Word Count: 2235

~Lavelle

The room is a little blurry around the edges as I lead Mel to the corner.

"I need a breath," I tell her, resting one hand on my stomach, the other clutching hers.

With a little alcohol in my system, and few dances with my friend, I'm starting to feel good. Doubts about tomorrow, about my impending wedding seem far away. There's only this room, and the strange collection of people in it.

People who I can't help but feel like keep looking in our direction, like they are waiting for something. I'm sure they are curious about Avi's soon to be wife, but it unnerves me being so closely watched.

"I told you this would be fun." Mel bumps into me, assessing the room with glittering eyes.

"You're right as always."

She draws her lip into her mouth, glancing at me. Suddenly she seems sober, like she just sweat out most of the alcohol. I don't like it, because suddenly, she's serious.

"You know I'm happy for you, right?" She murmurs. "You deserve to marry an Alpha."

I smile gently. "That is kind of you, Mel."

"You're happy as well?" She angles her head, brows pressing together.

It's a question that holds a lot of weight to it. Am I happy? I suppose right now I'm stressed, but that inner turmoil is fuelled by my own lack of self-worth that leaves me wondering if I'm good enough for an Alpha.

What matters is that I will be happy. Soon.

"Of course," I say instead of what is echoing in my mind. Mel hearing my thoughts will only worry her.

She presses a tendril of hair off my face. "Good, because I don't want you to have doubts. This is the male you're going to be with for the rest of your life."

"You sound like you don't believe I want this."

She chews on her lower lip thoughtfully, taking longer than I would like to reply.

"I know you do, but...you never talk about him. I just worry—"

She cuts herself, noticing someone approaching through a throng of dancing people. One sideways glance tells me it's Zyre. Instinctually, I press harder into the wall, knowing that now, being that I'm tipsy, isn't the best time to talk to him.

Mel turns and paints on her warmest smile as he comes to stand before us.

"You came," he observes quietly, his voice almost lost in the swell of music. He looks over me, as if he hasn't been doing enough of that over the past hour.

I nod, smiling tightly. "Oh, yeah. It's fun."

My teeth chew at the inside of my cheek as I try to ignore his strong, masculine scent, wanting to focus instead on Mel's bright floral one. Unfortunately, my body seem inexplicably attuned to him.

"Shouldn't you be getting your beauty sleep?" He angles his head, a taunt buried in the depths of his words.

My eyes narrow. "Implying something?"

Mel clears her throat, patting my shoulder. "I'm going to go get another drink."

I go to protest, but she slips away unnaturally fast. Does she sense there is something going on between Zyre and I, or does he unnerve her as much as he does me?

He takes her place standing against the wall, surveying his pack members and inner circle.

"I would never imply a thing," he murmurs. "You look radiant this evening."

He flicks me a look, then it's gone again.

I quickly fold my arms over my chest, hyper-aware once again that I'm wearing only a flimsy nightgown that barely brushes against my knees. I'm sure in the right lighting, it's sheer as well.

"A compliment, how nice," I drawl sardonically.

His lips quirk up. "Can I not pay my friend a compliment?"

I frown. This male is confusing on a good day, but now, past midnight in room full of strangers and intoxication, he's utterly confounding. I'm convinced it's part of his grand plan he hides behind a veil of indulgent smiles and dark, forbidden looks.

That who Zyre is. He is not someone to be grasped, to be understood. He is what he wants me to see, and that digs under my skin like nothing else.

"Is that what we are? Friends?" I purr the last word, fuelled by a little too much wine and confidence.

He turns, resting his shoulder on the wall. The full weight of his attention bears down on me, and suddenly, there is no one else in the room besides us.

"I like to think we have an understanding, you and me," he murmurs, bowing his head a little closer to mine.

I arch a brow sceptically. "What is that understanding, Zyre?"

"We both have our secrets, our motivations." His hand drifts out, fingers hooking beneath the right strap of my nightdress. "We both have so much at stake."

My breath hitches at the warmth of his touch against my skin, at the way he pulls the thin silk strap through the pads of his fingertips. I should pull away, but I don't have it in me.

"What are you trying to say, Zyre?" I whisper. His words practically bow beneath the weight of what he is omitting.

A flicker of something foreign passes over his perfect features. Regret, sadness, maybe desperation?

"Will you ever forgive me, Lavelle?" His voice is so soft I have to shift closer to hear him. It doesn't even sound like he is speaking to me, his eyes glazed, distant.

"Forgive you for what?"

He presses so close there is barely space between us. His fingers have shifted from the strap of my dress to splay against the side of my neck, his palm warm against my thudding pulse. He looks down at me like nothing exists around us, like I am all that tethers him to reality.

"I am in an impossible situation, Lavelle. There is so much I cannot tell you yet it pains me not to." His words meld with his breath, which brushes against mouth as he leans close enough for me to see every subtle detail of his face, his eyes. In them, a ring of black surrounds the richer warmth of his irises.

"Tell me," I insist quietly. I don't know what else to do but watch him, waiting with bated breath.

His hand slides up to my face, his grip firm. Suddenly my back is flat against the wall and he is crowded in front of me, blocking the light, yet I see him clearer than I ever have before.

There is a Zyre behind the façade. One desperate and confused, and through it all, focused wholly on me.

His gaze glides down to my mouth, his thumb brushing against my lower lip. "It wasn't supposed to be like this."

I'm convinced he's going to kiss me, but his mouth lowers not to mine, but to my cheek, and then my jaw. I gasp at the pressure of his kisses, the way his teeth graze my skin as his attentions travel lower, to my neck.

I should stop him. I know I should, but I can't...I just can't.

My core aches, a chill scattering over my skin as his lips brush against my pulse, then to my throat. My head knocks back against the wall, my mind dizzy as my eyes fall closed.

I've wanted to know what his touch feels like for longer than I can admit. My fists grip the fabric of his shirt, holding him close enough in the hopes that he won't move away.

"Zyre," I breathe, hopelessly lost in desire and unanswered lust.

He raises his head, and the moment our gazes clash, I lean forward to claim his mouth.

I'm mere inches away when he pulls back, evading me. I pout, reaching for him again, but he takes a healthy step back, his earlier gloom and confused desperation having vanished, replaced instead by seductive confidence.

"Dance with me," he offers.

I blink, still reeling from the jarring shift in momentum. The room materialises back around me, yet I don't see anyone watching me anymore. Somehow, they all look away, enraptured by intoxication or their dancing partners.

Unable to speak, I take his hand, letting him sweep me close again.

With his arm locked around me again, I feel my unease lifting. "What just happened?"

"I almost kissed you, but I showed great restraint." He smirks, although it's weak and ineffectual. He's worried, and clearly more sober than I am.

"What would be you not showing great restraint?" I ask.

His eyes darken, his fingers pressing deeper into my skin through the silk of my dress. I imagine him pulling it up, over my head in the privacy of a dim room. I imagine him stepping back to take my naked form in, his appreciative stare lingering on the most forbidden parts of me.

"Best I not say," he murmurs darkly, pulling me so close there isn't an inch of space between us.

I remember him saying exactly that the moment he woke in my bed the other morning. He had a dream that he refused to detail — was I plaguing his mind then? What has his imagination conjured that he doesn't want to make me privy to?

My hands rest on the solid planes of his shoulders. "Why did you throw this party tonight?"

"Why did you come to this party?"

I exhale impatiently through my nose, flexing my fingers into his muscle. "To spend time with my friend before I'm married."

He angles his head, unconvinced. "Yeah?"

I scowl at him. "Would you like me to tell you I came here for you? I didn't. I've been told to avoid you, and Avi was right."

A dark smile tangles with his words. "Avi said that?"

I press on his chest, as if to push him away, but he isn't going anywhere.

"Stop making fun of me. I'm marrying him tomorrow, and that is that. You can be amused by his warning, but he knows just as well as I do that you're trouble, that you have a terrible secret that you're keeping."

He mouth is suddenly at my ear. "You might be marrying him, but it's me you almost kissed. And if I'm so much trouble, why are you here? Why dance with me, why let me touch you like this."

To prove his point, one hand drifts up my back, to cradle the back of my neck. I shiver at the sensation, at his breath against the shell of my ear, at the hard press of his body against mine. He's irresistible in the worst way, and he knows it.

I move to pull away. "I've had enough."

He doesn't let me go, keeping me close. "No, no. Stay with me, be selfish for one night, before it's too late."

I tilt my chin up, wanting to see him, see that face. He is dangerous in ways Avi knows and I haven't figured out yet. He's dangerous, not because of why he is here, but because I'm attracted to him in a different way to Avi. Avi is safe, the right choice. Zyre is wrong for me, yet I want him to corrupt me in every beautiful way he can.

"Tell me a secret, and I'll stay," I offer. "You know so many of mine, what is one you can offer me?"

We sway gently to the music, which I can barely hear over my hyper-intense focus on the male before me.

His eyes graze over my face, my eyes and mouth. He takes his time, committing me to memory.

"The truest thing I can admit to you tonight, Lavelle, is that I am not capable of showing as much restraint as I thought," he murmurs smoothly.

I frown. "That's not—"

He lowers his head, mouth cutting off my words as it meets mine in a sudden kiss.

I startle, both at shock from his brazenness, but at how good it feels to finally get what I didn't realise I was waiting for. Kissing Zyre feels incredible.

I pull away before he can deepen the kiss, my shaky hand hovering over my mouth.

"This is wrong...people, they'll say—"

He shakes his head. "Everyone here is loyal to me."

I'm still clinging to him, to his arms that are tense beneath my touch. "Zyre..."

I look around, so conflicted I could be sick. I'm doing something terrible, I know I am. But why must it feel the way it does? Why is Zyre so intoxicating, so irresistible?

He takes my hand suddenly, a grim determination settled onto his face. "Come on."

My feet stumble a little as he pulls me after him, heading for the exit. I follow blindly, out into the cool rush of air in the foyer. It melts some of the heat from my cheeks, startling me back into reality.

"Where are you taking me."

He glances back over his shoulder. "Your bedroom, Lavelle. We need privacy."

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