Chapter 9: Sinful Dinner with the Alpha
1149 Words
THE RED DRESS fit my skin and felt like a sin.
The silk clung to every curve I wished I could hide. My breasts strained beneath the low neckline, and the tight bodice carved my ribs into an hourglass I barely recognized. I looked like something else in the mirror. Something not quite human.
I did not wear a corset. He had not sent one. I did not wear a shawl. It would have ruined the dress. And I did not braid my hair. I let the strands fall freely down my back like spilled darkness because I knew, somehow, that was what he wanted. Twisted thoughts, forbidden desires—and I knew, I was weak tonight.
The servant who brought me up from the chamber would not meet my eyes. She only whispered, “He is waiting,” and vanished down the hall like she feared the very walls could hear. What an odd thing to do. Was I intimidating to these people? Was I different tonight? I took a deep breath and looked at my reflection in some silver tinkers against the wall. Distorted. Barred. Illicit. I was the kind that should have been in bed at this time. Wrapped myself in a blanket. Sleep. I should go back—
I walked forward.
I walked toward the west wing of the Manor.
Where no guest ever been seen.
Where no one but he lived.
Where I was not meant to go.
The doors at the end of the hall were made of dark oak and iron. Two Wolves carved into the wood, one snarling, the other watching with bared teeth. Oh, what an art.
Was I admiring the carving, or was I stalling?
The handle was warm.
I pushed the door open—and stepped into a dream.
Or was it a trap?
The Moonroom.
It was circular. Towering. Vaulted high above with stone arches and no roof—only the sky and a full, swollen moon watching from above like an open eye. Candles floated midair in glass orbs, their light flickering across old, ancient stones. The floor was black marble, veined in silver like veins in a dying body.
In the center of the room was a long table.
And at the head of it, he sat.
Icarus Duskbane.
My guardian.
My damnation.
My… stepfather.
He rose as I entered. The breath caught in my lungs. He was dressed in black—no jacket, no tie, just a linen shirt undone at the throat, sleeves rolled, and hunger on his face like a mask. He looked as if he had been carved from darkness itself. Towering. Like the room. Scarred. His eyes gleamed bright when they found me.
And they never left.
“You came,” he said softly.
His voice sounded like velvet soaked in ash.
“I thought it was an order,” I whispered.
A faint smile. “No. It was a request.”
I stood frozen at the threshold, clutching the edges of the dress to keep my hands from shaking. But he noticed. “You’re shaking,” he said, eyes narrowing. “Are you afraid of me?”
“No.”
“Then what is it?”
I did not answer.
He stepped forward. I flinched. He stopped. Eyes narrowed more. “I won’t touch you, Soraya.” And we both lied at that moment.
He pulled out a chair. “Sit. Please.”
I moved on weak knees, the silk rustling around my thighs. I sat across from him, hands in my lap, pulse wild. I did not touch the silverware. He poured wine into two crystal glasses. Dark red. Nearly black.
“Drink,” he said.
I hesitated.
“Go on. You can take a sip. I didn’t poison it.”
“It’s not poison I’m afraid of.”
He chuckled—low and rough. The sound made the skin at the nape of my neck tighten.
“You speak boldly tonight.”
“You dressed me boldly.”
His eyes dragged slowly over my body, down to my breasts barely contained in silk, and lower still. I burned.
“You’re a woman now,” he said. “I should speak to you as such.”
“Is that what this is? A conversation between adults?”
“No. This is a moment I’ve been dreading. And craving.”
My stomach twisted.
He leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. His sleeves were undone. The darkness within him showed up. Just barely, beneath the skin, beneath the glamour. He was not hiding what he was anymore.
“You have become something I cannot stop watching. Wanting. Needing.”
I looked down at my lap, shame pooling in my chest. “You’re not supposed to say things like that.”
“No, but I feel them all the same.”
The Moon glowed bright above, silver and pitiless. The candlelight flickered between us like breath.
I was burning again—inside.
“I felt your cries last night,” he went on, voice tightening. “When you were suffering. When your body screamed for touch. I felt it like a wound in my soul.”
“Then why didn’t you come back?”
“I wanted to. And when I saw you in the bath. I knew I failed this already. I knew that I had no restraints anymore. I looked at you, bare in the water, and I saw everything, and I didn’t turn away.”
The confession landed like thunder in my chest.
“I tried, but I can’t. I almost dropped to my knees beside that tub and licked the need right off your skin.”
“Icarus.” My throat closed.
“But I didn’t because I’m still trying to protect what little goodness we have left between us.”
“Then why this?”
“Because I want you to choose.”
He was silent for a long moment.
I swallowed.
“I can’t choose—“
“You have to.”
He stood up abruptly, his chair scraping back. I went silent. Icarus rounded the table. Each footstep echoed like a heartbeat. I could not breathe. He stopped behind me. His warmth pressed against my back.
“You think I don’t suffer too?” he said in my ear.
I whimpered.
He touched the back of my chair—not me. Just the wood.
“I should send you away. You’re the sweetest kind of ruin. And I’m done pretending I’m strong enough to resist you forever.”
I turned slowly in the chair to face him. Icarus stood tall above me, fists clenched at his sides.
He reached.
Fingers touched my cheek.
A single, light stroke. Reverent. Shaking.
“Choose. I will give you three more nights. And then… if you come to me again, I won’t let you leave.”
- Writer
