Chapter 12
Caspian’s POV
I can see the gears turning in my mate’s head, calculations racing through her sharp mind. The probability is simple enough, and the necklace is clearly important enough for her to take the risk.
Of course, Viviane has no idea how many years I’ve spent mastering the art of throwing dice. It’s not a matter of probability at all: the odds are far from even, and if she agrees she’ll be completely at my mercy.
She takes a deep breath, and I know I’ve won. “Deal.”
“Settle, Viviane.” We’re in a private parlor, and my mate looks so nervous I have to fight the urge to reassure her. She squirms next to me on a plush sofa, trying to put some space between our bodies but failing to escape the arm trapping her against my side.
She obeys instantly, but her attention remains glued to the die in my hand, her pounding heart betraying her anxiety. She must care very deeply for the necklace if she’s willing to endure such stress for its return.
Indecision muddles my thoughts. I’d been planning on throwing the game in my own favor, claiming a kiss from my mate and holding onto her necklace as collateral for future endeavors. Of course, that was before I realized how important it is to her.
I don’t want Viviane to hate me.
Before I can change my mind I roll the die, watching it skitter across the coffee table and neatly land with six white dots pointing at the ceiling.
Viviane doesn’t move or make a sound, in fact I think she’s still holding her breath. I look down at her and realize her eyes are clenched shut behind her glasses.
My chest shakes with silent laughter, and I nuzzle her neck, breathing in her enthralling scent. “If I were you, I would look before I take the opportunity to change it.”
Her eyes snap open, the most stunning smile I’ve ever seen stretching across her face when she realizes she’s won. I try to look disappointed, but it isn’t possible when my mate is so thrilled. I’ve never seen her so happy, and the realization erodes some of my pleasure. She should always be this happy.
“I'd be lying if I said I’m not disappointed.” I sigh, depositing the gold chain in her small hand. “But a promise is a promise.”
Practically glowing, Viviane considers me for a long moment. To my surprise she offers the necklace back to me, “Could you help me?” She asks softly.
Viviane’s POV
I’m not sure what’s come over Caspian. I was sure his dice game was some sort of trick. But I won. I won and he didn’t object or complain one bit. He’s almost being… sweet.
I can’t believe he took my side over Nerissa’s, that he brushed off her accusations so easily. I was sure I was doomed when she announced my true identity and I haven’t the faintest idea where I found the strength to stand up for myself.
In truth, Caspian isn’t the only one acting unlike himself. As pleased as I am to have won our game, there is a tiny part of me that’s disappointed about the kiss. I’ve never been kissed, and deep down I was excited for Caspian to be my first.
He makes me feel such strange things; butterflies have been fluttering around my stomach from the moment he mentioned the possibility. An hour ago I was running away from him, now I’m sitting halfway in his lap and asking him to fasten my necklace.
I’m starting to think I’m the one who’s been spellbound.
Heat flares in Caspian’s eyes as he takes the nautilus from me. “Turn around.”
I do as I’m told, lifting my hair away from my neck and shivering when his fingers graze my nape. His large hands slip around my shoulders to exchange the ends of the chain, brushing over my exposed skin far more than is necessary for the task,
Does he know how I tingle everywhere he touches?
After a moment the familiar weight settles around my throat, “There.”
I close my hand around the pendant, not quite believing I actually got it back. “Thank you,” I whisper, slowly finding my feet.
“This is why you came tonight, isn’t it?” Caspian rumbles. “to get the necklace back.”
Uncertainty flickers around the edges of my relief. He doesn’t look angry or suspicious, just curious. “About what Nerissa said…”
I can’t finish the sentence, I only get halfway through before Caspian rises too. He’s so close we’re almost touching. “I’m not quite that gullible, kitten.” He promises, cupping my cheek in his oversized hand. “And don’t worry about the others, this is one rumor that’s not going to spread.”
“Unfortunately I think it’s too late to stop it.” I frown.
“It isn’t.” He assures me confidently. “Chase took care of it. Her words aren’t leaving that room.”
Sometimes I forget Alphas form mental links with their Betas, but at the moment I’m extremely thankful they do. He must have given orders for Chase to put a lid on the rumors after we left.
“Thank you.” I breathe.
Thunderclouds overtake his handsome features, “You don’t ever have to thank me for things like this.” His thumb traces the line of cheekbone. “I’m sorry I’ve made you think you do.”
I stare up at him in wonder. Is this really the same man that was growling at me in the driveway a little while ago?
“I want to get to know you better.” He continues, “I don’t have a lot of time this week, but the qualifiers for the pack games are on Saturday and I’m finally old enough to enter. Come watch. We can go for a bite to eat after.”
The annual pack “games” are about the farthest thing from actual games I’ve ever seen. “Brutality tournament” or “death pentathlon” would be more accurate. The competition dates back to the days in which Alpha’s were chosen for brute strength alone, without consideration for things like intelligence or integrity.
The selection process is much more complicated now, but most packs kept up the tradition of the games as a way to celebrate our heritage. Every year lavish festivals are planned to mark the event, but all the food stalls, art exhibits, rides and carnival games are just frills. Everyone goes for one reason, and one reason only: to watch the toughest wolves in the pack try to kill each other.
Every male pack member over the age of 18 is allowed to enter, though only the strongest qualify. Over the course of three days, the competitors must prove themselves in no less than twelve different tests of strength, speed, stamina, and skill. Those still standing at the end of the trials are then thrown into an arena together to battle it out until only one victor remains.
“I don’t know, Caspian.” I murmur, fiddling nervously with the buttons of his shirt. “I never go to the games. They’re…”
He slides his hand into my long hair, tangling his fist in the silken mass and tugging gently, pulling my eyes back up to his. “What?”
I flush, wanting to look away but unable to break free of his gaze. “Scary.”
The ever-present tension in Caspian’s shoulders eases, his entire demeanor gentling, “There’s no violence at the qualifiers.” He vows. “I promise. They’re just to make sure you meet the minimum requirements for weight and strength, that you’re fit to enter.”
I shouldn’t agree. I should stay far away from this man. I barely escaped the evening with my identity intact, I can’t imagine I’ll be so lucky next time.
I open my mouth to say no, but those aren’t the words which come out. “All right.” I hear myself agree. “But if I see blood I’m leaving.”
Caspian’s POV
She didn’t come.
I scan the crowd scattered around the stadium, seeking out Viviane’s fair hair and dark sunglasses, but she’s nowhere to be found. I can’t smell her either and I wish, not the first time, that we were already mated so that I could feel her through the bond.
Damn it. I thought we’d finally made some progress.
If the qualification trials are any indication of the competition’s difficulty, the games are going to be a breeze. I fly through the phases without breaking a sweat, retiring to the winners circle to watch the remainder of the contestants vie for a spot in the tournament. The pool of qualifiers slowly dwindles, and towards the end of the day, I finally catch a flash of pastel-streaked hair in the audience.
Viviane.
She came. My wolf is practically wagging his tail, loping around like an excited puppy in my chest. I reign him in, forcing down the urge to run to her side. By the time the results have been confirmed and the final list of qualifiers announced, I’m so eager to see Viviane I think I might burst.
“Have you been here all along?” I ask when she’s finally in front of me, “I didn’t see you.”
She blushes, avoiding my eyes. “I couldn’t watch.”
I cross my arms over my chest, “You watched the others.”
“That’s different.” Viviane replies, her behavior so skittish it’s beginning to incite my wolf’s prey drive.
“Why?” I demand.
“It just – is.” She bleats helplessly. “I don’t know the others.”
Aha. “So you were afraid to see me hurt?”
“I didn’t say that.” She mutters sulkily.
I smother a grin, forcing a stern expression onto my face. “I wanted you to come for me, not them.”
Viviane dips her head apologetically. “I know.”
Sighing deeply, I shake my head. “What am I going to do with you, kitten?”
“Nothing?” She suggests hopefully.
“I don’t think so.” I growl, “But you can begin making up for it by finding us some drinks while I get cleaned up.” I instruct, pushing a few bills into her hand.
I know I’m being unfair. I’m actually extremely pleased she didn’t want to see me injured. It means she cares. She’s not immune to me, but part of me wants to see how far I can push her. What would it take for her to lose control, to truly come out of her shell?
I walk away without waiting to see if she complies, but a few minutes later a commotion sounds in the stands. I don’t need an explanation to know what’s happening. I’d recognize the sound of a fight from miles away.
Only this is not a fight between men, between games competitors. This is a fight between women.
Then I hear something that sends ice through my veins: a voice shouting Viviane’s name.
