Chapter 139

Chris

“Chris, tonight was lovely,” Amelia sighed, gazing up at me with those big doe eyes of hers as we wandered back to the Packhouse. “Just you and me… a candlelit dinner, the finest cuisine.” A shiver rippled through her petite frame. “Really, Chris. Thank you for this.”

I forced a tight smile, shifting uncomfortably beside her. “I’m glad you enjoyed yourself, Amelia.”

Amelia’s smile widened, and inwardly, I just kept repeating the words Ava had told me earlier: Just humor Elise for now… Just humor her…

It was almost over, after all. I had made it through dinner, expertly evading Amelia’s attempts to flirt, and now I could say goodnight and go to the woman who I really loved…

“You know, Alpha,” Amelia purred after a moment, “I haven’t had a tour of the Packhouse yet. Could you show me around?”

I groaned inwardly, but managed a stiff smile. “Are you sure?” I asked, secretly hoping she would change her mind. “It’s quite late.”

She shrugged. “I’m just curious, that’s all. But if you don’t want to…”

Despite my better judgment, I couldn’t say no; not when I just needed to be polite for a little while longer. Ava would be disappointed if I wasn’t.

“Very well. Let’s head inside.”

With that, I opened the door for Amelia and gestured for her to enter. She stepped into the Packhouse, and over the next half hour, I gave her a tour—showing her each portrait on the walls, walking her around the esteemed garden, opening doors to rooms that were rarely used, just to make her happy.

“Oh!” Amelia stopped as we were touring the upper floor, her eyes flitting over to the intricately-carved door that led to my apartment. “And are these your private quarters?”

“Yes,” I began, scratching my head, “but Amelia, perhaps we should—”

Before I could finish protesting, Amelia was already pushing the door open and flitting inside. I cursed myself internally for not thinking to lock the door earlier before I followed her. By the time I found her in the kitchen, she was already rifling through the cabinets.

“Oh,” she breathed, turning this way and that with a look of wonder in her eyes. “This is such a lovely home. I love the woodwork.”

I managed a terse smile and leaned against the doorframe, shoving my hands in my pockets. “It’s a nice place, isn’t it?” I said, glancing around myself. “I mean, I’d much rather have a house, but…”

Amelia shot me a confused look. “But Alphas always live in the Packhouse,” she said slowly. “It’s tradition in every pack.”

“Yes, well…” I rubbed one hand across the back of my neck and shrugged. “I guess I’m just not as traditional as the rest. Amelia, perhaps it’s time to—”

“Ooh, Chardonnay!” Suddenly, Amelia was pulling a bottle of imported human wine out of my wine rack. I didn’t even have a chance to protest before she was grabbing a corkscrew from the drawer and popping the bottle open.

I restrained a groan. One glass of wine wouldn’t hurt, I supposed; and the bottle was already open, so it wouldn’t keep very well and I hated to waste it.

Amelia poured us two glasses of the white wine, sliding one toward me from across the kitchen counter island. I took it with a stiff smile, sipping slowly as I watched her rifle through her purse. A moment later, she produced two small wrapped mints.

“Want one?” she asked, popping one into her mouth.

I frowned, eyeing my drink and wondering how well candy would mix with wine—but ultimately, when she slid it across the counter to me, I shrugged and took it. “Thanks.” I unwrapped it and popped it into my mouth, savoring the flavor.

With a satisfied huff, Amelia flipped her hair over her shoulder and strode past me. She sipped her wine again as she eyed my living room, in particular taking in the portrait over the fireplace.

“Are those your parents?” she asked, pointing up at the man and woman in the painting.

I nodded wistfully as I followed her gaze. The portrait of my late parents had always been my favorite—my father looked particularly healthy with his hair coiffed and his mustache curled up at the ends, and my mother looked ethereal with her long, pin-straight blonde hair.

The artist had captured their essence perfectly; you could even see the tiny wisps of white hairs around my mother’s face, which I always remembered her ruffling with a huff of air whenever she got annoyed.

“Hmm.” Amelia cast me a sidelong glance. “You look more like your mother than your father.”

I snorted into my wine glass, breaking up the last pieces of the mint with my teeth. “I’ve heard that many times before.”

Grinning, Amelia strode over to the sofa and sat down. I followed, only because my feet suddenly felt incredibly sore.

“How’s the mint?” she asked, eyeing me.

“It’s good,” I replied. “Tastes like bintergreem.” My eyes suddenly widened at the sudden slip of the tongue. Shaking my suddenly heavy head, I corrected myself, “Wintergreen.”

Amelia pressed her lips together. “So it’s working, then.”

I furrowed my brow. “It’s… working…?” I muttered; even then, my words felt slow and clumsy, like my tongue was made out of bricks.

Sighing and checking her watch, she suddenly stood and set her wine glass on the coffee table. “This will only take a moment, Alpha,” she said, pressing her hands into my chest and pushing me back into the cushions.

Before I could stop her, she was straddling me on the sofa, my wine glass splashing onto the carpet. Her hands began wandering my chest, roaming down toward my belt, and I…

I was helpless. My body felt like it was made of rubber. When I tried to put my hands up to stop her, my arms were too heavy to even move. And my mouth felt utterly useless, my tongue tasting like ash. My wolf was just as exhausted as I was, his strength nowhere to be found.

“What… What are you…”

“Shh, “ Amelia cooed, unfastening my belt and reaching down into my pants. “It’ll only be a few minutes… Just a few minutes…”

I squirmed against her, but it was no use. Goddess, what was happening? My mind felt like it was slipping away from me, far away, far out of reach. And—

“Enough!”

The sound of a distant, muffled, yet familiar voice suddenly reached my ears. A moment later, there was a commotion—a flurry of robes, a shriek, a crash. I felt something cool and sweet splash into my mouth just as my vision began to fade, and then another crash.

“Get out of my way!” I heard Amelia’s voice cry out, followed by a loud thump, a groan, and rapidly retreating footsteps.

Slowly, whatever liquid had been shoved into my mouth trickled down my throat. I wasn’t sure how long it took for me to come to my senses, but when I finally did, I found myself on the floor next to the couch.

“What… What’s going on…?” I murmured, attempting—and failing—to push myself up onto my hands and knees. My coffee table was shattered, red wine spilt all over the floor… No… Chardonnay was white wine.

My heart leaped into my throat as my eyes followed the trail of red. “No, no, no,” I murmured, focusing all of my energy and scrambling to my hands and knees, toward the unmoving form on the floor. “Degas!”

There was Degas, laying at the end of the trail of red.

Blood was pooled around his head, and his body was limp.