Chapter 2
Derion sat motionless, his head thrown back against the plush velvet of the sofa, a fat, unlit cigar clamped between his teeth.
Two beautiful, half-dressed women flanked him, their fingers tracing seductive lines across the sturdy contours of his chest beneath his white shirt.
On his right sat Ross, his best friend, right-hand man, and Beta. Ross held a lit cigar in one hand and a glass of wine in the other, a superficial smile plastered on his face as his sharp eyes swept the crowded club.
This was supposed to be a final reprieve. A few hours of mindless indulgence before they embarked on a journey they both loathed, but had no choice but to endure.
Derion let the thumping bass of the music wash over him, drowning out his resentment. If there were any way to skip the upcoming ceremony, he would have taken it. But attendance was compulsory.
He took a slow, deep breath, pulling the unlit flavor of tobacco into his mouth before releasing it. But the very next breath froze in his lungs. His brows furrowed and his eyes snapped open.
"What is she doing here?"
The voice echoed in his mind. It was Griffin, his wolf, sounding just as shocked as he was.
Derion didn’t answer. He surged upright, his sudden movement jolting Ross and scattering the two women. Ignoring the confusion around him, his gaze turned predatory, scanning the hazy atmosphere of the club, demanding the exact same answer Griffin sought.
Her scent was unmistakable. Amidst the suffocating cocktail of cheap perfume, sweat, and alcohol, that single, distinct scent pierced through the noise. Just a whiff of it sent a jolt of pure adrenaline straight to his heart, making it an agonizing struggle to sit still.
"Is something wrong?" Ross narrowed his eyes instantly.
Derion didn't hear him. His eyes locked onto her figure standing by the entrance doors, and his jaw went slack.
He closed his eyes, counting to three, believing it was his imagination. When he opened them again, everything remained the same, sending a dark scowl across his face instead. Why was she dressed like that? Since when did she wear clothes that hugged her body like a second skin? What business did a girl like her have in a place like this?
"She is beautiful. Ahh-woooo..." Griffin howled in his head, recovering from the initial shock with a wave of pure, unadulterated excitement. "More beautiful than these cheap distractions you surround yourself with."
"You call them cheap, yet you never complained all the years we patronized them," Derion snapped back, keeping his eyes glued to the woman who always managed to completely disorganize his mind by her mere presence.
"Not until I met our mate. Why complain when the service was good? I just don't want them anymore. I only want her." Griffin growled defensively, voicing his desire.
"Dream on," Derion muttered mentally, his lashes fluttering against the intensity of his vision.
"Tsk... You are a stubborn, foolish thing." Griffin sulked, retreating into the shadows of their shared consciousness.
Realizing he was being ignored, Ross followed the direction of Derion's transfixed stare. His breath hitched when he saw Vanika standing by the door.
But it wasn't just her presence that shocked him, it was the way she looked. She was dolled up, radiant, and wearing a dress that defied everything Ross knew about her. If he hadn't seen it with his own eyes, he would have called anyone else a liar.
Derion couldn't look away. Vanika stood like a lost lamb in a den of wolves. He knew she was a regular nowhere near this side of town, and her rigid body language screamed that this was her first time stepping foot in a club. Otherwise, he’d have to believe she lived a double life—a saint by day, a sinner by night. But his instincts told him a totally different thing was afoot.
Suddenly, his eyes narrowed into lethal slits.
A man approached her, and she started conversing with the bastard. Derion's blood began to boil. Why was she talking to him? Did he bring her here? For what? A barrage of furious questions slammed into his mind, stoking a dangerous fire in his chest.
He hated himself for it. He shouldn't care. It shouldn't matter who she smiled at or whose company she kept, especially since he wanted nothing to do with her. Yet, he couldn't tear his eyes away.
The moment the man offered his hand and Vanika reached out to take it, Derion's alpha aura erupted. A wave of oppressive, suffocating killing intent rolled off him, causing the women beside him to pull away slightly.
Recognizing the signs of an impending bloodbath, Ross slammed his wine glass onto the table and leaped to his feet.
"I'll handle it." Ross's voice telepathed into Derion’s mind as he walked away without waiting for a reply.
Vanika was Derion's mate, and Derion had claimed to not want her, and even went as far as no acknowledging her as his mate.
But the blinding, possessive jealousy radiating off the Alpha proved otherwise. If someone didn't intervene and deactivate the raging beast right now, heads were literally going to roll across the club floor.
The two women watched Derion cautiously, trembling under the residual pressure of his anger, trying to see what had triggered him. But the crowd was too dense so the source of his fury was lost to them.
By the time they looked back, Derion had forcibly suppressed his aura, his face a mask of cold indifference. He picked up a lighter from the table, brought the flame to his cigar, and took a long, deep drag.
Dropping the lighter, he let the thick gray smoke billow slowly from his lips. He leaned back into the sofa, threw his head back, and closed his eyes once more, pretending the world outside didn't exist.
"Hypocrite. I thought you said you didn't want her. Why fume like a rabid dog the moment another man touches her?" Griffin mocked from the dark.
"Shut up."
Griffin let out a sharp, mental scoff. "Stubborn housefly."
Vanika stood frozen at the entrance of the club, her heart hammering against her ribs as her mind struggled to process the sight before her. Women moved through the neon shadows half-naked, some dancing with an uninhibited seductiveness that made her cheeks burn.
She had never witnessed anything like this. Compared to the sea of exposed skin, she felt overdressed, yet a deep, suffocating wave of second-hand embarrassment washed over her.
The music was a deafening, physical force that rattled her teeth. The man who had ushered her through the front doors had already vanished into the crowd, leaving her entirely isolated.
'What on earth was Janet looking for in a place like this?' she panicked silently, pressing her spine hard against the brick wall as if wishing she could blend into the masonry. The entire venue felt like a trap. All she wanted was for Janet to appear so they could run back to safety.
Minutes ticked away like hours. With no sign of Janet, Vanika’s anxiety spiked. The unaccustomed heels she wore were already punishing her feet, forcing her to shift her weight uncomfortably from side to side. Her eyes raked the massive, pulsing hall again. Nothing.
For the first time in her life, she acutely felt the agony of not owning a phone. She had never needed one before, but right now, the lack of communication felt like a death sentence.
Maya was likely already waiting for them at the party venue, entirely unaware that Vanika was stranded in the corner of a dimly lit, dangerous club. The pungent stench of spilled liquor and heavy, narcotics-laced smoke burned her throat, making her head spin with sudden nausea.
"Hi there."
A voice sliced through the thumping bass right beside her ear. Vanika flinched, her head snapping around.
"Hi." She answered in a small, trembling voice, noticing it was the man from earlier. The easy smile he had worn before was entirely gone, replaced by a grim, severe expression that made her swallow hard.
"Want something to drink? It's just plain juice." He offered, thrusting a condensation-slick glass toward her, sensing the immediate hesitation in her eyes.
She shook her head violently, her instincts screaming at her to refuse. "I'm fine. Thank you."
The man's expression darkened slightly as he withdrew the glass. "Your friend still isn't back?" When she shook her head again, a deep frown marred his features. "Maybe she’s with the staff. There's an injured girl in the back."
"An injured girl?" Vanika stepped forward, her fear for herself momentarily eclipsed.
"Yeah... Word is she took a nasty spill down the back stairs and cracked her head open. Pretty sure her name is Janet."
The world seemed to tilt beneath Vanika’s feet. Her heart rate violently spiked into her throat.
"Janet? Janet fell down the stairs and broke her head?" Her voice elevated, drawing a few sharp looks from nearby patrons.
"You know her?" The man acted surprised, his eyes widening.
"Yes! She’s my friend! Please, where is she? Can you take me to her?" Vanika pleaded frantically. Every ounce of caution she had cultivated vanished, swallowed whole by panic.
"Sure. Grab my hand. It's a maze back there. It’s easy to get lost." The man extended a palm toward her.
Without a second thought, Vanika placed her hand in his, allowing the stranger to pull her deep into the pulsing, predatory darkness of the building.
