đź’ Ilya
I'd watched him, watched her. I couldn't blame him—his fiancée and his former beta's dance had been a spectacle to behold. Right down to what they were dressed in.
Selene in black and Veronique in that pale blue that sent a message everyone had caught on to. It was a challenge to Selene's place, it was Veronique staking a claim without any fear of scandal.
And our race thrived on dauntlessness.
The dance had been the second challenge and it had taken all Vladimir had in him not to let the dance floor ice over.
Jaws tight, eyes set on Selene's every move like a heat-seeking missile. Every time she stumbled, he didn't grimace like a man embarrassed by his date—he flinched.
Every. Single. Time.
Watching the High Alpha of The Thirteen react so outwardly without care of those watching was surreal.
My chest constricted watching Selene struggle against Veronique's vicious steps.
But I doubted it compared to what the High Alpha was being forced to endure.
