This wasn’t the climate for jokes like that.
“Such a wonderful sense of humour,” Mrs Stewart said, her smile impish rather than offended.
The two women fell into conversation as I flagged down a nearby waiter and ordered virgin drinks. Lielit was pregnant, but my vigilance tonight was non-negotiable.
I caught sight of Whitaker across the room. He flinched the moment our eyes met.
No one would dare interfere with me—or mine.
Fenrir hummed softly as we watched Lielit charm everyone within reach.
The night was far more successful than I’d expected. People were more afraid of me than they were willing to openly hate Lielit for being associated with me. I noted the ones who kept their distance. The three men never returned.
Lielit remained by my side, and her scent stayed uncontaminated by the crowd. It didn’t matter who they were—I didn’t want any man or woman touching her.
It wasn’t until we were preparing to leave that a woman tried to invade my personal space. To my surprise, Lielit caught the intrusion immediately.
“He’s a germaphobe,” she said coolly, looking the woman up and down.“It’s best you keep a two-foot distance.”
Fenrir chuffed.
I had to wonder whether that possessiveness came from Lielit, her hyena—or both.
In the end, it didn’t matter. The urge to claim her burned hot and immediate—to lift her dress, to show everyone exactly who she belonged to.
Chapter 44
Lielit
Girl, extract your claws from his arm. She’s gone, Bouda said as we watched the socialite retreat after Blaidd sneered at her.
When Blaidd’s fingers tightened on my hip, I realised how uncomfortable he’d been with the woman inching into his space. Apparently, he was a weirdo—but he was my weirdo.
Jodie Quinn was a social media princess, and the only reason she’d been invited was because of her industrial-tycoon father. She was probably used to people fawning over her.
I loosened my grip on Blaidd’s arm as he guided me outside. The fresh air was a relief—I hadn’t realised how sensitive my senses had become.
“Thank you for rescuing me,” he murmured as we approached the car.
When I glanced at him, he wasn’t mocking me. A small smile curved his lips instead.
“Maybe if you had a proper shave next time, you could avoid the attention,” I grumbled, gathering my dress before climbing into the car.
“Are you victim-shaming me, Ms Tolera?” he drawled as he slid in beside me with infuriating smoothness.
I couldn’t imagine him—or Fenrir—being a victim in any situation.
The car door closed, and we pulled away. Blaidd covered my hand with his, fingers curling beneath my palm.
“I didn’t wash my hands in the bathroom,” I said, trying to keep a straight face.
His hand froze for a moment before relaxing again.
“I can smell the bergamot hand soap.”
Damn. He had a good nose.
“Orange and bergamot,” I corrected.
