Chapter 3

Kassidy POV:

His hot breath scorched the side of my neck. I pressed my spine flat against the cold tile wall, desperate to put even an inch of space between us.

"Get away from me!" I planted both palms against his bare shoulders and shoved, but it was like pushing against a granite cliff. He didn't budge.

Instead, his dark gaze dropped to the open collar of the oversized shirt I was wearing, zeroing in on the faint, crescent-moon birthmark sitting just below my left collarbone. His eyes darkened, a strange, calculating flicker passing through their depths.

"You cried out last night that you belonged to the Graves Pack," he said, his lip curling into a mocking sneer. "Is Dillan really that useless in bed that his wife has to wander hotel hallways looking for relief?"

Hearing my husband's name from this stranger's mouth made my stomach twist with shame, even as anger flared in my chest.

"My marriage is none of your business!"

He let out a low scoff. His hand shot up, his thumb and forefinger clamping hard around my chin to tilt my face toward the light.

"True enough," he murmured, a dangerous smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. "Though I am curious how a woman married for five years walked into my bed last night as an untouched virgin."

The words hit me like a bucket of ice water. Every drop of blood drained from my face, my pupils blowing wide in pure terror.

He knew. This complete stranger knew that for five long years, I had been nothing more than a despised ornament in the Graves estate--an Omega so beneath my husband's notice that Dillan had never once laid a finger on me.

"You're out of your mind!" My voice cracked into a shrill shout as I twisted my head, trying to rip my chin from his grip. "Shut up!"

He leaned in closer, trapping me completely with his scent.

"I took you five times between midnight and dawn, baby," he whispered, his voice brutally blunt. "A wolf's body doesn't lie, and neither does the blood on my sheets. I was the one who broke you in."

Humiliation burned through my veins. Without thinking, I swung my free hand up to slap that arrogant smirk off his face.

His reflexes were inhuman. His fingers snatched my wrist out of midair an inch from his cheek, his grip like a steel handcuff.

"Temper," he tsked softly, his dark eyes flashing. "You should be thanking me right now. If I hadn't held back at the last second, my teeth would have sunk into your neck and left a permanent Marking."

A cold shiver raced down my spine. In our world, once a male sank his canines into a female's scent gland to complete the Marking, an unbreakable soul-bond formed; if he had marked me, Dillan and the elders would have smelled it the second I stepped off the plane.

"What do you want from me?" My shoulders slumped as tears welled in my eyes again. "Is it money? Tell me how much, and I'll write you a check right now!"

The air temperature in the doorway plummeted. The terrifying weight of his Alpha dominion slammed into my chest, forcing my knees to bend an inch before I caught myself on the doorframe.

"Money?" He looked at me as if I were an insect. "Do I look like a starving alley mutt you can buy off with pocket change?"

I couldn't force a single word past my constricted throat. Slowly, he opened his fingers and tossed my wrist aside as if touching me disgusted him, turning his back to walk toward the walk-in closet.

He pulled a bespoke black dress shirt from a hanger and slid his arms into it, every movement radiating the cold, practiced elegance of old wealth and absolute power.

Seizing the chance while his back was turned, I darted toward the nightstand where my clutch purse had fallen. My passport and boarding pass were still inside.

Dropping to my knees, I shoved my scattered compact and phone back into the bag, my fingers trembling so badly the zipper jammed twice.

"I don't care who you are, this ends right here," I said, keeping my back to him as I stood up. "If you breathe a single word of this to anyone in the Graves Pack, I swear I'll make you regret it even if it kills me."

A low, mocking laugh echoed from the closet doorway. He stood there fastening a pair of platinum cufflinks, watching me like a man mildly entertained by a cornered rabbit.

"Big threats for such a little thing," he remarked coolly. "Instead of worrying about me, you should figure out how you're going to explain my scent on your skin to that worthless husband of yours."

His words struck dead center on my biggest fear. Panicking, I dug into my clutch, pulled out a travel bottle of heavy floral perfume, and pumped the nozzle wildly over my neck, chest, and wrists.

A cloud of cheap, cloying alcohol and artificial roses exploded into the air. Across the room, the man's jaw tightened, his nose wrinkling in open disgust at the chemical stench.

"Pathetic," he muttered, turning away toward the wet bar to pour two fingers of amber whiskey into a crystal tumbler.

I didn't care what he thought. A quick glance at the clock on the nightstand made my heart skip--my flight back to Silver Peak City boarded in less than three hours.

I had to get out of this city. I had to put an ocean between myself and this terrifying man before my life imploded.

Clutching my bag against my chest, I didn't even bother looking for my ruined heels. Barefoot and dressed only in his long white shirt, I bolted across the thick carpet toward the suite's front door.