Though, the dogs outside are not like mine. I trained mine. I trained them to recognize how dangerous Sergey is.
“Can your contact in Ireland wait?” I ask, my voice dropping down to a whisper.
“Ney, I’ve already committed there. We lose too much money if we walk away, Aleksei. We lose too much face too. You, and only you, must be the one to kill Paddy O’Connor and his stupid witch wife.”
“Understood.” I grip the back of his head and drag his forehead to mine. “Don’t be rash. Take guards with you everywhere you go. You need to shit when you are out, take someone with you. And don’t be a fucking hero for the sake of any of your girls. Pretty pussy is plentiful around here; you’ve made sure of that.”
He laughs, taking my words and twisting them into something he can be proud of. “Aleksei, deal with that problem for me. Fuckingblyad.” He flicks his chin towards his future wife.
“I vow it, brother.”
And then he walks off, waiting until I hear him barking instructions at the guard. Relief floods my system before another wash of emotions takes hold—excitement, fear, apprehension, and more.
I take a steadying breath before I turn to face those blue eyes.
Letting him call her a whore, lying to her, even by omission, is going to be like drinking acid. But I’ll do whatever necessary to keep her safe.
Chapter Thirteen
QUINN
Ishould have used my phone to record, then translate their conversation, but my mind is a sieve to anything but him.
And then he turns around, and I know it’s the Alpha from the clinic. The one who bit me.
If proof of our bond was required, there’d be enough “bodily” evidence. His scent is pure energy and faith, rolled into something that makes me feel like I could slay dragons. His presence is like wearing a puffy jacket in an Antarctic blizzard. When he’s near, I don’t think I’d feel anything but warm and fuzzy. The list goes on and on—my heart skips beats, my skin pebbles, and my panties are saturated.
But none of that will change or influence what I need to do, which is anything and everything needed to finish what I started. If I have to add pretending this Alpha hasn’t claimed me to the list of things to do, then I’ll do it as effortlessly as I did every time I told Kade we were only fuck buddies. Nothing will stop mefrom marrying Sergey. Not Bambi or her panty-stealing fiend. Not even whoever this hot-as-Hades Alpha is.
Everything I do is to protect my sister and Marco, because I’ve failed once already. It’s not martyrdom. It’s duty and righteousness. For us, but also for all the other people I couldn’t help.
“Who are you?” I ask, keeping my eyes averted from where he stands, half naked, wrapped in only a towel.
Don’t look, don’t look.
I’m pretty sure I lost a lot of brain cells while he was dealing with the trash, because from the minute he strode out with water dripping down his chest, logic and sense flew out the window. Despite “my” Alpha being right up there in the top three nominations forQuinn’sUltimate Man Candy, I have to figure out a way to rebuild a giant-sized, acid-filled moat around myself.
Being bitchy is an effortless fallback and an easy second skin to wear.
“I am Sergey’s second-in-command.” His English should be hard and guttural, but it’s like balm, soothing parts of my mind I didn’t know were unsettled.
I bite my tongue, the pinch of pain helping me stay in character—bitch mode—instead of flinging myself at him.
“Where I come from, we’d never subject our guests to this. My father would have removed her for bringing shame to our family’s hospitality. And the guard would have been dealt with for not doing his job.” I glare at his shoulder. I can’t look at his face. Or his bare chest. Or his hair. Or his mouth… His shoulder is the least appealing part of him.
I have to shake my head to stop my thoughts from gathering momentum. It’s not enough; my mind is spinning like a tornado. I need fresh air. And distance. Perhaps a couple of thousand miles between us would stop my wanting.
Turning fast on my heel, I get a jolt of alarm that stops me on a dime as I come face-to-face with the biggest, hairiest dog I have ever seen in my life. It easily stands higher than my hip. But being fluffy and oversized doesn’t negate the sharp intellect staring back at me.
Guard dogs in our world are nothing new. I grew up around working dogs, so I know that being anything less than dominant or indifferent is a recipe for disaster.
“Nalla!” the Alpha says softly. There’s dominance in how he says her name but also a lot of endearment. Which is odd, given she’s a guard dog and not a pet.
His earthy, woody, sweet, and musky scent reaches me before he does. God, it’s incredible. And it’s hard to stay in character when every cell in my body sighs happily in his presence.
He speaks in low, hushed words, but whatever he has said is a command and not a conversation.
From out of his door comes an even bigger, scarier version of Nalla.
