The settings of the amethysts scratch at my neck, breaking skin, dragged down by the weight of the dress. I haven’t been able to eat in two days to make it fit, leaving me lightheaded and irritable—or perhaps it’s the company making me want to run from the ballroom and never look back.
Claire hangs on Aspen’s arm, smiling blithely.
As if Packs Wells and Cassidy aren’t listening, brokenhearted, to Headmaster Langford talk about change.
Pack Cassidy wear red bands around their biceps, as deep and vibrant as blood against their jet-black tuxedo jackets.
“As we celebrate the change this time of the year brings, we also celebrate the bittersweet passing of our senior class out of Fairhaven’s doors and into the world where I am certain they will all make their marks. In their time at Fairhaven, they have learned more than just magic. Now, wiser, more courageous and more compassionate, they begin their lives.”
Or had their lives stolen from them, I think.
“Many will continue into successful careers, helming family businesses, driving innovation at companies around the world, fighting injustice and helping those less fortunate in charitable and governmental roles. This year’s senior class is bright, and they are strong of character, two things that are more necessary in this age than ever before.
“Our world is in upheaval. We carry terror in our hearts, trepidation as we go about our lives. We mourn those we have lost and worry that we will lose those we love.”
I catch Cassian looking my way and quickly dip my head, pretending I don’t see him. Pretending I don’t see that he isn’t anywhere near Simon at all. Simon stands with Ellie and her mother, looking more dapper than I thought possible, in a navy tuxedo and a Fairhaven burgundy bowtie. His messy curls are gelled into a semblance of order, but I just want to run my hands through his hair and muss it up again. I look away before he can catch my perusal of him, beforeotherscan catch my perusal of him.
Cassian stands with his pack, his four alpha fathers and omega mother. She’s a slight, frail woman who leans heavily on her son to stay standing, but Cassian is shockingly sweet to her, murmuring little comments that make her hide giggles behind her hand. Though his tuxedo is black, he wears the same burgundy bow tie Simon does. It’s a small thing that perhaps only I notice, but I’ve never seen them even in the same room together before—and now I need to.
I need to see if Simon makes Cassian laugh like he does me, if Cassian is as tender with Simon as he once was with me when we were together.
They’re handsome apart and would no doubt be even more so together, but it’s Ian that catches my eye as he walks in late, trying to sneak in quietly. My mouth goes painfully dry, and I take a quick sip of my champagne, coughing when the bubbles burn at the back of my throat.
But saints above. Ian Reinhardt is a vision, a magazine cover model. He didn’t bother with gel and his hair is messy in the rakish way I’ve always appreciated. His tuxedo fits him like a glove, and all I want to do is unbutton the jacket, slide my hands up his abs, over his strong chest and shoulders. Saints, dressed like he is, that man looks like he’s made for sinning.
And I know the truth.
He definitely is.
But he won’t be sinning with me again, won’t touch me like he did while we were tangled together in my nest, like he couldn’t get enough of me, would never get enough of me.
Willow gives me a quick jab in the side and shoots me a reproachful glare and I quickly look back at the toes of my iris-purple heels. They’re beautiful, like the dress, and just as impractical. It takes every ounce of will I have not to teeter on the slender stilettos and I know I’ll ache when I finally kick them off at the end of the night.
My hair is sprayed and pinned to perfection, elegant and so unlike the wild plait I wore as Saint Rosamund. How different I feel tonight than I did then. Behind her mask, I felt strong and powerful. Brave. Like a fighter.
I feel anything but tonight.
I was forced to get ready with Willow and Claire, an omega stylist buzzing around us, annoying Willow to no end. She couldn’t stop going on about Claire’s beauty, but she pinched at the small swell of my tummy just below my belly button as she pulled my dress on over my head. I’m utterly bare beneath it but for silicone nipple covers—and I had to fight her for those.
“Just think of all those unmated alphas in the room,” I whined. “They can’t see me so immodest. It would be chaos.”
It worked. I got the small silicone circles and nothing else beside the gown and shoes. The gown clings to my backside in a way that verges on indecent, hugs my every curve in a way that makes me want to rip it off and dash it on the ground, stomp on it in my stilettos. I feel more naked in it than I would out of it, more bared to those around me.
More vulnerable.
Just how Rad wants me.
His stare, which always returns to me, is one of savage hunger, one of depravity, and on any other alpha, my father would protest it.
Instead, he leans in to whisper to me while the headmaster continues his speech. “I do hope you’ve been obliging to Andrew Radcliffe, Juniper. His pack has offered us an incredibly lucrative contract and I may need you to play nice with him. To grease a few wheels.”
“Yes, Father,” I murmur, not looking up into his pale blue eyes.
The collar digs when I dip my head, when I duck my eyes away from my betters.
Exactly as Rad intended.
Everything he contrived of was designed to make me suffer, and suffer I do. My only saving grace is that Rad is among the seniors who will graduate and leave Fairhaven in just over a month. That Rad will disappear to Cambridge, Massachusetts, where his father’s defense firm is located. That he won’t be able to torment me any longer.
