Mmmm.
I blinked.
No. Don’t even think about it.
The bundle of nerves between my thighs throbbed in time with my heartbeat.
Another step.
Another wave of scent.
My thighs were slippery now.
A mating scent.
Think. Analyze this.
The intensity of my response suggested one of two possibilities. Either my suppressants had catastrophically failed, or Rook was producing pheromones at levels far beyond normal Alpha range.
Good God.
Some Alphas were like apex predators. Their biology cranked up to eleven. The literature called themPrime Alphas.
Trembling, I got close to the end of the hallway.
And then I saw Rook’s cell on the right, and the space didn't look like a cell at all.
Violent, yet gorgeous canvases lined the walls. Splashes of crimson and blue. Faces twisted in ecstasy or agony.
On the other side, there was a bookshelf crammed with texts—Freud, Jung, and Nietzsche. And there, on the middle shelf, my own book with its spine cracked from use.The Broken Court: Inside the Mind of the Tricksterby Dr. Willow Lark.
He'd read it so many times the cover was dog-eared.
A chess set sat on a small table, mid-game.
And in the center of it all, with his back to me, was the Trickster himself.
He was painting.
I parted my lips.
The first thing I saw was his tattoo. It covered his entire muscular back—a massive skull rendered in vivid purple, the ink so detailed it seemed alive. It was caught mid-laugh, head thrown back, mouth stretched absurdly wide. And the eyes looked right at me.
Against all will, I licked my lips at the carved muscle beneath the ink, the definition of his shoulders and lats, the way his body tapered to a narrow waist.
More tattoos covered his arms—playing cards scattered across his skin. An ace of spades on one shoulder. A queen of hearts on the opposite arm. Suits and numbers winding down to his wrists like armor.
His hair was a riot of wild long curls.
A fresh wave of arousal crashed through me, so intense my vision blurred at the edges.
No. No, no, no.
My nipples were so hard they hurt.
The slick between my thighs had soaked through my underwear now—I could feel it on my inner thighs, cool against my flushed skin, a betrayal I couldn't hide.
My clit pulsed with every heartbeat, swollen and aching, desperate for pressure.
