Page 113 of The Delta's Rogue
Nolan swallows, body taut as a tightrope, his chest heaving from the effort it takes to restrain himself and hold in the furious growl I can sense building within him. His handcupping Cassandra’s ass slides around to her inner thigh, fingers tracing over the tattoo of his name that we remembered to hide this time. Cassandra’s hands slide up and down his chest, soothing him and keeping him reclined against the couch, her eyes glazing over for a split-second as she mindlinks him.
“I can imagine it, yes.” I squeeze my glass and shove my other hand in my pocket as I jerk my chin towards the window and the stage to hide the flaring of my nostrils. “But I’ve yet to see anything on that stage that catches my eye.”
Breathe, I remind myself.Breathe.
But breathing fills my lungs with more of that scent attached to the smaller witch. Sarina’s scent.
My lycan terrorizes the cage I placed him in, throwing a tantrum and clawing at the prison that is my mind. He demands I set him free and get answers, but I roll my neck and keep him inside.
Cassandra catches my eye for half a second, and I take another deep breath. She’s here to block our auras if needed, but mine is running wild and I’m unsure if I can keep it back much longer. I’m unsure if she’s prepared for it to hit her while she’s putting on her show to keep Amara unawares.
The petite, dark-haired witch stops in front of Dominic and hands him his drink. Even though she’s serving him, her eyes give me a pointed stare.
Dominic tenses and holds his breath as he takes his drink, his jaw clenched and eyes simmering as he stares down his nose at her.
The small witch’s eyes flick towards the stage and then back to me before she gives Dominic a quick nod and an over-the-top smile. Then she repeats the motion once more, eyes shooting daggers towards the stage before landing on my face again.
I frown and glance at the strawberry-blonde girl the customers currently bid on, sipping my drink to give myself something to focus on other than the scent of Sarina on this female’s skin and clothing. While soft, the scent fills the room and reaches every corner, now that the witch is moving around.
Amara schmoozes away behind me, going on and on about Goddess knows what, kissing my ass and pretending like she cares about anything more than the potential money I can give their operation by purchasing a female. I nod along, pretending to listenand feigning interest in the auction, while I watch the little witch from the corner of my eye.
The audience cheers as the auctioneer announces the final bidding price: one hundred and thirteen thousand dollars.
I swallow the rest of my drink in one gulp and set the glass on a small table.
Amara clasps her hands together in front of her chest with a phony, reluctant sigh. “I hate to leave when we’re having such a wonderful time getting to know each other”—her voice is coated with pure honey—“but I must return to my duties, checking on the winners and their prizes and seeing to them as they leave the event.” She spins on her heel and struts to the door, stopping only to give whispered directions to her companion. “Brenna here will get you anything you need for the rest of the evening,” she adds out loud to us. “It will all be on the house.”
We’re all silent as she leaves and we watch the door close. Each second it takes to click shut feels way too long, furthering the tension Amara and Brenna brought with them when they arrived. Dominic finally storms towards it and shoves it closed, and as soon as he does, Brenna sets her tray on the couch and rushes over to me.
“Why are you here tonight?” she asks as she crosses the room. “Nevermind, that doesn’t matter. I put an illusion up so we can speak without—”
I grab her shoulders, the tips of my fingers digging into her skin, and my eyes stare straight into her frantic, broken blue ones. “Where is she? How is she? Why is her scent so strong on you?”
I can’t get the words out fast enough. I don’t know if what I say is intelligible. It doesn’t matter, though. My sole focus is on finding out whatever I can about Sarina to ease the wait between now and next week when we finally save her.
Brenna shakes her head, unperturbed by my grip on her body. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you. She’s—”
“Seb.” Dominic’s voice cuts Brenna off.
His tone pulls my attention to the window, where he’s staring out at the stage as they’re preparing to auction another female. The two assistants guide her off the trapdoor platform and to the edge of the stage, where they push her to her knees.
My heart drops through my feet to the lower floor of the theater.
“Our final female is a last-minute addition to tonight’s sale,” the auctioneer says.
I take slow, shaky steps forward, eyes glued to the naked, dark-eyed female kneeling at the foot of the stage, cuffed and collared with silver.
Sarina.
“They’re selling her tonight instead,” Brenna murmurs from my left.
Not that we need her to tell us that. We can all see for ourselves.
I press my hand against the glass and hold my breath.
Sarina poses on the stage, her gaze straight ahead and her chin held high—higher than what it should be—a tiny, almost imperceptible defiance. Her hair is longer than four years ago, her body thinner, and her eyes have lost some of their mischievous sparkle. But underneath the changes, underneath those damned shackles, she’s still Sarina. Still mine.
My love. My life. My mate.
