🩸 CHAPTER 7: PLAYING WITH FIRE
1146 Words
Jax’s shadow fell over me like a heavy velvet shroud.
His dark eyes slowly tracked from my face down to my hands, which were
still flat against the edge of the mattress, hiding the exact spot
where the plastic burner phone was shoved beneath the fabric. The
silence in the room grew heavy, thick with the scent of his suspicion.
"I'll ask you again, little bird," Jax murmured, stepping closer until
the toes of his polished leather shoes touched the hem of my ruby-red
silk dress. "Why is your heart racing? What are you holding your
breath for?"
My mind spun at a frantic, desperate speed. If he lifted the mattress,
he would find the phone. He would execute Elena, he would butcher
Viktor, and he would lock me in a literal dungeon, realizing I was
already conspiring with his enemies. I had to stop him. I had to pull
his focus entirely away from the bed.
So, I did the most terrifying thing I could think of.
I stopped fighting my own biology.
I took a deep breath, relaxing the internal wall I had spent nineteen
years building to suppress my nature. I let my guard drop completely,
allowing the feverish, bubbling warmth in my core to surge upward. I
looked up at him, forcing the brown in my eyes to dissolve, letting
the bright, glowing amber irises swirl to the surface in full view.
Instantly, the scent of sweet citrus and fresh rain exploded into the
air, ten times more potent than before. It was pure, unfiltered, and
utterly intoxicating.
Jax froze.
The cold, calculating mafia boss vanished in a fraction of a second.
His chest expanded as he dragged the air deep into his lungs, drinking
me in. His pupils dilated until his eyes were almost entirely black,
bleeding with raw, primitive Alpha hunger. The silver-headed cane in
his right hand slipped, clattering loudly against the hardwood floor
as he forgot all about his injuries, all about his suspicions, and all
about the room itself.
"Eva..." he growled, a deep, guttural sound that shook the space between us.
Before he could look down at the bed, I stepped forward, closing the
distance myself. I placed my hands flat against his chest, right over
his white linen shirt, feeling the frantic, heavy thudding of his
heart beneath my palms. The fabric was warm, radiating a heat that
made my own skin flush.
"I'm not hiding anything, Jax," I whispered, forcing my voice to sound
soft, breathless, and inviting. I tilted my head back, deliberately
exposing the long, pale line of my throat to him—the ultimate sign of
Omega submission. "I'm just... overwhelmed. There are too many Alphas
in this house. Your scent is everywhere. It’s making me crazy."
It wasn't entirely a lie. The sheer proximity to him was making my
head spin, a dangerous intoxication dragging at my senses.
Jax let out a ragged breath, his massive hands coming up to grip my
waist. His leather gloves were gone, and his bare palms burned through
the thin silk of my dress, his fingers digging into my hips with a
crushing, possessive force. He pulled me flush against his rigid
frame, burying his face into the crook of my neck.
He didn't bite—not yet—but his lips brushed against my pulse point,
his stubble scraping pleasantly against my sensitive skin. A low,
territorial rumble vibrated in his throat, a sound of absolute
satisfaction.
"You smell incredible," he rasped, his voice rough and stripped of all
composure. "You smell like you're finally accepting who you belong
to."
"Jax," I gasped, my hands gripping his shoulders as a genuine shiver
ran down my spine. The line between acting and reality was blurring
dangerously. My inner wolf was screaming at me to let him mark me, to
surrender to the safety of his size and power. But the image of the
hidden phone flashed in my mind, snapping me back to reality. I had to
keep the distraction going, but I couldn't let him take it too far.
"Jax, stop. Please. It's too much."
He groaned, his grip tightening for a brief second, his teeth grazing
the skin over my vein. I held my breath, terrified he was going to
sink his fangs in right then and there.
But with an immense, visible effort, Jax forced himself to pull back.
His breathing was ragged, his chest heaving under my hands. The amber
in his eyes was still wild, but the cold, intelligent Pakman was
slowly fighting his way back to the surface. He looked down at me, his
fingers tracing the contour of my jaw, tilting my face up so I
couldn't look away.
"You're playing a dangerous game, little bird," he whispered, his eyes
dark with a mix of desire and sharp awareness. He leaned down, his
lips brushing mine, tasting like smoke and danger. "Do you think I
don't know what you're doing? You're using your scent to dizzy me.
You're trying to soften me up."
My throat went dry. Does he know?
"I don't know what you mean," I stammered, trying to maintain the
submissive facade.
Jax let out a soft, humourless chuckle. He didn't look at the bed.
Instead, he reached down, picked up his fallen cane, and stepped back,
breaking the intoxicating bubble between us. The sudden loss of his
warmth made the room feel freezing.
"You have fire in you, Eva. I knew that the moment you hit me in the
alley," Jax said, his voice returning to its calm, authoritative
rhythm. "But don't mistake my patience for weakness. You can use your
body to distract me all you want. I welcome it. But if I find out you
are lying to me... if I find out you are looking at anyone else in
this pack..."
He stepped toward the door, turning his head back to give me one last,
chilling look.
"I will ruin this entire city to find out who put a hand on you. Sleep
well, my Queen. Your first official Pack Gala is tomorrow night. Wear
the red dress. Let them see exactly who you belong to."
The heavy oak door shut, and the lock clicked into place.
I sank back onto the bed, my legs completely giving out. I reached
under the mattress and pulled out the cheap plastic burner phone. My
hands were shaking so badly I almost dropped it.
I had survived the night, but the text message from Viktor’s faction
was still glowing on the screen. The Pack Gala was tomorrow. Jax was
going to parade me around like a trophy, while his enemies were
planning to use me as an assassin’s blade.
I was standing right in the middle of a mafia war, and my only weapon
was a scent I didn't even know how to control.
- Writer
