3- Meeting the Rossis

ARIEL

The car door slammed shut behind me, the sound final as a coffin closing. Kazimir hadn't spoken a word since we left the club, his silence more unnerving than any threat. Through the tinted windows, I watched the city lights blur into nothing as we climbed higher into the mountains, putting more distance between me and anything resembling safety.

The mansion appeared like a predator in the night, all sharp angles and impenetrable darkness.

Kazimir hauled me up the stone steps, my bare feet scraping against cold granite. I pulled against his grip, but his fingers only tightened, the bones of my wrist grinding together.

"Stop fighting," he said, voice low.

I spat at his shoes. "Go to hell."

He sighed, as if I were a misbehaving child, and shoved me through the towering front doors. The entry hall yawned before us, a cathedral of wealth and power. My reflection stared back at me from polished marble floors, I was still in the silly revealing clothes those girls had handed me. I looked like a cheap whore.

Kazimir dragged me up a sweeping staircase, down a hallway lined with portraits of grim faced men who all shared his cold blue eyes. When he opened the final door, it revealed a pretty pink bedroom.

The lock clicked behind me with terrible finality.

I threw myself at the door, pounding until my fists ached.

"Let me out! You can't do this!" My voice cracked, the panic rising like bile in my throat. "Please!"

Silence answered me.

The room smelled of expensive linen and flowers. I paced the perimeter, testing windows that didn't budge, searching for vents or weaknesses.

Nothing. There was nothing.

The ensuite bathroom offered no escape either, though I took vicious satisfaction in shattering the decorative mirrors against the tiled floor.

When the door finally opened hours later, I was crouched in the corner, a shard of glass hidden in my palm.

Kazimir filled the doorway, his massive frame blocking any hope of escape.

He held a glass of water in one hand, which he set on the nightstand before leaning against the dresser, arms crossed.

“You’re going to tell me how you’re alive,” he said.

I glared up at him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

His jaw tightened. “Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not. You’ve got the wrong person.”

A low growl rumbled in his chest. “Your scent is imprinted in my memory, Blondeau. I don’t forget the people I kill.”

The words sent ice through my veins.

“You, you killed my family?” My voice shook.

"I executed justice," he corrected, voice icy. "Your father murdered my family. He left me to find them swimming in their blood."

The image hit me like a physical blow. My father, gentle, bookish, my quiet father, he couldn't have...

"No," I whispered. "You're lying."

Kazimir pushed off the dresser, looming over me. "Why would I lie? I remember every second of that night. I remember tracking your family. I remember the scent of your blood as I..."

I swallowed hard, interrupting him. “If you think I’m her, then why am I still breathing?”

His gaze flickered, just for a second, to my neck. To where his mark would go if he ever wanted to claim me.

Before he could answer, the door swung open again.

“Well, well. What do we have here?”

The voice was smooth, amused. I turned to see a man leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed. Tall, built like a fighter, with dark hair and a silver lip ring glinting in the light. Tattoos coiled up his arms, disappearing under his rolled sleeves.

His tattoos seemed to move in the dim light, serpentine and alive.

Kazimir didn't turn. "Nikolai. Out."

Nikolai grinned, sauntering into the room with the confidence of a predator. "Can't blame me for being curious." His golden eyes raked over me. "Especially when you've brought home a stray."

I scrambled to my feet, glass shard held out like a weapon. "Stay back."

His grin widened. "Oh, I like her."

Nikolai ignored him, crouching in front of me. I recoiled, but he just tilted his head, studying me like I was a puzzle he wanted to take apart.

“You’re his mate,” he mused. “Huh. That's a miracle!"

I shoved at his chest. “Don’t touch me..."

But the moment my skin met his, I froze.

No burn. No pain.

Just like Kazimir.

Nikolai’s smirk turned wicked. “Oh? What’s this?”

I yanked my hand back. “What the hell is wrong with you people?”

Kazimir grabbed Nikolai’s shoulder, pulling him up. “Enough.”

Nikolai shrugged him off but didn’t push further. “So, what’s the plan, Kaz? Keeping her?”

Kazimir’s jaw clenched. “I’ll decide after I speak with the others.”

Others?

Nikolai winked at me. “Don’t worry, little wolf. We don’t bite.” He paused. “Much.”

Then they were gone, the door locking behind them.

I was alone again.

The door closed behind them, leaving me trembling with equal parts fury and confusion. No Alpha had ever touched me without consequence before. Until now. Normal werewolves couldn't even touch me without my skin affecting them; it was the way I had managed to defend myself for years.

It was how I was able to survive as an Omega.

But now, stuck in a world where my touch had no power, I was in trouble.

The realisation settled like lead in my stomach.

I had to get out.

When the maid came with dinner, I saw my chance. She was older, her eyes kind as she set the tray down. I hated what I had to do.

The vase shattered against the wall, and before she could scream, I had a shard pressed to her throat. "I'm sorry," I whispered as I tied her up with the bed sheets. "I'm so sorry but I have to go home."

The hallway stretched endlessly, a labyrinth of closed doors and shadowed corners. My breath came in sharp gasps as I ran, following the faintest whisper of outside air.

The mansion was a maze. Hallways twisted into more hallways, doors leading to empty rooms or dead ends. My heart pounded as I ran, my bare feet silent on the marble floors.

There. An exit. A set of double doors at the end of a long corridor.

I sprinted for them...

And collided with a solid chest.

Strong hands steadied me before I could fall.

“Now, now. Where are you off to in such a hurry?”

The voice was smooth, cultured. I looked up into a pair of icy blue eyes.

The man was beautiful. Sharp features, bleached blond hair, a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. He wore a tailored suit, a doctor’s coat draped over it.

“Let me go,” I snapped, trying to pull away.

His grip tightened. “Ah-ah. Runaways get punished.”

I kicked at him, but he dodged effortlessly, his smile never fading.

“Fiesty.” His fingers traced my jaw. “You must be that Blondeau girl.”

I jerked back. “Don’t touch me.”

He tilted his head. “Interesting. You smell very interesting.”

My stomach dropped. Another one.