assume I will be sitting—the high-back chair next to the throne meant for the queen.
She’s probably trying to claim her status as the king’s mistress. Her aura seethes with arrogance and royalty . . . I can’t stand her.
The male vampire I saw in the field earlier is seated next to Olivia, who stares at my chest before meeting my eyes.
I follow Sam’s lead.
“Alaina, this is Olivia and her trusted advisor, Ash, the King of Vampires,” Sam says.
“At least until I take over,” Olivia snickers.
Ash’s red eyes are dull compared to the sparkle in Olivia’s, and I get the sense he doesn’t really care much for his title.
Olivia extends her hand to greet me. “Hi, I’m Olivia, Dax’s”—Olivia pauses—“friend.”
Catching the fake-nice-girl act I thought we left back in high school, I squint, giving her an insincere smile before grabbing her cold, dead hand.
“I wish I was as brave as you,” Olivia says.
My face scrunches. “What do you mean?”
“I can never go out in public before making sure my nails are done.”
I force a laugh, then peer over my shoulder at Sam, pleading for him to get me out of this. It’s all I can do to not ruin everyone’s meal by starting a brawl.
Sam ushers me to my seat. As soon as my butt hits my chair, everyone else follows.
The wolves resume serving themselves and eating, and the vampires sip blood from their glasses.
Sam, sitting directly across from Olivia on Dax’s side of the table, shovels steak onto his plate before cutting into it roughly.
Leaning across the table to him, I whisper, “Where’s Dax?”
“Probably burying himself in work. He always eats in his office,” Sam says with his mouth full.
If I have to be here for this awkward dinner, so does he.
I pluck the napkin from my lap, fling it onto my empty plate, and march down the hall toward his study. I can smell him as I get closer to the doorway.
Dax is in his office, with papers sprawled out on his desk and floor. His chin rests in his hand, a finger to his lip as he lounges back in his seat. One foot is crossed over his other leg, balancing reports, as he reads a paper.
My shoulder rests on the doorframe as I take in his formal attire, much different from the clothes I’ve seen before. His hard muscles stretch under the unyielding fabric. Everything about him emanates how hard he works to care for and protect his kingdom.
Silence of his study stills around us as he flips papers.
Is this where he spends all his time? If I hadn’t come to fetch him, would he have stayed like this all night?
I glance to the couch lining the wall, the worn cushions likely a makeshift bed for restless nights and long hours alone.
“Alaina,” he says, eyes still glued to his reports, voice resembling smoke.
My wolf’s spine shudders, stretching beneath the stroke of his power from his gravelly voice.
I take that as my cue to enter his office. “If I have to endure this dinner with your fiancée, then so do you.”
He looks at me as if processing my statement. Sighing, he tosses the papers on the desk. “Fine.” He stands and buttons his suit jacket.
We walk back to the dining room.
Everyone stands when Dax enters, waiting until he and I have both taken our seats to follow suit. The royal formalities have me rolling my eyes.
Dax digs into his steak and potatoes as he engages with Sam in a discussion about attacks happening in the north. He sticks with business and politics, something I imagine are his only topics of conversation as of late.
I turn my head to Ash, who I catch staring at my breasts intently. Again.
He darts his focus toward his glass, and I shift uncomfortably in my seat, knowing I was being eye-fucked by the old man.
I turn my attention back to Sam and Olivia, who are having a tense discussion about whose species is better. Sam is clearly not a fan of Olivia. Something he and I have in common.
Dax notices my discomfort and stares at me with concern, but I feel like he’s looking right through me.
I’m about to mouth that I’m fine when Sam slams his fist on the table, causing me to jolt.
Sam’s eyes are glowing, body shaking, his wolf ready to make an appearance.
Olivia accidentally spills her blood-filled glass onto Sam’s plate. He scoots his chair out, shoulders and chest heaving, teeth bared and growling.
Dax’s dominant aura emanates into the room, glaring at him. “Sam . . .”
At Dax’s warning, Sam’s eyes return to their normal blue.
He gives Olivia one last glare before tipping his chair over and storming out, muttering, “Fucking whore.”
Heat encompasses my chest at the word—because who else’s whore would she be than her fiancé’s?
I study Olivia’s face to gauge her reaction.
She rests her hand on Dax’s arm. “Thank you, love. I’m sure Sam didn’t mean it.” Olivia sips from her glass, seemingly unbothered.
A growl emits from my throat before I can register it’s me who’s growling.
Dax and Olivia look toward me. Dax leans back in his seat and smiles knowingly.
He’s enjoying seeing me like this. Jealous and possessive—like him.
I don’t regret the display, only the satisfaction it’s bringing him.
Olivia looks at her hand and clears her throat before moving it back onto her lap, then smiles. She strokes the stem of her glass. The act is suggestive in itself. “Forgive me. I forget sometimes how territorial you werewolves are.”
When she giggles, I swear her dead red eyes turn black with her fangs showing. If she did, it was as fast as a blink.
With my wolf surfacing, my eyes switch between a calm sea to a violet hurricane. I struggle to keep control of my wolf until I sense Dax’s arousal at my territorial display.
I shift my gaze to Dax to see him still smirking at me.
That smug bastard.
His caramel eyes mix with gold as his wolf emerges.
As much as I want to rip her to shreds, I am too stubborn to lose the ongoing war with Dax.
I inhale my pride and exhale my decision.
“Excuse me.” I leave the table and head upstairs.
Determined to find an unoccupied bedroom, I scour through the long hallway, when glass shatters.
A woman runs past me, almost knocking into me.
“Sam, stop!” the woman shouts.
Another crash follows a grunt from Sam.
There are so many rooms on this floor I haven’t explored enough to know what’s behind them or who resides where. Is it only high-ranking individuals?
That sounded like Dax. Paranoid and guarded.
I follow Sam’s cologne a few doors down from Dax’s. The essence of cedarwood seeps into the hallway, and I am confident this is Sam’s bedroom from earlier.
I cautiously creep forward, and a flower vase flies into view before it clatters against the cracked door. Gently pulling the ornate handle, I peer inside.
Sam is holding a Victorian-style cherrywood chair over his head, glowing gold eyes locked on the she-wolf. Curls of chocolate, champagne, and dark-walnut swirl about her features.
Something about how she stands her ground with unwavering courage against the raging, destructive beta sparks familiarity.
Where have I seen her before?
Recognition smacks me in the face that she’s the woman in the portrait. Does she live on this floor as well?
The woman cocks her head at Sam, giving him a silent don’t you even think about it look paired with a pointed finger. She reminds me of a mother warning her child before he gets in trouble.
“Sam. Put. It. Down.”
Sam fakes like he is going to chuck it, then smiles at her as if to say Watch me. Sam throws the chair at a wall.
She says something in another language I interpret as French.
At the most beautiful statement I ever heard and don’t understand, Sam’s eyes return to their normal blue.
No longer engaging in his tantrum as King Kong, Sam approaches the woman, then stops once his heaving chest is inches from hers. They have a clear stare-down.
Are they about to fight? Hope she kicks his ass.
To my surprise, Sam grins, picks the woman up by her thighs, and spins her. She laughs, hugging his neck.
Who was this woman? A former lover? He softened so quickly.
I inch farther into the room, causing the floor to creak. The sudden noise causes them to turn in my direction.
Sam drops the woman from his arms.
Was I not supposed to see Mr. Playboy let his guard down?
“Alaina, come meet River.” Sam nods.
“Alaina?!” River’s eyes widen, and she looks at Sam, who continues nodding. The confirmation has River beaming, her straight teeth nearly blinding me as she rushes toward me and hugs me. “It’s so nice to meet you! I’ve been dying to meet the woman who tamed the beast!”
River holds my hands, and I can see the resemblance to Dax.
She is warm and sweet, reminding me of Taya. Taya never seemed to notice how her warmth instantly lit up the room.
“I could say the same about you and Sam!” River’s expression contorts into confusion. Then she bursts out laughing.
What did I say?
“I am not Sam’s mate, dear goddess.” She chuckles. “I couldn’t see Sam commit to anything except maybe a mental institution.”
I like her already.
“Sam is practically my older brother. We grew up together,” she explains.
River thinks she’s helping put the pieces together, but I’ve heard the sibling justification before.
I continue to try to decipher the meaning behind the sibling statement, studying them carefully. Waiting for any indication that screams they’ve fucked before.
If River chose to remain friends after a night or two with him, I’ll have to withdraw my earlier thought and question her judgment.
“She’s Dax’s little sister,” Sam clarifies.
Now I believe her.
Dax would never let Sam live if he fucked his sister. Scratch that—Dax would kill Sam the minute he sensed any intention of sniffing his sister the wrong way.
Why haven’t I met her before? How come I didn’t know he has a sister? What did Dax tell her about me? Did Dax tell her about me, or did Sam?
River apologizes for not coming to see me first. She was taking a nap until she heard Sam throwing a tantrum. River tells me she has been traveling across the world, learning cuss words in every language, trying all the cuisine . . . in more ways than one. River cut her trip short when she received word that Dax found his mate; she always wanted a sister.
River is extroverted, bubbly, and free of obligation. Our conversation leads us to the room housing most of my belongings. The traditional, vintage interior contrasts against the natural wood features, and I gasp at the view before me. Gold and emerald decorate the walls.
But it’s not the royal decor or the window’s breathtaking view of the surrounding mountains that surprise me. My collection of watercolor paints, brushes, and palettes are displayed across the art table, assembled into my very own studio in the castle. My well-loved easel was positioned by the window, basked in the perfect lighting the room had to offer.
My heart melts as I think it was designed to make me feel at home. Did Dax do this for me?
The familiar smell of leather and spice wafts into my nose again, and I turn and see Dax in the doorway. As River continues talking, I instinctively move to examine the blank canvases propped behind the easel, keeping my back to Dax and Sam.
“There you are. I’ve been looking for you,” a she-wolf coos, and I whip my head toward the sultry tone quicker than I would have preferred.
Her hand drapes over Sam’s shoulder, and my wolf settles, returning to River’s stories. The she-wolf pulls Sam away as they scurry off for “stress relief.”
He mutters to Dax with a sly grin and winks on the way out.
River rolls her eyes at Sam’s playboy tendencies. She chuckles. “Some things never change. Do you have some time for me to show you around? I can tell you some stories about Dax.”
I turn away, processing her comment, still acknowledging Dax, who continues watching us. Hanging on every word, I try to learn more of River and Dax’s life growing up in the castle. It’s not like he’s offering up any details. Might as well use her chattiness to my advantage.
The more I know about my enemy, the better.
I nod.
River’s eyes light up as she leans closer to me, linking her arm in mine, eager to spill all the tea on her older brother. She ushers me out into the hall, gaining space between us and his super hearing. River giggles, looking back at Dax after she whispers to me about the voice-cracking stage of his life.
Dax mutters something, and we bust out laughing like gossiping teenagers.
I think I found my ally.
River leads us past many of the corridors I’ve already explored, pointing out her favorite things. We peruse the kitchen, dining room, library, pack offices, and she points out the various gardens, some of which I note to return to for painting, along with the many waterfalls and landscapes.
She boasts about the stories of her childhood home creating the perfect setup for the ultimate pretend play with her friends, as well as the mischief the grounds allowed her to get into as a teenager, causing Dax’s nose to wrinkle.
