Wicked lessons from the Alpha

A bet

*Hunter*

She is plotting something, though I'm unsure of the details. Nevertheless, I would wager everything I have that she has a scheme in mind.

She deliberately and slowly tugs on each fingertip of her glove, never breaking eye contact with me. With a leisurely motion, she peels off the kidskin, revealing her wrist, palm, and fingers. Her skin, so slender and pale, hasn't felt the touch of the sun in years.

I wonder if any gentlemen have noticed her tonight.

She moves her bare hand towards the other glove, and I curse both her actions and my own fascination with the reveal of skin and gathering of fabric. Bloody hell, it's just an arm. Her pale blue ball gown, adorned with blue piping and embroidered roses, leaves her shoulders and neck enticingly exposed. Yet, the modestly covered upper swells of her breasts hold a greater allure than anything revealed by the courtesans I have encountered recently.

My world shifts off its axis.

Even during her visit the week before, I had still seen her as a young girl, not a woman. But now, it's a woman with sultry eyes meeting mine, a woman whose pouting mouth beckons to be kissed.

With considerable effort, I realign my world, setting it back on its proper course. I mentally berate myself for finding anything desirable about her. She is a dear friend, nothing more. I shouldn't be attracted to her in any way. The younger version of myself wouldn't have noticed. However, I am no longer the person I once was.

But apparently, neither is Faye. She could have taken the time to change into something less enticing before coming to the club. We will surely be here all night, and she must have known that. She knows our habits, our vices, as well as we do. Yet she decided to make a grand entrance instead.

For what purpose, I wonder?

I know she despises losing, but is her motive truly to gather funds for a foundling home? I highly doubt it. If she simply asked, we would willingly dig into our pockets to contribute our last coin. No, there's something else at play, and I suspect it relates to her clandestine visit to my residence last week.

Realizing that I have been observing her for too long, I shift my gaze to my two cards… one facing down, the other up… dealt as soon as she secured her gloves in her reticule. There's no room for concealment in this game of stud poker we are playing. Faye's brothers stumbled upon it during their voyage to New Orleans, and upon their return, they introduced its intricacies to our circle of friends, expanding the repertoire of entertainments at the full moon club.

However, downstairs, the atmosphere is far less intense, and the stakes are not as high. I ponder whether I should mention to Greywind that he's providing his daughter with an excessive allowance if she has enough money to participate in our private games.

More cards are dealt, further wagers are placed, until Faye emerges victorious in the round. Her triumphant smile illuminates the room, outshining the gaslights. The others groan, only fueling her satisfaction as her lips widen in triumph. "You never know when to stop betting, Langdon," she teases, her voice sending a shiver down my spine. When was the last time I truly laughed or even smiled?

"You should play against my father," Langdon retorts. "I hear he never loses at cards."

"Faye rarely does either," Lupo interjects, commencing the next round of dealing. "Even when we played simple card games as children, requiring nothing more than matching two pictures, she always found a way to defeat me."

"All these years, I thought you let me win," Faye playfully remarks.

Lupo merely winks at her. He started life as a street urchin before finding solace within Faye's family. He never speaks of his past, but there are moments when the weight of it is palpable. He is dedicated to his work here, ensuring the gaming hell thrives and repaying those who have given him so much.

"Anything noteworthy happen at Claybourne's ball?" Riverdale inquires.

Faye casually raises one slender alabaster shoulder. "If you wish to know what occurs at the balls, you should attend."

"I'm not genuinely interested. I was simply attempting polite conversation."

"More like trying to divert my attention from the dealt cards," she retorts. "Although I did hear that a certain young she-wolf was spotted in the garden with an older gentleman."

"Who?" Riverdale asks.

She shoots him a pointed look. "I'm not one to spread gossip."

"Then why bring it up at all?"

She smiles, that captivating smile that I suspect weakens some men. "To distract you. Now you will be left wondering if perhaps it's a she-wolf who could have become an excellent Luna for you."

"I have no interest in marriage. None of us at this table, except for you, do." He says.

"You all require heirs," she remarks.

"There's no rush," I reply nonchalantly. "My father was quite old when he fathered me."

She glares at me. "Which left your mother a young widow."

"Marrying young doesn't guarantee you won't end up alone," I say, instantly regretting my words. The sting of loss remains sharp even after two years. My mother encourages me to move on, having done so herself quickly after my father's death. But theirs wasn't a love match. No, she didn't experience love until Jack Moondancer, the notorious owner of the Full Moon club, became my guardian.

Faye blushes, and if her freckles were still present, I suspect they would have vanished within the redness of her face. "Of course not. I'm sorry. I... I was thoughtless there."

"Think nothing of it. My words were unnecessary." Tension settles around us. No one dares to speak of Jessamine. Sometimes it feels as though she existed solely in my mind. Lately, I struggle to remember her scent, the exact shade of her hair, the precise hue of her eyes. Were they a sky at dawn or sunset?

Faye diverts her attention to her cards, and I find myself captivated as her rosy blush subsides. Her skin would be warm to the touch, I imagine, just as I suspect her entire being would radiate warmth. I should abandon the cards and seek solace in the arms of a woman, but tonight, the women I have frequented hold no interest for me. Yes, they provide temporary pleasure, but I fail to feel alive in their presence. It feels as if, for the past two years, I have been going through the motions in every aspect of my life. Simply putting one foot in front of the other without purpose or thought.

I refocus on my pair of jacks, pushing dark thoughts away.

It comes as no surprise when neither Faye nor I win that hand. The game feels trivial, yet it provides a welcome distraction from matters that truly hold weight.

My coffers hold enough money that losing is of no consequence. I was raised to follow my father's belief that debt is the devil's handiwork. A man pays his way and never owes another anything, for debts have a way of ensnaring a man when he least expects it.

The night wears on, conversation dwindling to silence as we all concentrate on the cards dealt to us.

I observe as half of my chips find their way into Faye's growing pile. It should irk me to no end, but I find myself intrigued by the glow of her cheeks and the sparkle in her blue eyes with each victorious round. She cares so deeply about something so trivial, while I care not at all for the most significant matters...

In the present hand, Faye holds two queens and a jack, while I possess a king, a ten, and a nine.

Lupo and Langdon has already folded earlier in the round. The final cards are now placed face down in front of the remaining players.

Faye taps her finger on a card. "I will bet fifty," she declares, tossing her chips onto the center pile as though the amount holds no significance. But truly, it's not the money that entices any of us to play. It's the thrill of besting the others. The chips merely serve as a measure of success.

"I think I'm done for the night," Riverdale announces, turning his cards face down.

I examine my final card, then shift my gaze to Faye. She exudes confidence as effortlessly as most women don a cloak. I match her fifty and raise another fifty.

Without hesitation, she matches my bet. "I want to raise the stakes," she says.

"Then go ahead."

"I wish to wager something a bit different."

I'm not the only one who becomes attentive at that statement. I can practically feel the curiosity and interest emanating from the others. Hopefully, I have managed to conceal my own fascination. "Explain."

She licks her lips, the delicate muscles of her throat moving slightly as she swallows. "We each wager a favor. If your cards beat mine, you can ask anything of me and I will comply. If my cards beat yours, you must honor my request."

"Don't be absurd," Lupo interjects. "That's not how the game is played. Use your chips or forfeit."

"Wait a moment," I drawl, studying Faye intently. The gleam in her eyes, the faint blush beneath her skin. "I wager she has been waiting for this moment all night. Let's give it to her."

"Why do I feel like I have stepped into a mess?" Lupo questions. "Do you know what's happening?"

I roll my lucky coin over and under my fingers. "I have a fairly good idea."

I have to give her credit; she doesn't flinch but meets my gaze head-on. So, I am correct. She plans to win my assistance.

"You can't seriously consider accepting her challenge," Lupo insists. "You have no clue what she might ask."

"I highly doubt she will ask something I would find repulsive. The risk is hers, for she has no idea what I might ask in return, and my standards are not as lofty as hers."

"But you can't ask for anything unseemly or jeopardize her reputation," Lupo persists.

"Are there any rules to this wager?" I inquire, directing my question to Faye.

She tilts her chin defiantly. "None at all."

"I won't allow this," Lupo protests.

"The she-wolf is willing to face the consequences of her own impulsive actions, so you have no choice," I remind him.

"I am the one in charge here. This is my gaming house," Lupo insists.

"Actually, it's not. It's owned by my stepfather, Langdon's father, and Faye's mother. As much as I appreciate your management, I must also respect that the she-wolf has the right to wager as she pleases. As long as she understands that my request, should I emerge victorious, will not please her in the slightest."

Leaning closer to Faye, Lupo urges, "Faye, this is an unwise path to take. You have no idea what he may demand from you."

She never breaks eye contact with me, a smile gracing her lips that nearly undoes me. She is challenging me to do something wicked. Oh, the mischief I could have teaching her the ways of men with scandalous reputations...

But my thoughts abruptly halt, as if crashing into a solid wall. She is Miss Faye Grace, lover of kittens, pilferer of biscuit tins, and tree climber. What in the devil am I doing, envisioning her draped in silk sheets? I deserve to be whipped if my mind continues down this treacherous path, and I suspect Lupo would be more than willing to deliver such punishment if he realizes the direction my errant thoughts have taken.

"The fact that you believe he may do something nefarious has piqued my curiosity to no end," Faye declares. "Still, I am willing to wager a favor, as long as you, Hunter, understand that you will not be pleased with my request, but you will be obligated to fulfill it until I am satisfied with the outcome."

I almost purr at the thought of satisfying her desires. A surge of excitement courses through me, the first I have felt in quite some time. It's peculiar to consider all the drinking, gambling, and womanizing I have indulged in, only for the thrill to pale in comparison to this single moment… the possibility of besting her... and the chance that I may not, and that her request will undoubtedly set my blood boiling, for I have a damned good idea of what she wants from me. It's strange to feel so alert, so on edge after wandering in a fog for so long. With certainty, I nod. "By all means. I accept your wager."

Bless her, she looks triumphant, and I already know what she holds before she reveals the first card she received. The queen of hearts winks up at me. "Three queens," she announces.

"I can count, Miss Grace," I retort, flipping over both of my downturned cards. I watch as her face drains of color.

Three kings seal her fate.

"I see," she murmurs, lifting her sapphire gaze to mine. Her narrowed eyes and the slight lick of her lips betray her disappointment. "That is quite astonishing."

"I did try to warn you," I remind her.

She nods, her jaw so tightly clenched that I suspect she might be grinding her teeth to nubs. "So, what is your request of me?"

I refuse to feel guilty, for the cards have favored me, not her. I am well aware of the other gentlemen awaiting my pronouncement, holding their breath in anticipation.

Though I am known to take advantage of situations, it irks me to think that they believe I would exploit her, a girl I consider a sister despite our lack of blood relation. "You know what I desire," I state.

"And what, exactly, is that?" Lupo inquires.

"Something quite innocent, I assure you," she replies as she rises from her seat, emanating an air of regal dignity despite her disappointment. All the gentlemen, except for me, stand as well. "Lupo, would you kindly arrange a carriage for me? I dismissed my driver earlier."

"I have had enough of this evening," I declare, shoving my chair back and rising to my feet. "I will escort you home."