Chapter 3 Blindfold Kiss

Sage's POV I wanted to tell Zane no again. Instead, I pictured my mother at the kitchen table in her hospital scrubs, rubbing the exhaustion from her eyes before another double shift. Losing my job was one thing. Risking hers was another. "What time do you want me here tomorrow?" I asked. "Four." "I'll be here." I pulled the strap of my bag higher onto my shoulder. "But once I leave this garage, my time is still mine." Zane's expression suggested he disagreed. I walked out before he could turn that disagreement into another order. Sloane was waiting on the steps outside the science building with my abandoned notebook under one arm and two paper cups in her hands. She stood when she saw me crossing the quad. "For what it's worth, you're still the least convincing assassin I've ever met." I accepted the cup she offered. "How many assassins have you met?" "Enough to recognize poor planning." The hot chocolate was too sweet and mostly lukewarm, but it helped settle something inside me. We sat on the steps while students crossed the lawn below us, most of them too busy with their own lives to notice mine had nearly been dismantled before lunch. "So?" Sloane prompted. "Are you cleared?" "Not exactly. Someone replaced seven minutes of security footage, which is apparently enough to keep me from being punished but not enough to make anyone apologize." "And Zane?" "He decided the safest place for a suspected saboteur is directly beside him." She stared at me. "That cannot be the official plan." "I report to him tomorrow at four. I'll be handling coffee, deliveries, and any other task considered too unimportant for someone useful." "So he thinks you tried to kill him, and his response is making you his personal assistant?" "Criminal surveillance requires caffeine." Sloane laughed, but the sound faded when she saw I wasn't joking. "You don't have to let him do this." "He threatened my mother's hospital contract." Her face hardened. "That arrogant-" "I know." "You should come home with me tonight. We'll order something terrible, and you can help me think of ways to poison his coffee without technically committing murder." "I have a shift at the Meridian." Sloane stopped peeling the cardboard sleeve from her cup. "Tonight?" "The agency paid half in advance, and I already used it for Mom's prescription. If I cancel, I have to pay it back and cover a no-show fee." "The Vance party is tonight." Her tone had gone careful. "Blaire is on the student committee." I looked down at my borrowed hoodie. "I'll stay in the service area." "That strategy worked beautifully in the east corridor." She had a point. Unfortunately, points didn't refill prescriptions. "I'll be careful," I promised. Sloane watched me for a moment before taking out her phone. "Text me when you're done." Unlike Zane's demands, hers sounded like concern rather than a claim of ownership. "I will." - The Meridian Club occupied the top floor of a glass building just beyond campus. It belonged to the Vance family, but Blackthorn's racing committee had taken over for the evening, filling it with pulsing music, colored lights, and enough expensive cologne to leave a permanent coating on the walls. I had worked two events there before. The staff were organized, the tips were good, and nobody had asked me to wear anything that could fit inside a sandwich bag. Tonight was different. The coordinator handed me a small bundle of black fabric. I held it up. "Where's the rest of it?" "That is the rest of it." Around us, the other servers were buttoning white shirts and fastening black aprons. My outfit had a short skirt, a fitted top, and no practical relationship with food service. "There's been a mistake. I'm assigned to table service." She checked the tablet in her hand. "Sage Bennett?" "Yes." "You were moved to interactive hosting this afternoon." "By whom?" "The event committee." She pushed the clothes toward me again. "If you have a complaint, take it up with your agency tomorrow. We open in ten minutes." I could refuse, walk out, and explain to the pharmacy why the money I had already spent was no longer mine. Instead, I took the outfit and went to change. Blaire found me before I had carried my second tray. She stood near the center of the room with champagne in one hand and several friends gathered around her. Her dress probably cost more than our monthly rent, and her pleased smile answered my question about who had changed my assignment. "Well," she said, looking me over. "That suits your status much better." I adjusted the tray against my hip. "Funny. I was about to say the same thing about your personality and that glass." Her friends went quiet. Blaire's smile sharpened. "Careful, Omega. People might think you've forgotten your place." "People think whatever you tell them to. It saves them the effort." I walked away before she could answer. For the next hour, I managed to avoid her. The work itself was simple enough, even if the outfit made every trip across the room feel like a public performance. Most guests barely noticed me. The ranked students did, but people like them tended to look through service staff until they wanted something. Eventually, Blaire called me over to the edge of the dance floor. Several small bills lay scattered around her shoes. "You dropped your tip," she said. Phones appeared in the hands of two girls beside her. I looked at the money, then at Blaire. I needed every dollar I could earn, but I wasn't going to crawl for hers. "Keep it. You seem to need the attention more than I need the cash." I turned away. The spray struck the back of my neck. A cold mist coated my skin and shoulders, releasing a sickly sweetness that turned my stomach. Beneath it was something warmer and unmistakably artificial. Synthetic Omega pheromones. They were restricted on most pack campuses, although that never stopped students with money and poor judgment from finding them. The cheap versions mimicked the scent of an unbonded Omega nearing heat. They couldn't take away anyone's choices, but they made bad ones easier to excuse. I spun around. Blaire lowered the small bottle, smiling. "What did you do?" "Relax. I upgraded your tips." She slipped the bottle into her purse. "You can thank me later." I set my tray down and headed for the staff corridor. If I could wash it off before it soaked into the fabric, I might still finish my shift. A man wearing an event badge stepped through a doorway and blocked my path. "Sage Bennett?" "I'm busy." "They're ready for you in Blindfold Kiss." "I'm not part of the game." He consulted the tablet in his hand. "You're on the hostess list." "Someone changed my assignment. I'm staff." "So are half the hostesses." His attention moved to the room behind him. "They're waiting." Blindfold Kiss was one of Blackthorn's favorite party games, especially among ranked wolves with more confidence than restraint. The men entered blindfolded and relied on scent to choose a partner; the women wore colored wristbands to show they had volunteered. At least, that was the official version. At Blackthorn, rules tended to become flexible whenever a ranked wolf wanted something and an Omega was the one saying no. "I don't have a wristband," I said. The man caught my shoulder. "The committee already cleared you." "I said I'm not participating." I twisted out of his grip, but the door opened behind me. A second staff member stepped into the corridor, leaving nowhere to go except forward. The first man shoved me through. The door closed, and the lock clicked. Low red lights ran along the floor, barely bright enough to reveal couches against the walls and figures moving through the darkness. Music vibrated through the ceiling. Several men wore black blindfolds, while girls laughed and moved between them, perfume and alcohol thickening the air. The sweetness on my skin drew attention almost immediately. One man turned his head toward me. Then another. I backed toward the door and tried the handle. "Let me out." It didn't move. A girl brushed past me with a giggle, disappearing into someone's arms. Across the room, a couple sank onto a couch. This was entertainment to them, an excuse to let instinct make decisions they could laugh about tomorrow. I struck the door with my palm. The music outside swallowed the sound. "Problem?" a male voice asked behind me. I turned. A broad figure stood several feet away, blindfolded and smiling. "I'm staff. I was put in here by mistake." "Sure you were." "I'm not playing." His nostrils flared. "You smell like you are." He reached for me. I slapped his hand aside and moved left, only for another man to block my path. "Easy," the second one said. "If you didn't want to be caught, you shouldn't have come inside." "I didn't come inside. I was pushed." Neither of them seemed interested in the distinction. I ducked beneath the second man's arm and hurried toward the far side of the room. Someone laughed as I passed. The red light made it hard to judge distances, and without enough time to adjust, every couch and body became another obstacle. A hand caught the back of my top. I drove my elbow behind me. The man grunted and released the fabric, but another arm closed around my waist before I could take two steps. "Got you." I brought my heel down on his foot. His grip loosened, and I wrenched sideways, raking my nails across his wrist. He swore, reaching for me again. Something cold moved through the darkness. It slid over his hand where it gripped my waist, thin and weightless as smoke. The man jerked away with a curse, shaking his fingers as if something had burned him. For a second, the shadows beneath us seemed to curl around my ankles. Then the red lights flickered, and whatever I had seen disappeared. I didn't wait to understand it. I ran. Fear had sharpened my scent beneath the chemical sweetness, and several heads turned as I crossed the room. One man reached for me and missed. Another caught my wrist, but I twisted free, leaving a bracelet in his hand. I was almost at the side exit when a thick arm locked around my waist and hauled me backward. "Stop fighting." "Let go of me!" I struck at him, but he caught my forearm. His grip tightened until pain shot toward my elbow. Then he vanished. A sharp crack sounded beside me, followed by a grunt and the heavy impact of a body hitting the floor. The man who had been holding me landed near the couch, one hand pressed to his jaw. Another figure stood in his place. Tall. Broad shoulders beneath a black racing jacket. A blindfold covered his eyes, but silver rings glinted in his lower lip. Before I could move, his arms closed around me. The difference was immediate. He held me firmly, yet his body had turned toward the rest of the room, placing himself between me and anyone who might try to reach us. Cedar, smoke, and rain striking hot pavement cut through the synthetic perfume. My heart stumbled. Zane Wilder. He had no idea who he was holding. His head lowered toward my neck. The cheap pheromones should have hidden everything familiar, but the moment his hand spread across my waist, that strange current tore through us again. Zane went rigid. A low growl rolled through his chest, too deep to belong entirely to him. His arms tightened as another man approached. "She's mine." Rank flooded the words. Every wolf in the room felt it, and the laughter died. I should have told him he was wrong. I should have shoved him away and found the nearest exit, because less than an hour ago I had promised myself that no part of my life belonged to Zane Wilder. Instead, I stood frozen against him while his fingers flexed at my waist, as though he was as startled by the contact as I was. He moved backward, taking me with him until the backs of my knees met a couch. We went down together, his body curved over mine and his blindfold still firmly in place. His mouth hovered close enough for his breath to touch my lips. He didn't know my face. The perfume had buried my scent, and the darkness had hidden everything else. But when his thumb brushed my jaw, his body recognized something his mind had not. In the dark, his lips found mine.