009

~Dove pov

The guards at the bottom of the stairs accept the flash of my black slip, urging me to find the next set of stairs upward.

My hand slides against the polished banister, my gaze is glued upwards as I marvel at the extent of this incredible palace.

The second floor showcases far more artwork encased in gilded frames. Each are intricately painted, boasting vain portraits of the Alpha's forefathers.

Mercifully less people mill about up here, lounging on pale chaise lounges, drinking from wine flutes, overcome by mirth.As I wander past I kept my eyes averted, not wanting to offend by letting my eyes linger on bare breasts and round backsides, sparsely covered by sheer fabric.

They do not share the same courtesy, glaring at me as I hurry by.

I try not to slip on the ornate rugs, nor to allow my hands to brace on decedent wallpaper as I search the second story for the next set of stairs.

What could the Alpha possibly do with all this space other than drape attractive people all around it?

Soon enough the next sprawling staircase comes into view. It's narrower, winding up toward a far more private space.

The music is dull, thumping below my feet as I emerge into a quiet and wide hallway. The carpet is plush and dark, the walls a rich mahogany.

I wander down, a fresh melody gracing my ears as I near on a room guarded by two men posted before it. The song playing is lush and sultry, gliding it's warm hands against my flushed skin.

I must have reached the billiard room.

A man steps out, smoke curling around him. He's an younger gentleman wearing a hunter green suit, accompanied by a chestnut cane. His pinched face pulls into a sneer as I approach.

"The exit is many flights downward, my dear," he notes, waving his cane behind me.

He puffs at his pipe, the foul smell making my stomach turn. He's glanced away, dismissing me.

"I'm not looking for the exit," I bite out, revealing the foiled black slip I have poised between two fingers. "I have this."

He blinks, adjusting his glasses. I don't doubt he thinks it's a counterfeit slip, although it doesn't matter. One of the guards nods affirmatively.

"Then perhaps it is the bathroom you are seeking?" The man exclaims, weaving infront of me before I can shoulder into the room.

My fingers curl up into fists, pressing crescent shapes into into my skin. I wasn't expecting this degree of prejudice.

"I was asked to come here," I grit out.

"This room is for only the most deviant of souls," he warns, grinning wryly. He thinks that will be enough to chase me away.

"I can handle it."

He opens his mouth, no doubt to spew something far more hideous until Claude emerges from the reddened shadows coating the billiard room. He slaps his hand down on the man's shoulders, giving him a stern shake.

"Wyatt. Please don't tell me you're trying to scare off my muse," he murmurs in his ear.

Wyatt doesn't recoil back, merely casting another glance over me. He's reassessing me in a new light that has been cast over me from Claude's interest.

"I didn't know she had been selected, Claude," he responds tersely. "Nor did I think she would look like...that."

I straighten, refusing to cower beneath his judgmental stare and Claude's hungry one.

"My usual tastes are tiring me," Claude says, letting go of Wyatt so he can offer me his hand. "Come beautiful woman in a fluffy pink dress. Sit with me."

Against my better judgement, I slide my hand into his, letting him lure me into the room.

For what is supposedly a billiard room, it is missing it's staple item. Instead of a large pool table, there is a bar serving drinks, plenty of seating and a stage where a woman sings softly into the air.

People are littered about, bare legs stretched out over luxurious furniture, drinking decadent wines.

The scent of perfume hangs heavy in theair, as light and delicate as the laughter flitting about the room. Melting into the laughter are soft moans and the distinct sound of skin slapping against skin as people fuck casually near the corner, uncaring of who may be watching.

I avert my eyes, my cheeks staining as red as the low lighting.

"I was hoping for a tour..." I tell him.

"After a refreshment, surely? It's so warm out there." His eyes sparkle as he glances back at me, people parting to make way for him.

"I'm not drinking tonight."

"Only water then," he states decidedly, turning toward me. "I assure you, we have plenty of it. We may divulge in an ample helping of wine and spirits at these parties, but we dread the hangover."

I bite down on my lower lip, trying not to scan the room with too keen of an eye. I'm wary of being scolded for watching people have sex or seeing their naked forms."I am thirsty," I admit, rubbing my arm. And it is warm out there. This room feels much cooler, easing off the heat emanating from my skin.

Claude grins. "I'm sure you are."

He sinks down into a leather seat, stretching his legs out - a king on his throne.

I go to sit next to him on another chair, but his hands find my hips, guiding me onto his lap.

"Oh—"

"My muse gets only the best seat in the house," he murmurs into my ear, his warm breath coasting against my skin.

My entire body is painfully stiff. I'm afraid to move at risk of upsetting him. His grip is firm, my back to his chest.

"The best seat is sharing with you?" I ask shakily, afraid to turn my head. It wouldn't be my first kiss or anything, but it will be a kiss regardless if I turn to look at him."The best seat is me, sweet girl." He laughs lowly under his breath, his fingers bunching in the fabric of my dress.

I shiver at the double meaning of his words, wondering if he's going to expect me to turn around and straddle him.

"I'm not sure how I feel about this," I admit, pulling my lower lip into my mouth.

I'm not here to be coy, but there is something about Claude that unnerves me. Perhaps it's his imperious nature that he flexes like a muscle, thinking it aids him securing a woman for the night.

"Just relax." Claude snaps his fingers at a man lingering near the bar. "Kleve. Bring a glass of ice water for this woman would you?"

He nods, turning to the barman. I swallow thickly, feeling incongruous being served when I'm usually the server.

I don't belong here, with these people.