Vicious Obsession

Chapter Two: Sandra’s POV

"Did she ever divorce any of her former husbands?" Mother countered bitterly, letting out a harsh, mocking laugh that sent a chill down my spine.

I swallowed hard. No, she hadn't.

That greedy sister of mine never let anything that belonged to her go.

How selfish she is!

"This marriage of hers may annoy the Northern packs," Mother sighed, pacing the length of the rug. "You know how they are."

"Northern packs?" I asked, my brow furrowing.

"Yeah, the Northern packs," Mother said, her voice dropping into a bitter, resentful tone. "Those aristocratic, pure-blood vampires up north, the highest nobles in the land, already look down on us. They are a deeply traditional, elitist bunch, Sandra. They never forgave your father, Cassian, for 'diluting' the sacred Vance bloodline by marrying a werewolf like me and having mixed-breed children. To them, we are a stain on their pristine history."

She paused, pouring herself a glass of blood-wine, her fingers trembling slightly with rage.

"In vampire society, multiple marriages and dynamic shifting are strictly forbidden. You pick a mate, you bind your souls, and that is it. But Cynthia behaves like a stray."

"This habit of jumping from man to man is common among wolves, especially Omegas and Alphas during their seasons. And don't even get me started on the Lycans, those beasts are worst of all, their blood runs too hot, always dwelling on nothing but s*x and the pleasures of the flesh. That is exactly how the Northern vampires see us: as a house of feral, hypersexual animals. Even with the global unity treaties, they look at my daughters and see a joke."

Mother slammed her glass onto the table.

"You know how they are, and virtually, I don't even like who she wants to bring into this house as a husband. That's what makes me more pissed off, because I have no alliance to gain from this marriage she's trying to venture into, and yet she wants to do it anyway! At least her first five marriages were pardonable because I gained something in return."

"Elias brought human corporate infrastructure and political leverage. But what do I stand to gain from a leader of a human mafia who does nothing but kill and sell drugs?"

"A leader of a human mafia who does nothing but kill and sell drugs..." The words left my mouth in a breathless rush.

My chest tightened, a cold sweat breaking out across my neck as a terrifying realization hit me. "Are you referring to Gideon?!"

I gasped as I said the name myself.

That's my ex!!

I couldn't believe my ears. "She is getting married to Gideon?"

"You know him?" Mother asked, her sharp gaze narrowing to slits as she focused entirely on me.

Of course I knew that freaking, arrogant bastard!

"The man who is half your sister's age," Mother continued, completely misinterpreting my shock as sheer disbelief. "The human who gets on my nerves so badly, and yet, he is the one your sister has chosen to marry."

How dare that bastard make a move on my sister! And how dare Cynthia go after him!

Five years ago.

Gideon, handsome, tall, and very much imposing, the kind of man who commanded a room just by stepping into it, was someone I had met at a underground neon-lit club in the lower districts of Santos.

I was twenty, my dominant blood running wild and looking for trouble, and he was a reckless twenty-five-year-old rising through the ranks of the human syndicates.

He was my boyfriend, my tenacious boyfriend who was so good in bed, bringing so many styles, so many motions... holy fuck... he knew every single inch of my body.

"Fuck... AHH... harder... hit it right there... just right there..." I had curled into the mattress as he hit me from behind, the friction blinding.

His large hands had pressed heavily over my hips, holding onto me with an iron, unyielding grip that anchored my wild Alpha energy.

But our very beautiful fantasy shattered when I caught him making out with his stepsister in his living room on my twenty-second birthday.

"Come join us..." I could still remember the haunting pitch of his voice, the casual smirk on his lips as he looked up from her. "Come join us, Sandra..."

That memory burned fresh in my mind, a toxic, sickening reminder of why I had walked away from him three years ago.

And now, he was going for my elder sister like he doesn't know that she was my elder sister! What sort of man was that?

Considering that my sister was even ten years older than he was!!!

"I need to stop that marriage," I muttered, the words slipping past my teeth before I could even stop them.

"Now you're reasoning with your mother for once," my mother said, a rare note of approval in her voice, while I continued clenching my fists so hard my nails dug raw crescents into my palms.

"I won't let her marry someone like him," I growled, the vibration scraping the back of my throat.

Mother stopped pacing, her sharp eyes fixing on me with renewed intensity. "Seems like you know him."

"He's a mafia drug lord, a bum and would bring nothing but disaster to this family," I shot back, covering my tracks with pure, vitriolic disgust. How would I let him into this family? I'd rather die than let him become my new brother in law.

What does he want with my sister?

"Try talking to your sister," Mother said, gesturing vaguely toward the door. "She should reconsider who she wants to marry."

I nodded, despite knowing a talk with my elder sister had never once ended on a good note. But I walked out of her room anyway, the anger vibrating under my skin so fiercely that my fangs ached to drop.

Talk to Cynthia? No. Cynthia wouldn't listen to me. We are never in those terms of talking to each other and never flaring up and turning the tables and maybe the entire house upside down.

If I wanted to stop this, I had to go straight to the source of the rot.

"No date again?" Persie asked, looking up from the bed as I burst back into my room.

"Well, I don't think so," I said tightly, already tearing off my dress. "I have someone to meet right now, and it is highly, very important."

Persie watched in silence as I readied myself, pulling on a pair of tight, black leather trousers and a matching jacket.

I zipped it up with a sharp click. I wasn't dressing for a corporate meeting with Elias anymore, nor was I dressing for a romantic date.

I was dressing for a war.

I would teach that beast a lesson he'd never forget in a hurry. How dare he step into my territory? How dare he touch my family?

I finished dressing and made my way out of the estate, my boots clicking ominously against the marble floor. I slipped into the back of my car, the heavy door shutting out the quiet night, and the chauffeur immediately started driving out of the compound.

"To Puerto Rico club," I told the chauffeur.

The chauffeur turned in the direction of the Puerto Rico Club, a notorious hotspot and the most famous gathering ground for that human mafia syndicate.

When the car finally slowed to a stop and pulled into the crowded parking lot, I didn't waste a single second.

I threw the door open and stepped out into the humid night air, my heels clicking sharply against the asphalt as I marched toward the entrance.

I pushed past the heavy velvet ropes and stepped into the club, instantly rummaging through the bouncing sea of bodies.

Men and women were packed tight, grinding to a bass that rattled my teeth. The air inside was thick and toxic, the heavy stench of smoke, hard drugs, and bubbling hookah pipes all mixing with the tangy, sharp scent of sweat.

Because this was a lower-district joint, the raw pheromones of unchecked werewolves and the cold, predatory auras of rogue vampires were bleeding into everything.

Any other mixed breed would have been overwhelmed by the sensory overload, but my Alpha blood was locked in on a target.

I filtered out the noise, my eyes scanning the flashing neon lights and the shadows.

I was looking for one person entirely.

And there he was.

He was seated at the far end of the VIP lounge, sprawled lazily across a red leather couch.

A glass of amber liquor was loosely held in his hand, and he was surrounded by a couple of his usual heavily armed human sycophants.

The crimson neon light caught the sharp angles of his face, casting him in a bloody glow.

As I stepped clear of the crowd, his dark eyes snapped directly to mine.

He didn't look shocked. He didn't even flinch at the raw, killer intent radiating off my body.

Instead, a slow, arrogant grin spread across his face, his lips curling back as if he had expected I’d be standing right here in the first place.

"You showed up for real?" he asked as I slid into the leather couch next to him.

Without offering a single word of greeting, I reached for a smoking pipe resting on the table, brought it to my lips, and took a long, slow drag.

I let the thick smoke swirl in my lungs before exhaling, letting it drift freely between us like a hazy barrier.

Gideon was staring at me, his dark eyes tracing the sharp line of my jaw, the dark leather of my jacket, and the heavy tension rolling off my shoulders. "You've still got your feral habits, don't ya?"

I didn't blink.

I simply crossed my legs, taking another quiet drag from the pipe before setting it down.

Then, leaning forward deliberately, I reached for the glass of amber liquor he kept right in front of him.

I took a slow sip, letting the burning alcohol test my tongue, and then knocked back a heavy gulp, draining half the glass while staring him dead in the eye.

"Okay," I said, setting the glass down with a hollow clink against the table, my voice dropping into a dangerously smooth register. "Let's cut the bullshit, Gideon."