CHAPTER 2: AN ALPHA'S COMMAND

ROSALINE’S POV:

What. The. Hell?

“What?” Someone whispers from within the crowd.

Damien’s eyes narrow as he walks toward me. The smell I scented earlier growing more potent with every step he takes.

No way.

There was no way in hell.

“That’s Damien’s mate?” someone says.

Mate. Mate. Mate.

My wolf yips her joy. Creating a mental image of her jumping up and down, wagging her tail behind her.

Mate? Damien is my mate?

His eyes trail over me as he approaches, tingling my skin like tiny, electric shocks. My breath catches in my throat. He’s all I can see, all I can focus on.

A pulse thrums between our bodies, beating steady and hard, like my heart trying to burst out of my ribcage.

“There’s no way!” A voice I recognize as one of the girls says, “I mean look at her, she’s dressed like a fucking lunatic.”

The usual sting her words would have carried don’t get to me, because Damien is in front of me before I can process what she’s said. He flicks his fingers on the drooping point of my hat, righting the accessory before gently cupping my chin.

I hold my breath.

“I kinda like it,” he says, eyes dancing between mine. “Nothing like a little witch, different from all the other women.”

The girl scoffs, “I think that’s bullshit.”

The humor dies off Damien’s face in the blink of an eye. He turns away from me, sliding his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

“You know what I think?” he questions with a raised brow, “You should apologize.”

“Like hell I’d ever-” the girl begins.

“Now.” The growl cuts through the crowd, stopping her mid-sentence. The room grows eerily silent, even the music has stopped.

A meek, shallow, “Sorry,” sounds in the room.

Damien turns to look at me, cocking his head in thought, “Not good enough.”

He steps away from me, more to the center of the room. Everyone watches him with bated breath, eager on the tips of their toes for what he’s going to do.

“Come out.” he says. A moment later, the girl who used my crush on Damien to her advantage gingerly steps into the center of the room.

“Get on your knees and tell my mate how sorry you are.”

She gasps, a few others along with her, including me. Damien cocks a dark brow, “You want me to repeat myself?”

She shakes her head once, dropping carefully to her knees. Bitter eyes meet mine, “I’m sorry.”

“You do want me to repeat myself.” Damien says with a chuckle.

Her breath hitches, eyes growing wider, “I’m sorry,” she says, more earnestly.

“Like you mean it.” Damien seethes, and I get it then. Alpha command. Even though technically, he isn’t alpha yet. It’s impossible to refuse an Alpha’s command.

“I’m sorry for making fun of your outfit, Rosaline,” she whispers, curving into herself.

“Better.” Damien says, his eyes growing soft again once he reaches me. “Do you accept her apology, darling?”

I’m at a loss for words. He defended my honor so easily, without coercion from anyone else. He did because he could, because he wanted to. If that doesn’t warm something deep within my heart, I don’t know what else well.

I give him a nod in answer, and he returns it before taking my hand and leading us out of the kitchen.

Tingles erupt on my palm from the contact, and I suck in a breath. He squeezes my hand in his, like he can feel it too.

“Rosaline Maxwell.” He says.

The heart-eyed, girlish part of me wants to fan herself at the fact that he remembers who I am.

“You remember me?”

He spins around to face me, his brows furrowed. “Why wouldn’t I?”

I lick my lips, unsure of what to say. His eyes darken, focusing on my mouth.

His hand shoots out to cup my face, stroking his thumb gently over my cheek, and I lean into the soft touch.

“Why do you think I wouldn’t remember you?” His voice sounds like it’s been raked over hot coal.

I shrug my shoulder, sinking my teeth into my bottom lip.

“Fuck, you have to stop doing that.”

He presses his thumb to my chin, pulling downwards until my lower lip slips from between my teeth. Minty breath fans over my temple.

“Let’s go upstairs,” he breathes, “We can be alone in my room.”

He wants us to be alone?

My heartbeat picks up its tempo. His eyes move over my face with a dark intensity, his thumb dragging slowly across my bottom lip.

“What do you say?”

What do I say?

What are the odds? After all this time I’ve spent crushing on him. We’re actually mates. There’s no denying it. With the way my body’s been reacting to him all night, as well as the crackle in the air pulsing between us.

I nod my head.

He takes my hand again, leading us up the staircase, through a large hallway to what I assume are the bedrooms.

He opens a door to the right, stepping aside and letting me go in before him. The music had just picked back up, blaring through the house. The second he shuts the door behind him, we’re enveloped in a cocoon of muffled quiet.

He walks to his bed, dropping his weight on the foot as he leans down to unfasten his boots. “So, what’s with the costume?”

I sigh, “One of the girls tricked me into coming here. She said it was a costume party.”

“Yeah? Well, it doesn’t look like you really know anyone here, so how exactly did she trick you into coming?”

Heat singes my neck, the tell-tale sign that I’m growing bright red.

He cocks a brow, a slow smile spreading over his mouth. “Come on, you can tell me.”

I take his words to heart. We’re mates now; I can tell him anything.

“She-knew-about-my-crush-on-you.” I speed through the sentence, hoping he isn’t able to separate the words. But his smile only grows wider.

“What was that?”

I huff out a breath, sliding into the armchair by the wall.

He shakes his head, dark grey eyes glinting as he lets out a deep laugh. I feel the sound in my bones.

“Women these days.”

“You seem to like them regardless.” I can’t help myself from saying it. The smile slides off his face, and he pins me with an unreadable expression.

My breath hitches at the intensity behind his eyes.

“Does that bother you?”

“What?” I ask.

“The other women? The ones I’ve been with?”

I’m not entirely sure how to answer. All this time I’ve spent crushing on him, I’ve also known the kind of guy he was. He rarely ever slept with the same girl twice, and he slept with a lot of girls.

I know how many times I’ve laid in bed wishing I was one of those girls. Wishing it was me he was shooting all his charming smiles or wooing into his bed, but then also, there was a part of me that never wanted to be anything like them.

I never wanted to wake up to a note, or never even get a text message. I never wanted to be his for a night.

I wanted to be his, always.

“I’m not sure,” I tell him.

He narrows his eyes as he regards me. He’s so boyishly handsome it makes my heart ache. But even then, there was the harsh line of his jaw, the angular slant of his cheekbones that made him such a man.

He nods his head once after a moment, leaning back on his hands. “So, a crush, huh?”

Mortification runs through me and I bury my face in my hands. Damien laughs at my reaction from his spot on the bed. I wish the ground would open up and swallow me whole, but I can’t stop smiling either.

“Since when?” he asks.

“Stop,” I shriek, the sound muffled by my hand covering my face.

“Why? I’m just curious.” he says, “Look at me.”

Reluctantly, I pull my hands away, staring him in the eyes. He has the greyest pair I’ve ever seen. So dark, it’s like staring at wet concrete.

“For how long?” he asks.

“Since the first year,” I relent, “When you helped me pick up my pencil from the floor.”

His eyes trail over my face, slowly taking in every detail. He doesn’t laugh like I’d expected, and the fact warms my chest.

“You’ve held onto it for that long?” he asks, almost rhetorically.

“I’ve held on to you for that long.”

His eyes meet mine, softening slightly at the edges. He blinks and then it’s gone, as he sits up, clearing his throat.

“You’re something else, Maxwell.”

“Rosaline,” I correct.

Rosaline, he mouths. Not sounding the word.

“You scared of me?”

“No,” I say. Why would he ask that?

“You’re halfway across the room. Away from me.”

Electricity shoots up my spine. Shit. He wants me closer to him? It should alarm me how fast my body is willing to appeal to his desires.

I’m up from my seat before I even gave mental consent, taking the few steps to center of the room, where he sits on the bed.

He sits up as I approach, the cap on his head falling behind him on the bed. The mop of curly black hair tumbles over his forehead, making my hands itch with the need to brush it away.

I give into the compulsion, combing my fingers through the dark locks on his head.

His eyelids flutter shut, “I like how that feels.”

I keep going, sliding my other hand into his hair.

“Mhmm,” the low rumble travels through his chest, triggering an animalistic part of me, making me clench my thighs and pull at the locks in my fist.

His hands slide up the sides of my legs, stopping just below where my thigh meets my ass. He squeezes.

“Would you like to get out of this costume?” he asks in a low voice.