Page 53 of Pretty Little Assassin

“Mercy.”

I lift my head up and meet her eyes. We can barely see each other in the dark.

“You’ll never beg me for mercy.”

“I know.”

16

VALENTINA

The entire venue reeks of alphas. Each one has a distinct scent, but beneath it runs the same pheromonal note: power, hunger, and the relentless need to sit at the top of the food chain.

I keep my breaths shallow and my attention sharp. I’m here to study the room, not inhale it.

The place is no kinder to my eyes. Red roses, red tablecloths, red dresses. So much fucking red. Valentine’s Day has got to be my least favourite holiday.

At least I blend in perfectly.

Sexy red cocktail dress, check. Delicately pouting red lips shined to perfection, check. I match the scene so well that I could practically be an aesthetic mascot.

I’d likely rather die, but still.

Full disguise, synthetic heat, wide eyes with lowered lids, the little pout that makes me look much more delicate than I actually am. The whole performance. Little omega—helpless, beautiful, breakable if you hold her too hard.

And it works as soon as I step through the door.

One step inside. An alpha head turns.

Two steps. Half the ballroom.

Their mouths come open. That is exactly what the perfume is for.

“Champagne, little beauty?” an alpha asks as soon as I walk toward the gathered crowd.

“I’d prefer red wine.”

Actually, I fucking hate red wine. It coats the back of my throat like one of Mr. Pickle’s hairballs.

But the room is red. So I am red.

“Of course you would.” He smiles.

Before the alpha can even grab me a glass of Merlot, a different alpha is already handing it to me.

Good, more evidence that my tactics are working. Not that I ever doubted them for a second.

Until I met Viktor fucking Petrov.

But he’s clearly an aberration.

My eyes lock with Zero for an undetectable moment.

She looks good in red. Not exactly a colour I’ve seen her in before. Her wardrobe arsenal is always black. Every once in a while, she’ll sneak in a dark shade of charcoal, but red is on her personal naughty list.

The ballroom was decorated fast and expensively, which is a combination you can always see.

Twelve chandeliers, each dimmed to a quarter so nobody has to look at anybody too closely. A string quartet up on a riser playing something with no tune in it. Ninety tables, red roses on all of them, and every rose still in its plastic collar.