Page 112 of The Delta's Rogue
The storm outside races closer as the storm inside me swells and coalesces, centered over my anxious lycan. My stomach churns, and a thin layer of sweat that has nothing to do with the temperature of the room forms on my body. I run my hand through my hair and rise to my feet, unbuttoning my coat to shrug it off.
“Seb?”Nolan’s eyes follow me, his attention leaving Cassandra for the first time since we entered our private box.
I toss the coat on the back of the couch and pace in front of it, rolling my sleeves up and cracking my neck.“I’m fine.”
His brow arches, but he says nothing.
I loosen my tie and exhale, focusing on ignoring the frantic, pacing, snarling lycan in my brain and the cracks of thunder outside that get closer together and more frequent with each passing minute.
“Where are those drinks?” I whirl around and glare at the button to summon our server. “We ordered those ages ago.”
I stalk towards it. My thumb hovers over it, brushing against it and ready to jab it as hard as I can, when the door opens.
Two females enter. An older female with ash-brown hair, cruel eyes, and a haughty expression, dressed in a deep purple dress. And a younger, dark-haired, blue-eyed female in white, whom I’ve seen once before.
The witch from my dream.
The petite witch’s eyeswiden when she sees me, knuckles turning as white as the dress on her body as her grip on the drink tray she carries tightens. The other, older female flicks her wrist, and with a whoosh of air magic, the door shuts behind them.
She speaks to us as she saunters further into the room, but her words float in one ear and out the other.
I can’t focus on anything she’s saying. All I can focus on is the scent wafting towards me from the miniature witch.
Honeysuckle. Pomegranate. Mango. Sensuous and sweet, and crafted by Selene herself.
It’s not the small witch I smell. Like the night I brought Haven to the pack, after her ex attacked her and her scent lingered on my skin and clothing, this scent lingers on the young witch.
The scent of mymate.
My little rogue.
My Sarina.
A clashing war of emotions begins within me. The sliver of joy at the confirmation that she is mine is sliced into pieces by the disappointment that she isn’t here to share this moment with me. The galloping of my heart in celebration is trampled by the bitter realization that it will be another week until we rescue her.
“I hope you’ve found the event enjoyable so far.” The other witch stares straight into the side of my face.
“Her name is Amara,”Dominic mindlinks me as the younger witch moves further into the room with our drinks, making a beeline straight to me.
Thank the Goddess he was listening to her and noticed I was not.
“I’ve never seen anything quite like this.” I take my drink from the petite witch.
My lycan whines and strains against my hold on him. The scent, while muted, calls to us. It swirls and spirals like the tail of a comet flying through time and space. My instincts scream at me to drop my act, to grab that tiny, fragile witch and shake answers out of her, to force her to tell me where Sarina is and how to get her to safety.
But I can’t do any of that without blowing our cover. I can only hope there is a chance for me to speak with her alone, even if it’s brief, and I can only console myself by remembering we have a half-concocted plan to rescue Sarina when she’s auctioned next weekend.
My years of hiding the truth from my friends, and the long days of repressing my lycan’s bloodthirsty and possessive urges, aid me in my current self-control. As much as I’ve hated concealing the truth and resisting his impulses, I’m grateful for the discipline both have instilled in me.
“Will you be bidding on any merchandise today?” Amara sweeps her eyes towards Nolan and Cassandra. “I see you’ve brought a toy with you. Perhaps you’d like a second pet to double your entertainment and enjoyment?”
Her gaze lingers on them.
No. It lingers onCassandra.
She trails her eyes up and down Cassandra’s scantily clad body, smirking in amused approval at Cassandra’s gold lingerie set that reveals more than it covers. A throaty laugh escapes her as Nolan yanks Cassandra’s low, sleek ponytail, forcing her to arch and reveal her breasts, where her nipples poke through the tiny triangles of fabric. Cassandra exposes her throat to Nolan, and Amara’s eyes lock on the choker wrapped around Cassandra’s neck before examining the possessive grip of Nolan’s other hand on Cassandra’s bare ass.
“Yes, she would be even more exquisite with a companion,” Amara declares. “Can’t you picture it? Can’t you imagine how fun it would be to watch them play with each other before you all take turns having your own fun with them?”
