Page 33 of Claimed By the Werewolf Boss
“With my life.” I smile.
He leans into me, and I meet him halfway. Our lips brush together chastely, and I only draw away because I know there are eyes on us. Junelle winks at me when I look her way, and my cheeks heat. Andrea looks fucking smug before he raises his glass in the air.
“To family, and to love,” he shouts.
The table eruptswith cheers. We down our drinks and that’s that. Our holiday is nearly over, the wedding is tomorrow, and it seems I’m going home with more than just some souvenirs on Sunday. This short time away has been more fulfilling than I could have imagined.
“Grab some of your things and stay in my suite tonight,” Valentino says. “I’ve got a surprise for you.”
“Is the surprise more breaking and entering?”
“No.” He kisses my forehead. “I’ll be waiting.”
Despite that promise, I lock my door anyway. I’m not risking him barging in on me using the bathroom. That’s a bridge we can cross later. I strip and put on my pyjamas. Unlike the other night, there is a level of security and confidence I feel wearing them now. If anything, when I look in the mirror to remove my makeup and say my words of affirmation, I believe them with my whole chest.
“You look really good.” I smile at my reflection, a wine and excitement-fuelled flush on my cheeks. “You deserve to take up space.”
I stuff my earbuds into my pocket, and my toothbrush and a few other toiletries into my makeup bag. Time to get my back blown out for the second time today and see what sort of surprise Valentino claims to have for me. We’ve barely spent any time apart, so Idoubt it’s a gift. But maybe he’s going to spill what he’s been holding back from me.
If he tells me he runs a criminal organisation, I’m absolutely going to barge into Junelle’s room and cry at her for not telling me.
I flick off my bathroom lights, horny imaginings twirling around my thoughts. There’s a shift in the sudden darkness. My heart jumps into my throat and my skin prickles. It’s probably my imagination, a little too much sun mixing with the prosecco at dinner. I turn the light back on and there’s nothing.
“If you’re a murderer, you have to tell me,” I joke to myself in hopes it clears up the uneasiness in my stomach.
Obviously nobody responds, and I turn the light off again. The room is bathed in darkness with a faint glow from outside. My eyes adjust as I slide on my sandals to make the walk across the villa.
Then something moves out of the corner of my eye. A flicker of red light, maybe the AC unit is switching functions. That’s the logical explanation that my brain is trying to feed my overactive nervous system. Like a chilly wind coming up from the harbour, a shiver tracks down my spine all the same.
But then I hear it. A pair of knuckles crack, or maybe it’s someone’s back because the sound gets louder and deeper until it’s a cacophony in the dark. Then there issilence again. It’s almost worse, my heart rate climbing as my throat tightens.
Clack.
I can’t breathe.
Clack.
I can’t move.
Clack.
The sound of thick, sharp claws dragging against the tiles makes my blood run cold. What the fuck is going on? What is in my room? I’m too scared to even lift my phone. My makeup bag is crushed to my chest with trembling fingers.
Heat radiates from the shadow towering over me as it wraps a claw-tipped hand around my throat. Glowing red eyes look at me with such disdain, such hatred, I didn’t even know was possible for a monster.
We stare at each other for a moment before his grip tightens. Was he hoping I’d scream? I can’t move, I can barely fucking comprehend what’s before me. My cheeks bulge as I try to draw in a breath.
It’s only when he lifts me off the ground that my body does anything. I drop my phone and bag, grabbing his wrists for leverage to keep him from crushing my windpipe. His fur is thick and coarse, my useless nails unable to do any damage. Everything starts to burn as my vision blurs and my legs shake.
“I’m worse.”
Just as I think I might pass out, he turns and raises me higher until I’m dangling over his massive form. His outline becomes more obvious. Like ’out of some B movie, a white werewolf materialises under the moon before I black out.
I wake with a fright, coughing and sputtering. Visions of a white wolf cloud my thoughts for a moment, but then I hear regular human voices. Nothing supernatural is happening here. My brain was just working too hard earlier.
“She’s awake,” one man says.
“Leave her in the cage for a bit longer, disgusting slut.”
