Page 105

Emely paused and looked behind me, a restrained smile on her lips. A forced one.

I didn't have to turn around to know who was standing behind me. But I did it anyway.

He was still inspecting me with that hostile glare, but he walked past me, only to put his arm around Emely's shoulder, pulling her toward him.

Emely tensed up, barely visibly, which doubled my inner tension.

Couldn't he at least keep his dirty fingers off her? They weren't engaged yet.

Mistrustful, I eyed the white shirt and dark-blue designer pants he wore. Of course, his watch reeked of money, too.

Always these show-off oligarchs.

“Mikhail Rolanow,” he announced in a deep voice. “Son of the Russian Alpha and, hopefully, the future husband of this breathtaking beauty.”

He looked at Emely and smiled before extending his hand to me.

Emely smiled back, but not like she smiled when she, Nash, and I were out in the woods or training together. It seemed mechanical.

God, Emely, what are you doing to yourself?

I stared at the hand in front of me. Everything in me urged me to take it, but my gut feeling won out, and I shoved my hands into my jeans pockets.

“Wheeler,” I muttered, looking up. “Son of a bastard and a whore.” I ignored Emely’s widening eyes. “Best friend of this irresistibly attractive woman.”

I smiled at Emely, who obviously wanted the ground to swallow her up.

Mikhail lowered his hand and looked at me as if I had just slapped him. And damn, I liked that puzzled look, especially when it belonged to the Russian Alpha son.

He could fuck off back to Russia, along with the rest of his pack.

He stared for another three amusing seconds.

“Kieran!” Emely broke the tense silence. “Oh God, Mikhail.” She looked apologetically at the jerk next to her. “This is Kieran. We grew up together.” She pointed at me. “And he's an asshole, but he doesn't mean it.”

And how I meant it.

The guy made me want to check if the concentrated power of my fists had rusted over the last few months and if Russian Senseque were really raised with iron brutality.

“I see,” Mikhail stated tonelessly, forcing a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “And I thought he was a potential competitor in the games.”

Oh, did he think he was off the hook?

I clenched my jaw, stepped closer, and lowered my voice.

“Do you like games, Mikhail?” I scrutinized every inch of his expression. “I, for my part, love games.” Now his jaw began to move. “And I love to win.”

“Kieran,” Emely warned me, more tensely this time.

But I wanted him to understand that I wasn't going to let him just take this girl, who was like a sister to me, away. Not even through a ridiculous wedding.

What the fuck was she to him? A mannequin?

“So don't do anything that might give me any stupid ideas,” I warned him.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the Russian clench his hands into fists.

“Mikhail,” Emely hissed, as if she was about to lose her mind, before she looked at me because I was doing the same thing. “Stop it!” she hissed again, freeing herself from Mikhail's embrace to step between us. “People are already watching us.”