Chapter 8

Bella had already started to clap for Maverick when he announced her name. Her smile turned into a stiff grimace, and her hands hung limp in mid-air. “What?” she choked out.

       The announcer came back over to her, holding a coiled leash and collar on a satin pillow. The collar was made of red leather with what she really hoped were just very convincing rhinestones rather than diamonds encrusted along one side.

        This couldn’t be happening. Bella leaned away in case he planned to put that thing on her, still convinced there was a mistake. Unfortunately, the panic-induced bout of nausea and vertigo she’d been fighting off all night kicked in, and she wobbled.

      “Whoa, easy there. Can I get a Wolf to come up here and leash this pup before she falls offstage?” the announcer laughed awkwardly. 

           Clearly, this evening wasn’t going according to plan for him, either.

        Bella’s panic wasn’t helped by the fact that Darian and the Wolf who had been glaring at her stood up at the same time. They were suddenly the least of her worries as her head started swimming like she’d just taken up deep-sea diving. The floodlights weren’t helping, either.

             The ceiling seemed to open up for an instant, high and barely visible through a set of blaring white lights that were eclipsed by the silhouette of a man’s head coming toward her. She raised her hand to block the light out and leaned away. 

             The hallucination lasted just long enough for her to lose her balance, but by the time she realized there was no one in front of her, it was too late.

             She felt the horrible surging feeling of falling deep in her core. It happened in slow motion, and her body felt too heavy to contort into some position that might give her a chance at landing well.

             Before she could hit the ground, strong arms caught her once again. Her rescuer was just another silhouette against the stage lights, but the upper body that cradled her was undeniably solid.

            “Easy there,” he said in a voice that definitely wasn’t Darian’s. He moved just far enough out of the lights for her to realize that it was the Wolf who’d been watching her from the front row with all the intensity of a serial killer. Darian would have been a more welcome sight.

       “I’m fine,” she assured him, squirming to get out of his arms. It would be true if she could get away from him.

           “You could have split your skull falling from that height,” he muttered. “I told them the pedestals were an irresponsible idea.”

 Well, that didn’t sound like something a serial killer would say.

    “I’ll take her, Victor,” said Darian. He looked uncharacteristically stern as he reached for her.

         “Of course,” said Victor. She was passed between them with the ease of one adult taking a child from the arms of another.

        “The presentation will have to wait. She needs medical attention,” said Victor, turning to the announcer.

          “Oh, right,” the announcer said, obviously displeased. Just not displeased enough to argue with a Wolf.

          Bella’s head was still foggy from what she now recognized as a hallucination. It had seemed too real, too solid to be just a trick of the light. A doctor probably was what she needed, she just wasn’t sure it was the kind they had on hand.

             Assuming the whole “she needs medical attention” thing wasn’t just a ruse to get her off somewhere alone. The Lodge had a literal dungeon, after all. As the Wolves carried her off down the hall behind the stage, she began to regain her lucidity enough to realize what a bad situation this was turning into.

         “Put me down,” she demanded, pushing against Darian’s chest. He ignored her. “I need to get back to my friend.”

    “Sandra can wait,” said Darian, turning a corner. At least the hall was well-lit. “I’m not letting you go until you get checked out. Anyway, you have to meet the Alpha.”

           “Can’t I do that tomorrow?” she pleaded. She hated how pathetic she sounded, but she had used up all her spunky points on that ill-thought-out revenge plot in the dressing room.

     “Nope,” he replied in that infuriatingly matter-of-fact tone.

         She tried to look behind Darian for any sign of Victor, but she couldn’t see over his mountainous shoulders.

              “Settle down,” he said gruffly.

               Rage burned in her gut, but she complied. 

            They were far enough from the stage that screaming would be a moot point now. As he headed up a flight of stairs, any hope of escaping disappeared. In hindsight, she saw a million things she should have done. 

                Run, scream, whatever it took to get back to the crowd. As always, she had been too worried about what people thought to put her own well-being first. What if she was wrong about Darian’s intentions? How silly would she look then?

              Now it was too late, and her gut told her she wasn’t being whisked away to a secluded part of the Lodge just to get a bandage and a lollipop from whoever passed as a doctor in this bizarre fraternity.

               They came to a stop in front of a huge wooden door. She groaned inwardly. If the dungeon was downstairs, she didn’t want to know what was behind the heavily secured door upstairs.

          “I’ve got it,” said Victor, his voice coming from somewhere behind them. He came into view and unlocked the door.

           “Thanks, brother,” Darian said as Victor opened the door so he could carry her into a surprisingly homey area. It was a massive room with a fireplace not much smaller than the one downstairs. It seemed to be a study of sorts. 

        Massive bookshelves covered an entire wall from floor to ceiling, and there were huge leather sofas arranged around a large wooden coffee table with a glass surface. A few shallow steps led up to an office area with a massive mahogany desk and an intimidating high-backed leather chair.

             The mounted head of a lion hung over the desk, its jaws stretched open in a fierce roar. She stared into its soulless black eyes and felt queasy again.

       “Don’t worry, his biting days are over,” Darian said with an amused chuckle at his own joke.

     Bella didn’t find it funny. Judging from his silence, neither did Victor.

               “You’d think you just came out of a funeral instead of winning a contest,” Darian remarked, placing her down on a plush leather couch.

         She tried not to get comfortable as she sank into the buttery soft leather. Darian had laid her sideways, so she tried to at least sit up, but he put a hand on her bare chest to keep her lying down.

            “Until our doc takes a look at your head, stay down,” he ordered, his puppy brown eyes infinitely intense as they locked on hers. 

      Suddenly, she understood why the announcer hadn’t argued with either of them. 

             She began to wonder if anyone ever did.

              They were taking the medic gimmick a little far for it to be a ruse. Maybe they really were just worried about her.

             A club that size had to have its litigious element. Maybe they were just worried she would try to sue. She had been so unsteady on her feet that night, they probably thought she was trying to stage an accident.

               Warmth rushed to her face at the thought. As her embarrassment rose, her fear began to decline. She had a twenty-three-year streak of suppressing her gut instincts, but they were still telling her that she probably wasn’t in any real danger. She had just made a fool of herself onstage, and now the Wolves were trying to minimize the damage.

         “She looks hot.” Darian frowned, pressing a massive hand against her forehead. It was only when she pushed his hand away that she noticed the absurd difference in size between his and hers. “Where’s this doctor?”

         “Technically, she’s a nurse,” said Victor, taking a seat in the ottoman across from them. “I fetched her before I followed you up here. She said she’d be right up as soon as she finished looking over a college kid who slipped on the dance floor.”

    “There’s always one,” Darian muttered, confirming her theory.

               “I’m fine,” she insisted. “I’m anemic, and I have low blood sugar. It was stupid of me to get up there in the first place. Although it wasn’t exactly my idea,” she added, shooting Darian a dirty look.

         He tilted his head and frowned, like he was still clueless as to why she was accusing him. “Well, I’m not taking that chance. Not after it took me this long to find you.”