The Alpha's Temptation

Chapter 4 Who Are You?

Even though the world was in a haze and faces appeared in picture frames, he stumbled to the stairs that led to a corridor. There, he could navigate back to his room. His servants approached him. He ordered water; once he had downed it, he went upstairs.

He grew all the more antsy. His beast was rising, clamoring inside him, even though the alcohol's effect. Where was she?

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"Go straight and then to the left," Petra said, pointing to the right of a dimly lit corridor. "That's where you are going to find Rigel."

A nervous sort of energy passed through her. She held close to her stomach the pill that Petra had given her.

Sensing her trepidation, Petra murmured, "Are you ready? Because if you are not, I will have to—?" She trailed off, sending a warning hanging her in the air.

She wasn't. Not at all.

But she needed to be ready. She didn't have the luxury of time. Her handler was standing outside the Great Hall, waiting, watching her. She had to finish the job in no more than two turns of the hour sandglass, and already, she had wasted one. Her pulse pounding, she nodded.

Petra smiled reassuringly at her, and she thought she smiled back.

"Then I suggest that you make haste," Petra said. "Don't come back to me. This corridor leads to a door that opens into the garden. You can exit the palace from there."

She felt dizzy. She hoped to finish her work peacefully and gain her freedom. Menkar had promised her that.

Petra turned on her heel and left. The girl watched her return to the party.

All alone, she felt woozy, chiding herself for falling into a trap — but did she have a choice? If she had refused, Menkar would have given her a beating and thrown her into the dungeons of Cetus monastery. And she wanted to spend her eighteenth birthday, which was only three days later, as a free woman. _{ρꪖꪕᦔꪖꪕꪫꪣꫀ​ꪶ​}

She looked up and down the corridor, expecting guards but finding it empty. She walked, her hands sweaty, her skin cold. What if the royal guards caught her? Her heart thumped hard against her chest. It was just a matter of time, and then it would all be over.

"Calman's horns!" she exclaimed. She adjusted her mask again.

Sconces on the wall illuminated the corridor. A long, soft rug muted the sound of her footsteps. She caught the smell of night-blooming roses as a soft gust blew down the hall. She took a ragged breath and concentrated, listening out for sounds of laughter. Petra had told her that she should go inside that chamber, where laughter mingled with moans and groans. For the love of her life, why would moans be mingled with laughter? Were they even feasting inside? She had heard some priests at the monastery moaning as they ate but still.

She had walked to the end of the corridor, and there was not a single room through which she heard moans or laughter or even a whisper. Her muscles tensed, and she considered walking back. This time, she was going to press her ears against each closed door.

Suddenly, the door next to her swung open, female laughter trailing out.

Panicked, she quickly backed into the room behind her, shutting the door. She was sure her heart was about to burst from her ribcage. She looked around and found a candelabrum, still lit, and a fireplace burning before a rug. The wooden floors were recently polished, and a table and a chair sat at the corner of the room. A large bed with a canopy was placed in the center. She drew in a deep breath, catching the scent of wax and… mist? Something that reminded her of sea, of brine. She stepped forward to scan the room. "What—"

An arm curled around her waist, pulling her back against a man's chest.

"Are you," a deep, decadent voice whispered, "a spy?"

Panic blasted through her, and she was reminded of the pill in her hand. She gulped it down so that she wasn't caught with it. She wanted to turn, but another arm swept around her, stilling her. She gasped as he brought her to his chest. He lifted her off her feet, the heat of his body burning between their clothes. He strode forward, with her in his arms, and he pressed her down onto the bed on her belly. His face buried in her hair, he asked, "Who are you? What is your name?"

She shivered beneath him, a jolt of electricity passing through her. She had never been trapped like this before. Her assailant was surely going to kill her, and she could smell the alcohol on his breath. Raw panic bloomed in her chest. Why was it, though, that her head was spinning so fast? As though she was about to lose consciousness.

Her senses going haywire, she struggled against him, but her movements were like that of a butterfly against a lion. "I…" Her tongue felt swollen. The man was too strong.

"What games are you playing?" he asked as he flipped her over her back, while still locking her with his muscular arms. His deep husky voice stirred her. He traced a finger over her mask. "Tell me, or I have ways to find out."

She wanted to speak, but now her thoughts were oddly slow. "Tania…" It was difficult to keep her eyes open. She faced her captor and, in the darkness, could only make out the jet hair that fell forward onto his forehead, with the silhouette of a long, chiseled nose beneath it. A shadow was cast over his features by flickering flame. The way he embraced her—it was an alien feeling.

"Who are you?" she asked, her throat paper dry, her body limp. The pill. It would be her doom.

"That's not important here," he replied. He tilted his head slightly and then his mouth was on hers.

Eltanin kissed Tania. And it wasn't a light feather kiss. It was harsh, claiming and deep.

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