8 - CAELITH - THE RULES OF THE GAME

Her scent hits before she does. Sweet and clean, cutting through the stench of liquor and sweat in the game room. I try to lock onto the eight ball, lining up my shot, but the presence of this human drags across my skin.

— I need one of you to show me the invoices…

Her voice is background noise I force myself to ignore. Samiel answers for both of us, like he always does. Then he calls her back.

— Come relax for a bit, Lexi.

My eyes narrow on him. Samiel never misses a chance to shove her toward me. He’s serving her up on a silver platter, and it grates the hell out of me. Only the clan master can claim a victus, and he knows I don’t want her. Still, he pushes, as if without her the clan might crumble.

She steps closer, and her scent slams harder with every inch she closes. It’s tangled with Samiel’s — a faint trace left from the day she took that bullet — but not enough. Not a real mark. Especially because mine isn’t there.

— I haven’t heard your voice yet — she says, looking right at me. — Do you even speak?

Her timid boldness forces a reply out of me.

— When I feel like it.

The back-and-forth between us is a dangerous game. She’s flirting with me without realizing it, without knowing every little smile, every glance thick with repressed heat, is a spark too close to a powder keg.

Nature built her as prey for me. With blood like hers, everything about me pulls harder at her body, at her mind. It isn’t fair. I know that. But I didn’t make the rules. He did… and the ones who fell with Him.

And still, some part of me I buried a long time ago stirs, loosening my shoulders for a heartbeat.

Then the air shifts.

A familiar stench of spice and arrogance cuts through the room.

Azrion is too damn close.

My body locks tight before the door even bursts open. Instinct kicks in, and I shove her behind me. The move is territorial, possessive—something I shouldn’t feel for her. She’s not clan, not marked, not worthy of my protection.

— How did you get in here, Azrion? — I spit his name like venom.

He smiles, and when Alexia edges toward the exit, he scents her in the air. His grin stretches wider, because the bastard just found an unclaimed pot of gold.

— Your scent is divine — he tells her, but the jab is aimed at me.

— What are you doing with my victus, Azrion? — I lie.

— Funny — he says. — I don’t smell you on her. If no one’s claimed her, she’s mine now.

He lets her go, and Sami follows, knowing damn well she can’t leave the club without our scents on her. Azrion is in the city, and she lives only blocks away.

— The bouncer… — My voice drops, lethal. I hate when they kill my men.

— You might want to check on him later — Azrion cuts in, cruel smile intact. He steps closer, tone shifting. — I heard about the attack. These kids have been getting reckless… I came to say I’ve called a meeting with the Council.

— A call would’ve been enough.

— I wanted to see it for myself. See how things really are here.

Not coincidence. But I’m not going there now.

When Azrion finally leaves, fury burns under my skin. I find Samiel at the bar, pouring a glass of wine for Alexia. Then he bites his thumb, lets a few drops of blood fall into the drink. He lifts the glass toward me like an offering—I mirror him. Then he hands it to the terrified girl.

She downs it in one go, too rattled to notice what she’s drinking. Complains about the taste of iron, and I almost smile. Innocent. Stupid. Like every human.

Then she says it. Cult.

That word snaps something in me. Reduces what we are to a human cliché. Rage explodes through me. I drag her to my room, throw her onto my bed, and for one raw second the predator inside me just wants to rip the clothes off her, sink my teeth into her throat, and end this shit.

But I pull back. I give her the damned choice I never got.

By the time I leave the room, my body is thrumming with a mix of rage and a hunger so violent it makes my head pound.

Samiel’s in the hall. He looks confused, but when he opens his mouth, I slam him against the wall, hand clamped around his throat.

— You wanted her to stay — I snarl. — Congratulations. She’ll stay. But you get to be the babysitter.

— If she won’t accept it… — Sami chokes as I loosen my grip. — …then it’ll have to be by force.

His words don’t calm me — they only feed the fire. I exhale hard, press my forehead against his, him an inch shorter than me.

— Never…— I whisper, holding back the storm inside me. —…never tell your master what to do, vicarius.

I hold his gaze another second. He doesn’t back down — he wouldn’t be my second if he were the type to tuck tail. But Samiel knows his place.

Finally, I release him and step away, heading for the bar. I need the strongest drink I can find. And I need to prepare.

For another fucking Council meeting.