Chapter 6

      "Are you alright? That was almost bad," he said with what seemed to be genuine concern.

     If it had been anyone else, Bella would have already been thanking them profusely. Since it was Darian she was a bit wary of his intentions, to say the least.

     "I'm fine. Thanks for your help, but I could really do without any more of it," Bella muttered, brushing past him.

        "Wait a second," he said, grabbing the chain dangling from her cuff and jerking it like a leash. The snaps on the cuff popped off, leaving her arm exposed.

      Bella whirled around and held her forearm to her chest. "Give me that!" she cried fearfully, reaching for the cuff.

     Darian held it out of her reach and in doing so, pulled her closer. "What the hell was that about?"

         "I need that," Bella said, grabbing at it while keeping her arm close to her chest.

        "Not until you tell me why I'm getting the cold shoulder. Usually, you'd at least give a guy the chance to break the ice before that happens."

         Bella frowned. "You can stop pretending, I know what you did."

       "Great, then you can fill me in, because I have no clue what you're talking about," he said firmly.

      Bella stifled a frustrated growl. Normally she wasn't a hot-tempered person, but there was something about Darian that pressed all her buttons. She had barely known him a couple of hours, but he already seemed to have a user's manual.

He laughed.

           "I'm glad you find this funny because I don't."

      "Maybe it's not, but how am I supposed to know if you won't tell me what I did?" he demanded.

        Bella held her hand up as high as she could to show the stamp without revealing her forearm since he insisted on playing dumb. 

  

     "This."

       "Oh," he said, scratching the five o'clock shadow forming on his jaw. "That."

     Bella gave him an incredulous look. "Yeah. That. I've been getting weird looks all night because of your 'special' stamp."

       He breathed what seemed to be a sigh of relief. "That's what's got you all worked up? It's just my personal seal."

           "Why do I have it?" Bella asked warily.

         He shrugged. "I think you're cute. I wanted to talk to you, so it's there to make sure no one else goes after you."

       "If that's all then why have I been getting weird looks from the staff all night?" Bella challenged.

     He rubbed the back of his head and grimaced a little. If the sheepish farm boy routine was an act, it was a good one. "Yeah, well, I've never used it before. They were probably just surprised."

      That startled her. Bella couldn't hide her surprise either. "But you used it on me?"

       "Yeah," he said with another shrug. "Guess I felt a connection or something. I dunno, my brother's the one who's into all that syrupy stuff. I think you're cute, let's leave it at that."

        The answer was so simple it was both unbelievable and unquestionable. Bella sighed, feeling her righteous indignation slip from her grasp.

          And then she remembered the competition.

    

   "That still doesn't explain why you signed me up for this silly contest," she said with renewed indignation.

         "Huh?" He was feigning ignorance again.

     At least he dropped her cuff in his confusion. She snatched it up and carefully snapped it back on, hoping no one had seen what was underneath. Her caution drew his focus, but fortunately, he didn't have time to ask before Clarence yelled, "Curtain call in three minutes! Guys, get in your places."

         She snapped the last closure and straightened her back in an attempt to fortify her retreating confidence. "Play innocent all you want. We'll see what your Alpha thinks."

        She didn't wait for his reaction to start getting back on the pedestal. Maybe she needed his help, but that didn't mean she wanted it.

      Not that he gave her a choice in the matter. Darian grabbed her again and hoisted her up onto the sleek white disk with such swiftness that she couldn't even struggle. Whatever kibble they were feeding the Wolves was doing its job.

          To her surprise, his expression wasn't a gloating one. His eyes were downcast and his lips were pressed into a troubled line. "He'll think you're perfect."

         He said it so matter-of-factly and with a slightly sour tone that it was impossible to take it as a compliment.

         "Offstage, everyone but the contestants and the announcer!" cried an increasingly harried stagehand.

      Darian stepped back into the shadows of the hallway and disappeared before she could ask him about his strangely ominous comment.

            The other stagehand helped Amber onto a pedestal in her row that was more toward the center of the stage. Amber winked at her as the curtain began to rise. "Good luck," she mouthed.

         "You too," she said, embarrassed that she'd somehow gotten so far. She noticed that another row of chairs had been placed in front of the Red Member section. Maybe the complainers had finally gotten their wish for more seating. 

      Amber managed to stay poised somehow, despite the stage lights beaming down on them, but she squinted and raised her hand to block out the glare.

         It took only a moment for her eyes to adjust enough to the light that she realized the new seats in the front row weren't for the other clubbers. The row was filled with half a dozen men, each one in some variation of what she had come to recognize as the House of Wolf uniform. She recognized one of them as Clarence, the bouncer who'd kept Sandra offstage and unceremoniously dumped her in the dressing room.

         There was one empty chair, and she assumed it was for Darian but the man in the next seat over was the one who drew her attention. He was staring straight at her. She couldn't even tell what color his eyes were from that distance, but she could feel them burning holes in her. 

       His elegant attire and sleek black hair were instantly recognizable. It was the man who had been reading in the lobby when Sandra and she came in. Whether the intensity was the product of rage or something else equally fiery, she couldn't tell. Neither option seemed like a good one.

       Whatever she had done to earn the ire of a Wolf, she already regretted it.