Fawn: A Dark Mafia Shifter Romance (Blackfang Barons Book 1)

by Elaina Jadin

  He’s little more than a stranger, and what I know of him is more gut intuition than proven fact, but there’s something about his presence that’s deeply comforting. A wave of drowsiness washes over me and I dreamily wonder what it would be like to have him beside me, his firm body anchoring me on this big bed, his warmth against my aching muscles.

  But I don’t dare ask him to join me on the bed. Bishop doesn’t strike me as the cuddling type. The fact that he didn’t discipline me for speaking out of turn with my request, and that he’s still in the room at all, is already far more than I expected.

  Fatigue claims me as I lay my head back on the pillow, the siren song of exhaustion beckoning me to submit to its lure of sleep. Even as my eyes slide shut, I can feel Bishop’s unwavering gaze on me, like a sentry standing guard.

  14

  Jemma

  A soft glow from the lamp on the nightstand illuminates the room when I awake, and my eyes fly straight to the chair at my vanity. It’s empty.

  I push the covers off and scoot up to a sitting position, my back against the headboard, my lithe frame nearly drowning in the space of the big king-sized bed. I’m completely alone in the room, but someone has come and gone while I was asleep—there’s a tray of food sitting on top of the dresser.

  Easing out of bed, I marvel at how fluid my body feels. I’m not nearly as sore as I thought I’d be after the strenuous activity during my time with Bishop, but the tension I held in my muscles and the pain coiled inside me has all but dissipated.

  For a second, I wonder if maybe I’m losing my damn mind, and that I’ve dreamt the whole thing. That I hadn’t awoken this morning with a blond-haired, blue-eyed beast of a man standing over me. That he hadn’t led me to the dining room, laid me across that table, and punished me thoroughly, extracting the heights of both pleasure and pain from me.

  Looking down, a breath of relief escapes as I lay eyes on the delicate purple tones lacing the pale skin of my hips and pelvis. It’s evidence of where Bishop held me against the hard edge of the wooden table as he took me without mercy, completely undoing me, destroying every defense I had. When I press my fingers to the bruises, their sharp tenderness reminds me that what took place earlier was, indeed, very real.

  The scent of the food reaches my nose, making my stomach rumble. I don’t know how long I slept—with no windows or clocks in the room, it’s impossible to know, but the hunger surging through me says that I must have slept like a rock.

  My bladder is demanding relief, so I use the bathroom first thing and take another few minutes to brush my teeth and run a wide comb through my hair. Then I dress quickly, randomly picking out a lavender bra and panties set from the dresser then grabbing the matching robe from the closet.

  As soon as I have the sash tied around me, I grab the tray and head over to the vanity, my hands nearly shaking with hunger. It’s a simple sandwich—deli turkey on toasted wheat bread—with a small bowl of sliced fruit and a bottle of sweet tea to accompany it, but my mouth is watering.

  I inhale it, then dive into the fruit. There’s no fork on the tray, so I use my fingers, licking them as I chew each bite of the sweet cantaloupe and honeydew.

  It’s not until I’m slurping down the last swallow of tea that I notice it—the delicate chain hanging from the top of the vanity mirror.

  I jump up so fast to reach for it that I catch the edge of the empty tray and nearly flip it off the vanity, but I don’t care. My heart is pounding as my fingers close around the pendant.

  He gave it back. Bishop said it would be returned to me, but there was a part of me that believed I might never see it again.

  I carefully lift the necklace off the decorative spindle and open the clasp with trembling fingers. My hands are shaking hard enough that it takes me three tries before I’m able to hook it together behind my neck.

  Tears spring to my eyes as I stare at my reflection in the mirror—relief, grief, and gratitude twisting together in a complicated knot that makes my throat burn. I squeeze the small pendant tightly, the edges biting into my palm. My eyes close as a feeling of security wraps around me like a well-loved blanket.

  A knock at the door cuts through my sentimental reverie, making a nervous flutter grip my stomach. “Yes?” I call out, tensing as the door opens.

  Bishop’s standing in the doorway, dressed in a pair of black jeans topped with a thin, tan sweater and a dark tweed blazer.

  I stand, my hand still pressed against the pendant where it hangs below the hollow of my throat. His keen observation takes in everything at once—the unmade bed, the empty food tray, the closet door I left slightly ajar, and me.

  His eyes slide over me, noting my neatly tied robe and unbrushed hair as though he’s cataloging every inch of me, then they come to rest on the necklace around my neck. His gaze flicks up, meeting mine, and I swear, for a moment, there’s the smallest glimmer of a smile on his lips, but it’s gone so fast I might have imagined it.

  “I take it you rested well?”

  I nod. “Yes, Alpha. And the food was delicious,” I volunteer.

  It’s not a lie—as simple as the meal was, I could tell it was made fresh with quality ingredients, and it was actually quite good. And very satisfying to my empty stomach.

  Bishop extends one hand. “Come, Fawn. Your presence is wanted.”

  Curiosity fills me, but he says nothing more, and I quickly run my fingers through my messy bed-head, trying to tame my wild hair a little as I make my way toward him.

  I join him at the door, slipping my hand into his obediently. There are no other wardrobe options to choose from, but still I ask. “Should I get dressed in something else, sir?”

  “No.” He leads me from the room, shutting the door behind us, and we make our way down the hall to the set of steps at the far end.

  I vaguely recognize the route we’re taking, and my guess is confirmed when he opens the door to Draven’s office, the very one where I signed away my fate to these men. Draven’s sitting behind the desk, but he’s not alone. The broad-chested, tattooed man I recognize from yesterday—Kade—is standing by his side and two others I don’t recognize are seated in front of them.

  They all look at me as we enter, and a tendril of concern wraps around me—had Draven lied to me? Am I to belong to more than the three men he’d sworn?

  I meet Draven’s gaze from across the room and his eyes are dark, glinting with a dangerous hunger as he watches Bishop bring me towards him.

  As we approach, Kade opens a small cabinet at the base of the bookshelves and retrieves a square, black pillow. He places the cushion next to Draven’s chair behind the desk, the same desk Draven pinned me down on when he delivered his delicious, torturous spanking before tearing ecstatic bliss from me right there in front of Bryan. A blush of heat crawls up my neck—equal amounts of embarrassment and pleasure flooding my body at the memory.

  My cheeks flush deeper as the two strangers stare at me, and I curl against Bishop, trying to hide from their gaze. The idea of their hands on me curdles my stomach. I don’t want them to see me—I am not theirs. At least, I hope not.

  It seems Draven agrees. “Kneel,” he commands, flicking a finger at the pillow.

  I walk around the desk to his side and drop to my knees on the cushion, thankful that the desk blocks me from the other men’s view. But not Draven’s, or Kade’s. I can even feel Bishop’s eyes still on me from where he stands behind me, near the bookshelves lining the wall.

  Glancing over my shoulder, I meet Bishop’s eyes and he nods almost imperceptibly, and his expression is subtle, but it echoes what he said to me earlier—you’re okay.

  Then his eyes grow cold and his face becomes a guarded, unreadable mask once more as he looks to the other men in the room. “Nio. Xander. You’ve issued your reports?”

  The two men don’t answer, Draven speaking instead. “They have, and it’s as you’ve suspected.”

  His dark gaze lowers from Bishop to me, and the look there exc
ites me. I’m far too aware that I must reek of sex and look a mess, but his penetrating stare doesn’t allow me any shame. He drinks me in, leaving a smoldering trail across my skin.

  He looks at me as if I’m valuable, but not in the same way Bryan did. To Bryan, I was an object to be bartered and used. Draven’s gaze is possessive and hungry, as though I’m worthy of being savored.

  When he reaches his hand out to cup my face, I lean into him, realizing I’ve missed his solid presence. His control of everything and everyone. I’ve fought against the world, always losing, and it’s exhausting. But this man, he seems to have the world by the throat, clutched tightly in his strong grasp. My instincts tell me that he doesn’t cater to the whims of others, that he doesn’t accept defeat or compromise—those in his path either bend to his will, or face the consequences.

  There’s a sense of comfort to kneel here at his feet, where his strength provides a safety I’ve never known. If I follow his rules, maybe I can enjoy a stolen time of respite from the relentless demands of society before I leave this building, and once again face the harsh realities of the life I’ve been dealt.

  “Kade is to fight in a Tribunal match, as he wishes,” Draven speaks to the men in the room, but he’s watching me, his thumb rubbing against my cheek.

  Boldly, I turn my head enough to press my lips to his hand, leaving a soft kiss on his skin. He responds by gripping my face harder, pushing his thumb into my mouth.

  “Who would he like to be matched with?” That must be either Nio or Xander asking, but they don’t matter.

  All that matters right now is doing whatever I can to keep Draven looking at me like that, like he wants to eat me for dinner the moment this business is finished. My stomach clenches with nervousness at the unknown, at what lies before me tonight, and tomorrow, and the next, but right now I can’t get enough of the way he’s fixated on me.

  Dancing has made me nearly immune to the leering, lustful looks men give me, but something about Draven’s penetrating stare is different. I knew it the moment he walked into the club. I coveted his gaze then, just as I do now.

  “Terrion is eligible to compete in the Champion matches,” Bishop says. “But that would be too direct of an approach.”

  “Yes, that would be inadvisable,” Draven concurs.

  “Besides, apparently he prefers slinking around in the shadows rather than facing the Barons head-to-head,” Kade adds, his voice bristling with irritation.

  Draven’s thumb is rough against my tongue. I revel in the taste of him, licking it eagerly, wishing it was his manhood instead. I want him the same way I’d had Bishop earlier—the taste of these men is intoxicating and already more addicting than any drug I’ve tried.

  “As satisfying as it would be to fight a Latian,” Kade begins, “I think my match should be against an allied alpha—make it a show of strength between our packs.”

  “I agree,” Draven says with finality. “Nio—set something up, perhaps with the Russian Zvers.”

  “I’ll reach out to them right away, sir.”

  He pulls his hand away from my face, and I nearly fall forward, his retreat was so unexpected. But if he notices my clumsy recovery, he doesn’t give any indication. He’s busy looking at something on his desk.

  His lips press together and the muscles in his cheek twitch as though he’s making a decision, then he pulls open a drawer. White fear makes my heart stop when I see the gun in the drawer, but he ignores it in favor of a thick leather pouch.

  “Here are the Barons’ bets,” Draven says, tossing the pouch on the desk. “Put half on Kade, and then the rest on whichever fights look the most promising. You’ll get the standard fifteen percent of any winnings.”

  “Yes, sir.” The unfamiliar male voice is tinged with a humble reverence. Must be Xander.

  It seems as if Draven’s words were both instructions and a dismissal because a hand reaches out to retrieve the pouch of money, followed by the sound of retreating footsteps and the door opening and shutting seconds later. Draven doesn’t look up as the men make their exit. He’s studying something on his desk, his brow furrowed. That deep concentration in his expression makes me want to climb into his lap, to soothe those thoughts away with kisses.

  Without glancing up, he says, “Bishop, see that Jemma has an appropriate wardrobe for the Tribunal.”

  That makes me blink with surprise, wondering what this event is and why I’m going. It never occurred to me that I’d be accompanying them anywhere in my time here.

  “And retrieve the pelt,” Draven adds. “He may not want to face Kade in the arena, but Terrion needs to remember who he’s fucking with.”

  Bishop must have given him a silent gesture of acknowledgement because I don’t hear his answer, only the door opening and closing again.

  “That’s going to highly piss them off.” Kade’s tone is questioning, and I almost worry for him—Draven does not seem like a man who appreciates being second-guessed.

  “As it’s intended to,” Draven replies. “You know that our business must continue unimpeded, and we cannot tolerate any further interference from the Latians.”

  “Of course. They’re pushing this shit too far, and need a reminder of who what happens to those who cross us,” Kade says, an edge of aggression in his voice. After a pause of silence, he asks, “But what if they try to make a play for her? You know, if they figure out the connection…”

  He trails off as though he doesn’t want to say too much, but his words make me glance up in surprise. Is he talking about me? What connection?

  Draven’s gaze slides down to me as he considers Kade’s question, confirming that I’m the current topic. I know my concern must be evident in my expression, and he places a hand on my head, smoothing his palm over my hair as his eyes move back to Kade.

  “As long as she is with us, they won’t fuck with her,” he says, his tone grave. “And when you aren’t fighting, you’ll be at her side. Her attendance is your idea after all—her protection is in your hands.”

  I want to ask where they’re taking me, and what Kade is talking about—who might try to make a play for me? Why would I need protection?

  Draven’s hand pulls away from my head just as a light touch presses on my shoulder and Kade squats down beside me, balancing on the balls of his feet. His brown hair is swept back out of his face, pulled into a small knot at the back, exposing the shaved sides of his head, and his eyes are deep emerald pools. He’s breathtaking from across the room, but up close his intense, rugged features are only more captivating.

  Even like this, with his body compressed into a crouch, his physical presence is imposing and I have to look up to meet his gaze. I’m trapped between him and the desk, but despite the severe expression on his face, I don’t feel afraid.

  “Remember, you’re ours,” he tells me, his hand sliding across my shoulder. His big palm wraps around the back of my neck easily, gripping me firmly. “If someone lays a hand on you, I’ll put a bullet between their eyes.”

  His promise is ominous, and it shouldn’t bring me a sense of joy, but it does. Bryan didn’t care who touched me, so long as I was paid for it. These men... It’s clear that what’s theirs isn’t to be fucked with. And that now includes me. They’re a shield from the world.

  I’m unsure if I’m allowed to speak, so I swallow the thick lump in my throat and nod.

  That must be enough for Kade because he rises to his feet and turns to Draven. “I’ve got other shit to take care of before tonight. Call if you need anything.”

  “Of course.” Draven’s tone is distant, as if his attention is already elsewhere. A few seconds later, I’m alone with him.

  He doesn’t do anything, at least not to me. I can hear the scratch of his pen, the muted tapping sounds of a keyboard, the occasional rustle of papers. Every now and then he scoffs softly or huffs in annoyance as he works. It’s as if he’s completely forgotten me.

  I keep my spine straight as long as I can, quietly kneeli
ng in attention at his feet, but eventually my shoulders sag and I lean against the desk, the ache of the stiff pose finally getting the best of me.

  My feet are tingling, and I shift, hoping to prevent the pins and needles that I know will set in soon. I try to keep my eyes from sliding shut by focusing on the black suit pants he’s wearing. The fabric looks soft, rich, and expensive. I want to feel it under my hands, to smooth my fingers across it and feel the hardness of his muscles beneath the luxurious texture.

  I wish I could draw him right now, to show him how I see him. If I had charcoal, that’s what I’d use. He’s controlled, but there is a brutality under his sure movements that only the harsh strokes of charcoal can capture.

  Ink is too fluid, too exact for Draven. But it’s perfect to capture the precise, calculating gaze of Bishop’s expression, the lines of his jaw, the shape of his wrist, the strength in his fingers.

  Paint... Kade requires paint. I decide. He’s too mercurial for stark mediums. If I ever put Kade on paper, it will be with splashes of colors which blend together chaotically and wildly, capturing both the man who pulled me from my panic attack and the man who promises death to any who dare touch me.

  Sweet, careful pain tugs me back to reality. Draven’s fingers are in my hair, anchoring me, compelling me to sit upright once more.

  “Bishop fucked you,” he says, but he’s still not looking at me. His grip doesn’t relent. “I can smell him on you.”

  I wet my lips, worried that I should have prevented what happened between us, although I can’t imagine how. In that moment, the need for Bishop’s harsh touch called out from my very soul.

  “Should I have said no, Alpha?”

  He finally glances down at me, a dark glint in his eyes as he studies me. He releases my hair, his hand moving down my face, his fingers pressing into the soft flesh of my cheeks as though he longs to punish me. His grip slides under my chin and he brushes his thumb across my lips. I part them willingly for him and he pushes inside, his jaw tightening as I run my tongue under his thumb then close my mouth around him and suck.