The Blood Hound Pact

CHAPTER SIX

I am currently being hauled down a hallway like a sack of designer potatoes. Silas has a grip on my waist that is entirely too firm and entirely too distracting, his long strides forcing me to practically jog to keep up.

"Silas! Put me down! I have legs! They are very functional!" I yelp, nearly losing a heel as we round a corner.

"They are not fast enough," he growls, not even breaking a sweat. "And you are currently hyperventilating. It is inefficient."

"I am not hyperventilating! I am... expressing respiratory concern!" I snap.

We reach a dead end in the west wing where a massive, floor-to-ceiling mirror hangs in a gilded frame. Silas presses a hidden catch, and the entire wall swivels inward with a hiss of hydraulics.

"Oh, you have got to be kidding me," I breathe, staring into the room. "A panic room? Really, Silas? Is there a Batmobile in here too?"

"In," he commands, ushering me inside.

The room is less 'cold bunker' and more 'five-star hotel suite.' There are plush velvet sofas, a wall of monitors showing every angle of the estate, and—most importantly—a fully stocked mahogany bar.

"Wait, you’re leaving me here?" I turn, my heart doing a nervous little somersault as I see him checking the weight of the silver dagger in his hand. "With what? A bottle of wine and my thoughts? That’s dangerous for everyone involved!"

Silas pauses, his gaze softening for a split second. He steps into my personal space, his heat hitting me like a physical wave. He reaches out, his thumb tracing the line of my lower lip. The s****l magnetism is so thick I could choke on it.

"I need to clear the perimeter, Ivy," he whispers, his voice like velvet over gravel. "The rogues are close, but they aren't inside. Not yet."

"And if they get in?" I ask, my voice trembling. "What am I supposed to do? Throw a corkscrew at them?"

"If they get in," Silas says, his eyes flashing that dangerous, beautiful amber, "they will have to go through me. And I am very, very hard to kill."

He leans down, his nose brushing against mine. My breath hitches. I can smell the woodsmoke and the raw, wild scent of the forest on him. For a second, I think he’s going to kiss me. I want him to. I want him to ruin my lipstick and make me forget that there are monsters outside.

"Stay behind the door," he breathes, his lips ghosting over mine. "And for the love of everything holy, stay away from the security monitors. You’ll only give yourself a headache."

"Silas," I whisper, my hands catching the lapels of his shirt.

"I’ll be back for you, Ivy," he promises. "I’m not losing you twice."

He pulls away abruptly, stepping back into the hallway. The stone wall swivels shut, and I hear the heavy thud of the locks engaging.

I am alone.

"Great," I mutter, kicking off my heels and sinking into the velvet sofa. "Just me, the apocalypse, and... oh, look, a 2018 Pinot Noir."

I grab the bottle and a glass, pouring myself a healthy serving. I know I should be terrified. I should be pacing the room or looking for a secret exit. But the adrenaline has left me feeling strangely floaty. Or maybe that’s just the fated mate bond humming in my ears.

I can feel him. It’s the weirdest sensation, like a tether tied to my ribs. He’s moving fast. He’s angry. He’s... really, really attractive when he’s angry.

"Get it together, Ivy," I scold myself, taking a sip of wine. "He’s sixteen years older than you. He’s your dad’s best friend. He’s a werewolf. He’s basically your uncle-boss-bodyguard. It’s a mess. A hot, muscular, terrifying mess."

I can't help myself. I stand up and wander over to the wall of monitors. Silas told me not to look, which is exactly why I’m looking.

The screens show the dark woods surrounding the house. For a few minutes, there’s nothing but shifting shadows. Then, I see a flash of movement. A massive, gray shape leaps over the perimeter fence.

"Holy mother of..." I spray a mouthful of Pinot Noir across the console.

It’s a wolf. But it’s the size of a small horse. And it’s not alone. Three more emerge from the trees, their eyes glowing like demonic flashlights.

Then, Silas appears on the screen.

He’s not shifting. He’s still in his dress slacks and his white button-down, but he looks like a god of war. He moves with a fluid, terrifying grace that no human should possess. One of the wolves lunges, and Silas catches it mid-air, slamming it into the ground with enough force to crack the pavement.

"Go Silas! Kick his furry butt!" I cheer, leaning closer to the screen.

He’s a blur of motion. He’s beautiful. He’s lethal. And then, he stops.

He turns his head, looking directly into the security camera. It’s like he can feel me watching him. He narrows his eyes, and even through the grainy black-and-white footage, I can see the amber fire. He points a finger at the camera, then points toward the sofa.

Sit down, he’s saying.

"You are so bossy!" I yell at the monitor, but I find myself sitting back down anyway.

I take another sip of wine, my heart racing for a completely different reason now. I’ve spent years wondering what it would be like to be with him. I’ve had dreams about those hands on me—dreams that would make a sailor blush. And now, knowing what he is... knowing that I am his 'mate'...

"It’s the ultimate cliché," I sigh, swirling the red liquid in my glass. "I’m the human girl, he’s the big bad wolf. I should be writing this down. I could make a fortune on an app."

Suddenly, the room shakes. A heavy thud echoes from somewhere above me, followed by the sound of glass shattering.

"Okay, that was definitely not a stray dog," I whisper, setting the wine glass down.

I look back at the monitors. Silas is gone. The courtyard is empty except for two unconscious wolves. The other screens are flickering.

"Silas? Silas, if this is a prank, it’s not funny!"

The hydraulics hiss, and the wall begins to swivel open. I grab the heavy Pinot Noir bottle, holding it over my head like a club.

"I have wine and I’m not afraid to use it!" I scream.

The door swings wide, and a figure stumbles in. It’s Cassian. He’s bleeding from a cut on his forehead, his leather jacket torn.

"Whoa! Drop the booze, Princess!" he wheezes, holding up his hands.

"Cassian? What are you doing here? Where’s Silas?"

"He’s busy taking out the trash," Cassian says, leaning against the doorframe and grinning despite the blood. "But he sent me to get you. The west wing isn't safe anymore. They’re inside the vents."

"The vents? What are they, ninjas?"

"They’re rogues, Ivy. They’re desperate." He steps closer, his dark eyes scanning the room. "Nice setup. Silas really knows how to build a cage, doesn't he?"

"It’s not a cage, it’s a panic room."

"Same thing," Cassian shrugs. He looks at the bottle in my hand. "Is that the 2018? Good choice. Give me a swig and let’s get moving."

I hesitate. Silas told me not to talk to Cassian. He told me to stay here. But Silas is outside, and Cassian is right here, and the house is making some very loud, very 'breaking-and-entering' kind of noises.

"Silas told me to stay put," I say firmly.

"Silas is currently pinned under a two-ton rogue named Brutus," Cassian lies, his voice smooth as silk. "Do you want to wait here for the rogues to find you, or do you want to come with me?"

I look at the monitor. The screens are all static now.

"Fine," I mutter, grabbing my heels. "But if you try anything, I’m hitting you with the bottle."

"I’d expect nothing less," he smirks.

As we step out into the hallway, I feel the tether in my chest snap tight. It’s a warning. It’s a scream of 'No!' echoing through the bond.

I stop in my tracks. "Wait. You’re lying."

Cassian stops, his back to me. "I don't know what you mean, Ivy."

"Silas isn't pinned. I can feel him. He’s... he’s right behind you."

Cassian spins around, but he’s too late.

The shadows at the end of the hall seem to liquefy, and Silas emerges like a demon summoned from the dark. He doesn't look like the billionaire anymore. He looks like a god of death.

"Get away from her, Cassian," Silas growls, and the floorboards literally vibrate under my feet.

"Just trying to help, Alpha," Cassian says, his voice losing its cocky edge.

Silas is across the hall in a heartbeat. He grabs Cassian by the throat and slams him against the wall, lifting him off the ground with one hand.

"You entered my home. You lied to my mate," Silas whispers, and the sound is more terrifying than any shout. "Give me one reason why I shouldn't tear your heart out right now."

"Silas, stop!" I cry out, stepping forward.

Silas freezes. He looks at me, and for a second, I see the struggle in his eyes the man trying to claw his way back through the beast. He drops Cassian, who falls to the floor gasping for air.

"Get out," Silas commands. "Before I change my mind."

Cassian doesn't wait. He scrambles to his feet and disappears down the hall.

Silas turns to me, his chest heaving, his shirt torn and stained with blood that isn't his. He looks wild. He looks dangerous. He looks like he wants to grab me and never let go.

"I told you to stay in the room," he says, his voice a low, vibrating rumble.

"I got bored! And Cassian is a very convincing liar!" I shout, my own adrenaline finally boiling over. "And you! You’re out here playing John Wick with giant dogs! Do you have any idea how stressed I am?"

Silas stares at me for a beat, then he starts to laugh. It’s a dark, breathless sound. He walks toward me, his eyes locked on mine.

"You’re stressed?" he asks, stopping inches away. "I’m the one who had to fight off a scouting party while wondering if you were drinking my best wine."

"I only had one glass!"

"You have red wine on your chin, Ivy," he whispers, leaning down.

He doesn't wait for an answer this time. He reaches out, his hand cupping the back of my neck, and pulls me into a kiss that tastes like salt, iron, and absolute possession.

It’s not a gentle kiss. It’s three years of 'I hate you' and 'I want you' exploding all at once. My knees go weak, and I find myself clinging to his shoulders, the Pinot Noir bottle long forgotten on the floor.

He pulls back just an inch, his thumb brushing over my swollen lips.