THE CLAIMED VIRGIN

"You're late," Alejandro said.

His voice was a low, growling rumble that vibrated in the small theater. I froze. The spotlight felt like a brand against my skin. The room was a tomb, twenty seats of velvet and shadows, empty except for the two Alphas sitting on the central couch.

"Step into the light, VX," Mateo added. He was leaning forward, his eyes tracking the way my throat moved when I swallowed.

I moved. My boots clicked against the stage floor. The Silver Crest Country Club was supposed to be a sanctuary of high society, but in here, it smelled like cold sweat and predator. Alejandro was sprawled back, one arm lazily draped over the cushions, his jaw set in a line of pure granite. Mateo was the predator on the hunt, watching for a weakness.

"Show us why the Silver-Oak Pack shouldn't just tear you apart," Alejandro muttered. His voice was curt. Bored.

I looked at the pole. I looked at the chair. Every other candidate—the models, the pre-med students, the gymnasts—had probably treated this like a talent show. I knew better. I've spent years behind the glass at Club Venom. You don't give them a performance. You give them an itch they can't scratch.

"No music?" I asked.

"No," Alejandro snapped. "Move."

I didn't head for the pole. That was expected. I went for the chair. I didn't have a routine for it, but I had instinct. I moved slowly. I ground my hips against the wood, shimming down until my knees hit the floor, then arching back until my spine nearly snapped. I didn't look at them. I danced for the shadows. I danced like I was alone in the woods under a full moon.

I felt their stares. It wasn't just heat; it was the weight of two Alphas marking their territory. I spun, my legs opening just a fraction before snapping shut, riding the back of the chair like it was a lover I was about to kill.

"Stop." Alejandro’s voice cut through the silence like a blade.

I froze mid-grind. My breath was coming in ragged gasps.

"That's enough," he added.

"What? Why?" Mateo shifted, looking at his brother.

"Not the dance I'm looking for," Alejandro said.

Rejection. It hit me harder than a physical blow. I had thirty seconds, and he was tossing me out like trash. I couldn't let it happen. I'd burned every bridge in the Vargas territory to get into this room. I’d used every favor I owed the Silver-Oak elders for this one shot.

I didn't wait for permission. I stepped off the stage.

The closer I got, the more their scent hit me—pine, rain, and something dangerously metallic. They were twins, but where Mateo had the deceptive grace of a younger wolf, Alejandro was all jagged edges and scars. He looked at me with pure, unadulterated fury.

"I don't do my best work with furniture," I said, stopping inches from Alejandro’s boots. "The 'real thing' is much more responsive."

I’d never given a lap dance in my life. I was the dancer people watched from a distance, the one they weren't allowed to touch. But he didn't need to know that.

Alejandro glared. I didn't blink.

"Go ahead, Alex," Mateo whispered, a dark smirk tugging at his lips. "Let him."

Alejandro didn't move, but he gave a sharp, microscopic nod.

I started slow. My hands traced the lines of my own chest, dragging down over my stomach. He stayed stone-faced. I turned, lowering my weight onto his lap.

He was hard. Like iron.

The realization sent a jolt of power through me. He could pretend to be bored all he wanted, but his body was a liar. I ground against him, riding the length of his thigh, leaning back until my head rested against his shoulder. His chest was a wall of muscle. He didn't touch me. He sat like a statue, but I could feel the heat radiating off him.

I looked at Mateo. He wasn't hiding his hunger. His eyes were dark, tracing the line of my throat down to where my waist met his brother's lap. I grabbed Mateo's hand. I didn't ask. I pulled it toward me, pressing his palm against the heat between my legs.

Mateo didn't pull away. He groaned, his fingers digging in, finding the friction he wanted. I arched my back, a low sound escaping my throat as the pressure built, my movements turning frantic, desperate—

"Enough!"

Alejandro shoved me off him. The sudden movement sent me stumbling back, my legs shaking.

"You're done," Alejandro said, his hands clenched into fists. He didn't even try to hide the tension in his frame. He pointed toward the exit. "Get out."

"Are you kidding me?" Mateo barked. "He’s the one, Alex! Look at him!"

"If I wanted a stray from a strip club, I’d go to the city," Alejandro spat. He turned his gaze on me, his lip curling in disgust. "We need a consort who can stand beside us at a summit of Alpha Lords, not a whore."

"I'm not a whore," I snapped. The word felt like venom.

"Whatever you call yourself, you're not what we want."

"He knows how to handle himself," Mateo defended, smiling at me. "Don't you, VX?"

"It says here you work at The Den," Alejandro said, picking up a tablet. "That was Caruso’s territory. Automatic disqualification."

"The Vargas pack owns those streets now," I countered, trying to keep my voice steady. "What does it matter who used to run the building?"

"It matters," Alejandro growled. "You're a liability."