by Dani René
Why did my father force Lycan’s hand?
Did he know what would happen to me?
By the time I reach the glass doors that have been opened, allowing the cool evening breeze to sweep through the dining room, I have more questions than ever before. But what I find waiting for me takes my breath away.
The pillars that form a picturesque frame to the garden have been strung with white fairy lights. The table set for two has four tealight candles dancing in the gentle breeze. And the two place settings are perfect, waiting for us to take our seats.
Lycan picks up a wine glass from the cotton tablecloth and hands it to me. The red liquid shimmers under the soft illumination. If I were ever to tell someone about my dream date, this would be it. It’s as if Lycan has burrowed himself in my mind and stolen every thought I’ve had about spending an evening with someone I care about and made it real.
“Welcome,” he says as I take the glass from him. With a sip of my drink, I allow the warmth of the fruity, yet spicy alcohol to soothe the bird’s wings that have taken flight in my stomach.
“This is beautiful,” I remark as I slip into the waiting chair Lycan’s pulled out for me. He helps me with the seat before taking his own. Lifting his glass, he holds it up over the dancing flames, and I mimic his action.
“To a new beginning,” he says before clinking his glass against mine. The crystal tinkling while his gemstone eyes twinkle with mischief.
“Is this your way of attempting to soften me to the idea of marrying you?” I challenge before taking another mouthful of wine, hoping it will keep me calm through the dinner. Before Lycan can answer, we’re joined by his staff, who bring out plates with steaming food, waiting to be devoured. I notice the girl from this morning isn’t one of our servers, and I want to ask about her, but I don’t.
It’s not my place. Not yet anyway. Once we’re alone, I take in the meal in front of me—a bed of lettuce with small, bright red tomatoes, cucumber, and herbs. There are roasted cubes of pumpkin and steamed potatoes surrounding a beautifully prepared piece of chicken. My stomach growls in response, and a chuckle has me lifting my gaze to find Lycan watching me intently.
“I hope you enjoy dinner,” he tells me. “I didn’t think to ask if you’re allergic to anything. Forgive me.” He tips his head to the side in apology, and I can’t help but take in the shadows that dance across his face from the flames.
“Oh, no, I’m not. I pretty much eat anything.” We settle in after that, eating in comfortable silence, and for the first time since I was brought here, I feel normal. Perhaps it’s a mistake to allow myself the liberty of not being scared or worried about what’s going to happen, but knowing we’re right next door to Gran’s house also sets me at ease.
“Your grandmother is looking forward to the gala,” Lycan says as we’re halfway through our meals. This causes me to snap my focus on him.
“You spoke to her?” Disbelief laces my tone because she hasn’t even bothered to talk to me or even ask after me. Surely, she’s concerned about me being here.
“I did. I gave her a call earlier to let her know you’re well.” I’m staring at Lycan, mouth gaped in shock at his cavalier attitude. “I’ve known her a long time,” he continues in between bites of his dinner. “She’s a formidable woman.”
“Why did you not allow me to speak to her?”
“You’ll see her soon enough,” he tells me before popping a forkful into his mouth. His jaw works as he chews, his shrewd gaze locked on me. Suddenly, my appetite has dissipated into a swirl of anger, not at Lycan this time, but at my grandmother.
Instead of finishing my half-eaten meal, I pick up my wine and gulp down what’s left before glancing at Lycan, who’s holding the bottle ready to fill up my glass. I allow him to before drinking down half of what he poured. Anger sluices through me at how my family can just allow me to be taken.
“I’m sorry,” Lycan says suddenly, causing me to focus on him instead of swirling the crimson liquid in my glass. “Sometimes family isn’t always what you expect them to be.”
“Like with your brother?” I throw out, remembering how he warned me against the man who chased me through the woods. The hunter who wanted to steal me. The thought has a cold shiver skittering down my spine.
“Yes.” It’s only one word, but it’s drenched in agony and rage. Lycan doesn’t look at me as he finishes his meal before lifting the white napkin to wipe his mouth. Once he’s done, he sits back, drink in hand, to stare out at the dark garden beyond our idyllic setting. “There were times when I was younger, after my father died, that I believed Darius would come home.”
“I’m sorry you had to lose two people you loved.” For a moment, he looks human. Almost. I guess grief makes people seem more real because it’s only then they allow you to see inside them. The pain takes hold, and the walls they build come crashing down, even if only for a short moment. And that’s what I glimpse in Lycan now. The heartbroken young man, not the wolf who could devour me whole.
“Love is merely an empty promise,” he murmurs before sipping his drink. The wine staining his lips blood-red. “It’s a word people throw around when there’s nothing more to say or when they feel as if they’re losing the game of life.”
“That’s not a way to look at it.”
This time, he pins me with those emerald orbs. “Isn’t it?” His dark brow arches, his jaw ticking as he regards me, and those beautiful eyes glimmer with a challenge.
“No. Because love makes you strong, it makes you fight for what’s right.” Even as I say it, I feel like a martyr because I’ve never been in love. I’ve only read about it in romance novels, which, to be fair, are all fiction. I don’t know the depth of passion in my own right, only what I’ve come to learn from the heroes within the pages of a book.
“You’re one of those girls who wants the knight in shining armor to save you,” Lycan remarks. “I’m not that. I never will be.” Darkness crosses over his face. His eyes hold danger, and even though I should be scared, I’m not.
“I don’t need a knight to save me,” I bite out, frustration at being called out, lancing my chest, causing my cheeks to heat, and I pray he can’t see my embarrassment stained on my face.
“Next time you’re in danger, and you’re thinking about what you can do to get out of it, I want you to recall this moment. Remember the words you uttered because I may not be a knight, but if anything happens to you, I’ll be there,” Lycan informs me. “And only when you finally admit you’re mine will I kill everyone in my path to keep you safe.” He tips his glass toward me in a cheer before he swallows back the last of his drink. His throat works as he swallows, and I can’t help but watch him with anger and desire fueling my blood.
I’m not sure how to respond to his promise. Instead of speaking, I nod and finish my drink. The staff appears again as if on cue, removing the plates and replacing them with small bowls of gelato and a bottle of bubbly, which Lycan proceeds in popping open.
He silently fills two flutes before setting the bottle in the ice bucket brought out with our dessert. Everything has been thought out tonight; he planned this, and even though I’m a whirlwind of emotion, I allow myself to enjoy the moment.
I pick up my spoon and scoop some of the cool ice cream into my mouth. Flavors of candy burst on my tongue—vanilla and strawberries—and a moan of pleasure vibrates in my throat. When my lashes flutter open once more, Lycan is beside me, on his knee, holding out a small, black velvet box. I don’t need to open it to know there’s a ring inside. And the way those green eyes are locked on me, holding out a hope of want and desire, I realize this isn’t just any dinner — this is a proposal.
“I didn’t think of doing this until this afternoon when I was sitting in my office alone,” he tells me. “I wasn’t going to because our marriage isn’t what you would call traditional.”
“No, it’s not at all.”
“But I would like you to wear this ring,” Lycan says, popping the lid
on the box. The silky pillow that holds a gold ring topped with a heart-shaped ruby sits waiting for me. It’s beautiful, simple, yet elegant in every way. It’s perfect.
“It’s like you’ve read my mind,” I blurt before thinking it through. My admission makes Lycan smile as he pulls out the ring, holding it out to me. I could refuse him right now, I could tell him to go to hell and try to run, but until I’ve spoken with my grandmother and my father, I don’t know what my future holds.
With a slow nod, I allow Lycan to slip the ring on my finger. It’s heavy, weighting my hand down as the sparkling jewel now confirms I’m going to be his. A week. That’s what I promised.
“If in a week you want to take it off, you’re welcome to. I always keep my word,” he tells me, once more making me think he can read my mind. If he can, he’ll know how at war I am with myself over this situation. Lycan picks up the champagne glasses, offering me one, which I accept. “Here’s to a future which neither of us expected.” He sips his drink as I do mine, and our gazes never falter. And for a moment, he allows me in to see the man inside. The one who lost a father, who has an estranged brother. A man who’s as unsure of his place with me as I am of my place with him.
In this moment, my heart stutters.
He seems human.
But as quickly as it flickers in his eyes, it’s gone in the next second. And I wonder if he’ll ever allow me in fully.
17
Lycan
I wanted nothing more than to spend the night with her. Seeing her wearing my ring, I was overcome with pride that I have her on my side. Perhaps not fully—yet. But soon, she’ll come to realize I’m not a man who takes no for an answer. And I will whittle away at her defenses until she submits.
As much as I would like to join her for breakfast, I need to talk to the team. Kahn called late last night, informing me that Darius is back. For some reason, he’s returned to Crimson Falls, but we can’t find the bastard.
Stalking into my office, which is filled with men all dressed in black, I glance around, taking in each one. They’re anxious, just like I am. The air in the room is twisted with the need for violence.
We should’ve been locked in a meeting all night, but even after Kahn’s call, I couldn’t bring myself to sit around talking about my brother. But we need to figure out the best way to lure Darius out.
The night I brought Scarlett here, I knew he would linger, and when the two security guards I keep onsite slinked into the night, through the forest and into the Bardot garden, they found the cottage beside the house empty. A note waited for me on the wooden table, one that caused my blood to heat.
He’d disappeared once again.
I can’t afford to waste time looking for him while I have a girl upstairs who could either stand by my side or end up running. The wedding needs to go ahead, but I also need her to be on my side when the gala happens in a few days. Even though she’s now wearing my ring, there is no guarantee she’ll trust me when I haven’t given her a reason to.
There’s so much more to the story than she can fathom.
But it’s not entirely my story to tell.
Kahn’s gaze locks on mine the moment I slide into my chair. “He’s close, and I have a feeling he’ll make an appearance at the gala. I can go hunt him down,” Kahn says, his stare on mine, waiting for the response he knows is coming. This is what he was trained to do. It’s something he loves. There’s no doubt in my mind, if I were to nod, he would be out there in an instant, his predatorial instincts kicking in, and his team right behind him.
My memory leaps back to Scarlett questioning me in her bedroom about the shot she heard the night he chased her through the forest. When I walked out into the garden that night, gun in hand, I didn’t expect Darius to be hanging around, but then I noticed him hidden amongst the trees, waiting. I took a chance. I pulled the fucking trigger but missed.
He isn’t back at the Bardot mansion. We now know that. What still doesn’t sit right with me is how Grace hired him in the first place. She must know he’s a Shaw. There is no denying he is my father’s son, and she had to realize who he was when he got the job on her property.
Which begs the question—what the fuck is Grace Bardot hiding?
Kahn’s watching me, waiting for a response to his comment. If my brother were to die today, I’m not sure I’ll feel the pain. Actually, I don’t feel anything, not anymore. Except desire for the girl upstairs.
My life has been a series of unemotional ties—one-night stands, contractual obligations—all offering nothing more than satisfaction for a moment. I never allowed myself to grow close to someone, to open what’s left of my heart, and to have someone burrow themselves into my soul.
Scarlett is merely a means to an end.
She’s part of the plan for revenge I will finally claim over her family. There wasn’t another way to do this, to make them pay. I push my chair away from the desk and stand. Buttoning my suit jacket, I round my desk after picking up the folder.
“I want to question my brother. A niggling in my gut tells me there’s more to this story than I know. He’s working with the mafia, but he’s also in Grace Bardot’s pocket.” I glance at each man in the room, all focused on me as I speak. “He’s hiding something, or she is. One way or another, I will find out what it is. “I want you to search every fucking corner of this town. Find him, but bring him back alive.” The order is clear, and Kahn offers a nod.
The sound of chairs scraping along the wooden floorboards fills the room as each man rises and takes his leave. I don’t think it will take long for them to do a sweep of Crimson Falls, and it won’t take them long to find him, wherever he’s hiding.
Once I’m alone, I head to the patio doors that overlook the garden. The spot where I breached the trees with Scarlett in my arms is right in front of me, and I wonder if she’ll ever come to terms with being my wife. Wearing my ring, she may have given me an inch into her thoughts, but there’s so much more to break through.
In a few weeks, she’ll take my name, and there’s nothing she can do about it. I may have given her an out after the week is up, and I’ll allow her to think she has a choice, but in actual effect, she’s in this to the end.
If she refuses, her father will go to jail, and something tells me it’s not what she’d want. Her life has been a series of events planned by her parents who wanted to rule her future. I’m not them. I may have failed to mention she’s also here to give me an heir, but if she truly wants her own company, I’ll give that to her. Call it repayment because this is a business transaction.
Nothing she’s done in her life has been of her own will, and now I’ll take the last remaining choice away from her by making her a Shaw.
I should feel bad.
But I don’t.
I turn and stalk out into the hallway. The sound of the front door opening alerts me to visitors. Gray steps aside for me to see the tall brunette who’s entering my home. The wedding dress designer, Opal, or something like that. Behind her are two younger girls pushing a brass railing with black clothing bags lined up for Scarlett to choose from.
When I selected the options from the website, I had her in mind. As I flicked through the choices, I couldn’t help but picture her wearing each one, and that had my dick hard. But what had me stroking myself was the thought of ripping the material from her body on our wedding night and claiming her.
“Mr. Shaw, I’m Opal,” the designer greets with a smile and an offered hand as I near them. “I trust you’re well.” Her dark eyes are filled with excitement, only because I told her money is no limit.
“I am. Thank you for making the trip on such short notice. My bride is rather stressed about the wedding, and I’d like to take as much off her plate as possible.” I gesture for her to follow me down to the dining room. With the curtains open, the sunshine streams through, offering a bright space to revel in the elegant gowns. I’ve ensured the staff have moved furniture around for this very reason. The room is larg
e enough for Scarlett to try on the dresses, and the full-length mirror I had brought in from one of the guest rooms is ready and waiting.
“Thank you,” Opal says. “I’ll get ready if you’d like to bring her down.”
Nodding, I make my way up to my fiancée’s bedroom, knowing that this will end up in a fight. Scarlett hasn’t warmed to the idea of marrying me yet, and even though I understand why she needs to submit, or I will be forced to make her bend to my will.
I push open the door to find her at the window seat. Her head snaps toward me, her eyes wide. I take in her outfit, the knee-length white socks hiding her beautiful calves, along with a pair of light blue sleep shorts which tease at a glimpse of her panties underneath.
Her top is floppy, hiding her tits from view, but I know what’s under the material. I’ve glimpsed her bikini photos on social media. When I was doing my research, I made sure to study each and every picture, so I’ll know my bride inside and out.
I raise a hand toward her. “Come.”
Her brows furrow in confusion before she asks, “Where?”
Running my fingers through my hair, I lift my gaze to hers and regard her for a long while. “You’re trying on wedding dresses.”
“No.”
“Scarlett, if you continue acting like this, I can just bind you to the wall and have them dress you while I watch.” The thought of her bound to a St. Andrew’s cross flits through my mind, and I have to stifle the groan of pleasure that rumbles in my chest.
“You’re insufferable.” Her huff is nothing more than a taunting grumble, but the sound of frustration that escapes her lips makes me want nothing more than to bend her over and spank the insolence from her.
“And you’re mine. Now come, I don’t have all day to stand here arguing with you.”
Scarlett rolls her chocolate-brown eyes in annoyance as she pushes off the window seat and pads barefoot toward me. She’s tiny without shoes on, and I can’t help but want to pick her up, haul her over my shoulder, and lock her in my bedroom. But that has to wait for our wedding night.