Page 110 of The Delta's Rogue
Another flash of lightning splits apart the sky. For a brief moment, the entirety of the large lake beneath us is visible, all the way to the distant shore on the other side and even beyond, to the wind-blown forest surrounding it. Five seconds pass again, and the roaring thunder rumbles, tumbling down the hillside and across the water’s surface.
“Is it just the weather troubling you?” Nolan turns his attention back to me.
I tighten my grip on my glass. “No. Something feels…off.”
“The last time you had a bad feeling like this, my first mate fucked me and then rejected me.”
Cassandra’s pupils dilate, and a small growl vibrates in her chest. “I hate that bitch.”
She spins to face Nolan and slips her fingers inside the unbuttoned top half of his shirt. His hand on her hip slides lower until it rests on the curve of her ass. He presses her closer to him and dips his head, kissing her right below her ear.
“I know,” I sigh, gazing out the window again. “My gut feelings are right ninety-nine percent of the time. The problem is this feeling of impending doom has plagued me since the day Dickhead over here”—I jerk my thumb over my shoulder at Dominic—“showed up at the pack and told us Sarina was missing. I can’t discern if it just hasn’t gone away or if every added detail we’ve learned keeps bringing it back.”
Nolan steps forward and grips my shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Whatever happens, we’re all here for you. You’ve helped all of us with our females. It’s time we return the favor. We’ll do whatever it takes to get Sarina back.”
Before I can verbalize my gratitude, an announcement is relayed through speakers placed throughout the building.“Everyone, please make your way to your seats. The auction will begin shortly.”
The cool feminine voice repeats its directions again, sending a shiver down my spine with its detached, clinical tone.
I follow the others, turning away from the storm and facing the posh, lush interior of the estate.
The gorgeous, grand building lies further up the mountainside than most of the other Lake Tahoe residences and hotels, nestled amid dense forestry and surrounded by a massive stone wall and a heavy iron gate. While trees hide most of the building from prying eyes, the upper floors still offer a magnificent view of the lake. I imagine that, like Nuncio’s club in Los Angeles, this estate is protected with magical charms and barriers to keep those who are unwanted out.
I slam my drink back, chugging the rest of it down and ignoring the slight burn in my throat from the high alcohol content. We refrained from drinking at Nuncio’s club the other night, but to keep up our ruse—and ease my nerves—I’m taking the risk tonight. Rune concocted some sort of…anti-poison potion for us to take before leaving for the auction. I don’t know what’s in it or understand exactly how it works, but we all drank it to protect ourselves. All I know is I never want to take that bitter, gritty, olive-green potion ever again.
Leaving my glass on a nearby high-top table, I adjust the buttons on my suit coat as we make our way to our private box, staying a few steps behind the other three.
This part of the estate is set up like a theater, with general seating on the lower floor and private boxes for the more elite customers on the upper floors.
We reach the box reserved for us as more thunder rolls through the sky, and I pause on the threshold, staring at the interior. Leather couches and chairs dot the floor of the room, each offering a clear view of the theater. Nolan already sits on the right side of one couch, Cassandra perched on his lap with her knees on either side of his hips, their act as Dom and sub firmly in place. The far wall of the room is a one-way glass window, allowing us to see out and onto the stage without worrying about prying eyes seeing us sitting inside.
Under normal circumstances, the exhibitionist side of me wouldn’t mind nosy voyeurs, but these aren’t normal circumstances. This isn’t a normal, safe club that I’veresearched and vetted. This is a hotbed of illegal activity, and keeping my head down and remaining as anonymous as possible is all I’m focused on tonight.
Our mission is clear: stay under the radar, get the lay of the land, report everything to the others so we can concoct a plan for next weekend.
And then rescue Sarina from this Goddess awful place.
The twelve steps it takes for me to cross from the door to the window feel like miles. Shoving my hands in my pockets as I stop right in front of the glass, I glance down at my shiny black shoes and take a breath to prepare myself before I scope out the rest of the auditorium.
Guests mill about the seating area of the lower level, where instead of rows of seats like in a normal theater, tables stand with chairs around them, much like inside my club. And Nuncio’s.
Most of the “Doms” are currently alone, but a handful have brought along a sub, like how Nolan brought Cassandra with him tonight. Unlike Nolan, however, who is treating Cassandra as respectfully as possible while still dominating her, these bastards couldn’t care less about the well-being of the females accompanying them. It’s obvious from the dark circles under the women’s lifeless eyes, the blank, empty expressions on their faces, and the hint of red, raw skin glimpsed beneath the silver cuffs and collars around their wrists and necks. They kneel on the floor, most of them already naked or close to it, while their masters speak with friends or order drinks from the waitresses.
On the surface, these males with their subs—and even those without—seem no different from Dominic, Nolan, or me, dressed in their elegant, expensive, five-piece formal suits in dark colors. But it’s clear from the cruelty in their sharp eyes that these males are filled with rotting decay from the depths of hell, so foul that not even worms want to touch it.
Holding in a growl, I divert my eyes away from the gathering bidders and fix them instead on the stage. I can’t bring myself to watch the conduct of these males who dare call themselves “Doms” for any longer than necessary. They are immoral males who are lower than dirt, who don’t deserve to breathe.
The stage is well lit. The lights glint off the windows of boxes just like ours lining the upper two floors of the theater in a semicircle, each angled so its occupants have a clear view of the stage floor. An auctioneer waits next to a microphone, straightening his tieand readying himself for the show to begin. Two girls stand nearby, framing the outline of a trapdoor in the stage’s floor, where I presume the females for sale will appear when it’s their turn to be sold.
“Fuck, I hate this,”I mindlink to the others, spinning away from the window and rubbing my jaw.
My lycan snarls in my mind, and my body itches with the need to shift, to tear through the crowd and demolish every single fake Dom down there.
“Does anyone else want another drink?” I ask out loud, plopping onto the left side of the leather couch right as thunder reverberates through the sky again.
“I have a feeling we’re going to need several more rounds before this night is over.” Dominic jabs the button near the door to summon a server.
Nolan nods his agreement, sliding his hands up and down Cassandra’s sides as she leans her torso closer to his.
