5 - Mating Night (2)

Sybil’s POV

I stared at the scandalous scrap of lace dangling from my fingers.

It was barely there. A whisper of fabric. Completely see-through.

Heat flooded my face, all the way down my neck. I should have been outraged. Insulted. Ready to march back to the castle and throw this… this suggestion of clothing at someone’s head.

Instead, a slow, traitorous thrill curled low in my belly.

Mating night.

Four Alphas under the same roof.

And apparently… absolutely no intention of letting me hide in flannel.

“Oh, Goddess help me,” I muttered.

I dropped the lace back onto the vanity like it had burned me and wrapped myself tightly in a towel. If they thought I was just going to parade around in that, they were out of their minds.

“They said there’s an intercom somewhere…” I mumbled, mostly to distract myself from the way my pulse wouldn’t calm down.

My father hadn’t even let me bring a phone. Paranoid old wolf. As if some foreign government was losing sleep over me. He said he would buy me a new one, but it has been a week, and I still have no phone.

I searched the entire room. Nothing. The hallway, still nothing.

The villa felt eerily quiet as I padded down the stairs. I peeked into the main hall.

Empty.

I slipped downstairs, towel clutched tight, and searched room after room until I finally found the intercom mounted on the kitchen wall.

“Of all places…” I grumbled.

I pressed the button. “Hello? Anyone there?”

Static.

I tried again. Nothing.

“Great. Why tell me if it's not even working? This is frustrating!” I huffed, frustration bubbling up, right before my stomach growled loudly enough to echo in the quiet kitchen.

I glanced at the clock on the fridge. Eight in the evening.

“They’re probably still celebrating at the castle,” I muttered. “Fine. I’ll eat. Then sleep. And I am not doing whatever they think is happening tonight. My life. My rules.”

I plated food and sat at the long dining table, finally relaxing as warmth settled my protecting stomach. I was halfway through my meal when the front door opened.

A male voice.

“Seriously, did you have to drink that much tonight?!” a man snapped, clearly sounded irritated.

Panic shot through me. I shoved food into my mouth, gulped water, and jumped to my feet. If I moved fast, I could—

A rush of air hit my back.

Before I could turn, two strong hands caught my arms.

I gasped, every muscle locking.

“Well,” a low voice murmured near my ear, “looks like you’re already prepared to be marked tonight…”

My heart slammed so hard it hurt. I really thought I was going to have a heart attack.

His hands were warm. Large. Steady. Heat seeped through my skin where he held me, sending a shiver racing down my spine.

Then I felt it... his breath brushed my shoulder… my neck…

He inhaled slowly, like a predator savoring a scent.

“You fucking smell incredible,” he growled softly. “Your scent does things to me… but I need your help before we meet fulfill your expectations.”

Expectations? What freaking expectation is he even thinking?!

I spun around, words flying out before courage could fail. “Don’t be mistaken, I am not expec—”

The rest died in my throat.

He was… unfair.

Sharp jaw, straight nose, strong chin dusted with stubble. Dark eyes that held mine like he already knew exactly how I’d look beneath him. Confidence rolled off him in waves, heavy and intoxicating.

But then—

I frowned and covered my nose. “What is that smell?”

He sighed. “That would be why I need help. Viggo’s down and refusing to cooperate. Can you help me get him to his room?”

He asked so politely that it made me forget my irritation.

“Lead the way,” I said before my brain caught up.

His smirk said he noticed.

His gaze dipped, slowly, taking in my bare shoulders, my legs, the towel clutched desperately to my chest. My grip tightened.

“It’s not what you think,” I rushed out. “There were no clothes. Just… that ridiculous nightdress that I have no plans wearing.”

His eyes darkened with amusement. “We’ll deal with that later. Let's help Viggo first.”

I nodded and gestured for him to show me where.

We walked towards the main door, and I froze.

A red-haired man was sprawled on the stone floor, pale as death.

“Oh my God!” I ran to him. “What happened to him? Is he okay?”

“He’s just dead drunk,” the man behind me said. “The elders kept pouring. He was too polite to refuse.”

I gagged slightly. “And that smell—”

“He threw up on the way here,” he admitted with a shrug. “That’s why I’m shirtless.”

I hadn’t noticed.

Now I did.

Broad chest. Hard muscle. Bare skin still damp from a rushed rinse, droplets sliding down his abs in a way that made my mouth go dry. 

What the heck is going on with me?!

He chuckled at my expression and then straightened, offering his hand.

“Hunter Olsen. Alpha Guardian of the North. Fenrivia.”

So formal… for a man half-naked in front of his bride.

I placed my hand in his. “Sybil von Ro—”

My breath hitched as he lifted my hand and pressed his lips to my knuckles.

“I know,” he said softly, eyes never leaving mine. “How can I not? You’re my mate.”

I gulped. Because, as much as I hate to admit it, I am feeling something towards him. 

Lust maybe? Because there’s no way that I would feel that mate pull when my wolf is caged. 

I then pulled back my hand and diverted his attention; he was looking at me so fiercely that I think I would melt. 

“Why do you need my help, by the way?” I asked quickly. “You could definitely carry him yourself.”

“Oh, I will,” Hunter said easily. “That’s not the part I need help with.”

I tilted my head, confused.

“I need you,” he continued, eyes glinting, “to undress him upstairs.”

My jaw dropped, not sure if I heard that right.