Page 25 of The Delta's Rogue
“I don’t.” She answers my question all too quickly.
I cock my head to the side and walk around her. “Hmm.”
She tracks my path with her eyes, flicking her head to the other side as I complete my circle, her shoulders heaving with each breath she takes.
“You seemed to like it just fine the other night.”
She tilts her head towards the ground, her dark hair swaying with the movement, and her legs squeeze together. Her tongue swipes across the seam of her lips as she shrugs. “That was part of the act.” She doesn’t meet my eyes.
I stop in front of her, my arms still crossed, and she lifts her gaze again to mine.
“You never got a chance to tell me what happened to Lennox,” she says, changing the subject.
I huff out a sardonic laugh. “Nolan killed him. Lennox kept popping his mouth off, so Nolan tore his jaw off. Not before I had some fun with him, though.” My cruel smirk grows with my words.
“What did you do?”
“I dipped a silver knife in wolfsbane, then carved his neck with scars to match Haven’s.”
A spark flares to life in her eyes, and her lips twitch with a derisive laugh that matches my own. “Good. He deserved that and more.”
I nod my agreement.
“And the other alpha?” she asks.
“Wesley killed him.”
“Why was he so interested in Haven?”
I lower my eyes to the ground and grit my teeth together. The urge to tell her is strong, but the command of silence King Malachi placed on all who witnessed Wesley’s challenge with Alpha Pierce is stronger.
“I can’t tell you.” I glance at her with my head still lowered, the weight of the alpha command bearing down on me with each moment I consider admitting the truth to her. “King Malachi forbade it.”
“Haven must be pretty special then”—Sarina shuffles her foot through the underbrush—“if King Malachi is protecting her too.”
“She is.” My cruel smile turns genuine as I think of who Haven is and what she symbolizes to those of us who know.
Everything falls into place now. Our fierce loyalty and overbearing protectiveness of her when she was Wesley’s pen pal, and when she turned up here years later, wasn’t only because she was our future luna but because she’s the daughter of Selene.
“I wish I could tell you,” I admit, shoving my hands into my pockets.
Sarina waves away my words. “I understand.”
“I’m sorry my friends didn’t trust you.” I lift my gaze from the ground. “I’m sorry they asked King Malachi to question you—to alpha command you.”
She shrugs. “I’m used to others not trusting me.”
I swallow and inch closer to her. “I do. Trust you.”
Her brown eyes—two captivating round pools of the darkest melted chocolate set perfectly in her gorgeous face—bore into mine. My mind wanders back to our night at the sex club, to the image of her pinned to the door of the private room as I fingered her pussy and took her right to the edge of bliss and then down into it. She was such a beautiful little plaything, so responsive to my touches, my kisses, and my praise.
We muddied the waters that night. We blurred the line between real and pretend, and I’m not sure how to approach the subject with her.
The further removed from the heat of the moment we get, the more I realize how right it all was. Anything I tell myself otherwise is a lie. All my mental gymnastics to create a list of reasons it can’t happen again are pointless.
She is magnetic. There is no resisting her. I can’t, and I don’t want to.
I take a step towards her. “The other night—”
