Page 40 of Mark & Don't Tell

Silly me for thinking he didn’t mean it. My heart beats against my rib cage as I take my first step toward it. He broke into my apartment. Heat swoops through me. He invaded my privacy. I stop in front of the counter, eyeing the pretty metal heart, a smile tugging at my lips. He stalked me.

He’s so sweet.

Wait. What? What the fuck is wrong with me? I should be freaking out.

I grab the collar, the leather soft in my hands, and a pleased giggle tumbles past my lips.

The reasonable voice inside my head roars to life.

Daria. This is wrong. The man literally broke into your apartment. What if he’s still here? Where is your sense of self-preservation? What if he’s really a murderer?

I mean...he murdered something the other night. My pussy. I’m talking about my pussy.

“Are you here?” I ask loudly, waiting for an answer, but I get none.

No. Of course Vic wouldn’t stay. This is a request—maybe a demand—to wear his collar. Put it on, and I’m his. Leave it off, the game is over.

Laughing again, giddy at the request, I clutch the collar to my chest and bite my lip. There are so many things wrong with this situation. Vic is my stepmom’s brother. He’s older than me. My scent matches invited me to dinner.

But even as I shower and get ready, my attention keeps straying to the collar and the beta who left it for me. My heart flutters every time I think about what he must have done to get in here. Vic, Kai , and Lincoln. Their faces go round and round in my mind.

Kai and Lincoln are introducing me to the rest of their pack. I was so shocked, I didn’t even ask how many more of them there were.

Except . . . what if I want to keep Vic?

Whatever is going on between us, I’m having too much fun to give it up. Vic commands too much of my attention for me to simply let him go. Going to dinner with my fated mates doesn’t mean I have to. If I agree to officially be courted, then I’ll make it clear I have someone I’d like to be included in the process.

And if those alphas don’t like it?

I can’t think about that right now.

Shaking my head, I pull on a sleeveless crimson dress that hugs my curves and hits mid-thigh. I dig out a pair of black strappy heels that have seen better days and slip them on. I use concealer to cover the hickeys Vic left on my throat before securing the collar and grinning at myself in the mirror.

The material of the dress ripples all along the front, an intentional scrunching of material that makes my curves appear more voluptuous. My curls are still in great shape, and the pale pink lip gloss glistens on my full lips. Though my winged eyeliner isn’t overdone, it adds just enough drama to send a surge of confidence through my system.

I look good.

Maybe they’ll like me for who I am. Maybe they won’t tell me to be quiet when I’m excited. Maybe they won’t cheat. Maybe they won’t criticize my clothes or body. Maybe.

Maybe.

That’s what I tell my quivering heart as I head out to the restaurant.

Maybe, this time, it’ll be good.

Sixteen

DARIA

Mystique is no Crystal Chandelier, but I refuse to step foot into that fancy-ass restaurant after my bestie Quinn’s mate was fired. Even still, Mystique is way outside of what my wallet can handle.

The entrance and hostess stand are gilded. My stomach clenches at how much money must’ve gone into outfitting a place like this. The dollar signs are intimidating, but the pack must be able to afford it. I only wish I felt like I belonged in this world.

Even all made up and arguably as well dressed as others, I still feel like a fraud. Like someone is going to jump out at any moment and scream, She’s poor! Hide the silver and crystal!

The hostess gives me a scrutinizing once-over. “Reservation?”

Smiling in spite of her sour attitude, I nod. “It’ll be under Pack Kelly.”

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