What if it's just something powerful alphas do in secret.
If it's in secret then he won’t do it on television, Florence.
Right.
His hand has shifted. He’s now cupping the side of my neck, his thumb stroking over the pulse point there, as though he’s trying to soothe me. His emerald eyes are sharp and piercing, like he’s trying to read into my soul. “Who hurt you, pix?”
Reaching up to curl my fingers around his wrist, I frown. “No one.” I’m certainly not going to get into the whole nasty business of what happened almost two years ago, not here. Probably not ever with this alpha who I already know won’t be mine. And definitely not in front of cameras while mic’d up and my trauma could end up on national television.
His brow wrinkles. “Liar.”
I blink, surprised he can read me that well. I glance away pointedly at all of the people around us, then back to the alpha still staring at me like I’m a beautiful, intriguing piece of art. One corner of his mouth tips up. “Not the time, I get it.”
My chin gives the barest nod, only halfway realizing it's all but an admission that someone did hurt me. His eyes darken dangerously, his alpha pushing forward. “Want me to kill them for you?”
“Courtland?” Cleo says his name, drawing our attention to our surroundings again. I blink around, realizing once again everyone is staring at me. At us. At the way Courtland is cupping my cheek and I’m holding his wrist. And I wonder if anyone heard what he just asked me. They must have, right? The mics clipped on our clothes would have picked it up.
Fuck.
I hate being here. Hate feeling this… vulnerable.
“Courtland,” Cleo says, sounding amused. “We need your next pick.”
Without taking those green eyes off of me, he lazily calls out, “Petal.”
Petal squeals, bouncing over on her toes. “You won’t regret it,” she chirps, throwing him a salute before sliding into place beside me, tossing an arm around my waist, uncaring that the two of us are still standing so close.
“Doubt I will, love,” Courtland murmurs, though his thumb gives one last soft sweep along my throat before he lets go.
My skin tingles where his fingers were. God, I hate that it feels good. I hate even more how quickly it flips into dread when the host holds up… the blindfolds.
Gold fabric to match the shirts we’ll put on, with green laurels emblazoned on the chest. Thick. Secure.
A symbol of trust.
Weird that they make us do this as the second challenge, before we’ve had the chance to actually get to know them, to trust them.
Court’s fingers curl around mine, at the same time Petal leans her head on my shoulder. “We’ve got this, Pix,” he murmurs to me. “I promise I won’t bark. But you’ll have to promise to listen to every one of my commands. No questions.”
It’s a bad deal to make.
“I’m not making that promise, pretty boy.”
The maze looks worse up close.
A lattice of thick ropes is staked into the sand, creating walls, dead ends, and snaking corridors. From the ground, it’s a tangle. From the center platform—where the alphas will stand—it’s a neat series of paths leading to them like spokes on a wheel.
The alphas really are the “prize” at the center of the maze.
Courtland stands on his assigned dais in the middle of our wedge of the maze, hands on his hips, wind ruffling the hem of his gold t-shirt. Black hair a mess around his chiseled cheekbones. He looks delighted. Exhilarated. Wild with competitive glee. The other alphas—Thayer, Grieves, and Forsythe—are all studying the maze, already finding the path to the center. Courtland appears to be… studying me? Us?
“Tell me if it’s too tight,” Lulu urges me as she ties the fabric at the back of my head.
“It’s fine,” I lie. God, everything about being on this show is a challenge. What had Jude said? Think of it as a vacation? Sure if blindfolds and corporate trust exercises are your idea of a vacation.
For the record, it's not mine. I’d be much happier if I could just lay out in a lounger by the pool and sip bubbly drinks the entire time.
Petal squeezes my hand. “We’re gonna crush this,” she whispers, sounding adorably determined.
