The Blood Hound Pact

Chapter Seven

Waking up in a panic room is a very specific kind of hangover. My head is throbbing, my mouth tastes like fermented grapes, and I am currently tangled in a faux-fur throw rug on a velvet sofa that definitely costs more than my college tuition.

For a second, I forget where I am. Then, the memory of the kiss hits me.

The way Silas tasted like salt and Scotch. The way his hands felt like fire against my skin. The way he growled "Mine" like he was ready to fight the entire world for me.

"Oh, god," I groan, burying my face in a silk pillow. "I kissed my dad’s best friend. I kissed a man who can literally turn into a bear-sized dog. I am a walking HR violation."

The wall of the panic room is already open. The estate is quiet—too quiet. I sit up, trying to smooth my bird’s-nest hair, and find a fresh change of clothes sitting on the coffee table. There is a note on top, written in that same elegant, jagged scrawl.

Coffee is in the kitchen. Don't touch the Pinot Noir before noon. We need to talk.

"Hilarious," I mutter, grabbing the clothes.

Ten minutes later, I am scrubbed clean and wearing an oversized cashmere sweater and leggings that make me feel slightly less like a girl who just survived a werewolf siege. I tip-toe toward the kitchen, the scent of expensive dark roast acting like a beacon.

Silas is standing at the island. He’s back in a suit, looking perfectly polished, though the dark circles under his eyes suggest he hasn't slept a wink. He’s staring at a tablet, his jaw set in that rigid line I’ve come to recognize as his 'I’m-trying-to-be-a-civilized-billionaire' face.

"Good morning," I say, my voice sounding a lot more confident than I feel.

Silas looks up. For a heartbeat, the mask slips. His eyes drop to my lips, and I feel a literal jolt of electricity shoot down my spine. The s****l magnetism in the room is so thick you could cut it with a butter knife.

"Ivy," he says, his voice a low, gravelly rumble. "How is your head?"

"Tolerable. Though I think the Pinot Noir might have been a tactical error." I walk over to the coffee pot, feeling his gaze follow my every move. "So... about last night."

Silas sets the tablet down. He moves around the island, stopping just far enough away to keep things 'polite,' though the air between us is screaming otherwise.

"Last night was a lapse in judgment," he says, his voice stiff. "The rogues... the adrenaline... the bond. I shouldn't have put my hands on you."

I turn around, gripping my mug. "A lapse in judgment? Silas, you looked like you wanted to eat me. And not in a 'big bad wolf' kind of way."

He winces, a muscle leaping in his cheek. "I am an Alpha, Ivy. My instincts are... difficult to manage when I think you’re in danger. But you are Arthur’s daughter. You are under my protection, not my bedsheets."

"Ouch," I say, taking a sip of coffee. "That was almost a compliment. Truly, your charm knows no bounds."

"I am trying to be noble here, Ivy!" he snaps, stepping closer. "Do you have any idea how hard it is to stand here and act like I don't want to drag you back to my room? Do you have any idea what your scent is doing to my focus?"

"What do I smell like?" I ask, stepping into his space, my heart hammering. "Law books and desperation?"

Silas lets out a ragged breath. He leans down, his nose brushing against my temple. "You smell like honeysuckle and starlight. You smell like home. And it is driving me absolutely insane."

"Good," I whisper, leaning my head back to look at him. "Because you smell like cedar and expensive bad decisions, and I haven't been able to think straight since I moved in here."

Silas closes his eyes, his forehead resting against mine. We stay like that for a long moment, the domesticity of the kitchen clashing with the primal pull of the bond. It’s cheesy, it’s dramatic, and I am 100% here for it.

Suddenly, his phone buzzes on the counter. He pulls away, the cold air hitting me like a slap. He looks at the screen, and his entire demeanor shifts.

"It’s the hospital," he says, his voice turning sharp. "Your father... he’s showing signs of waking up."

My heart stops. "Is he okay? Can we go see him?"

"The doctors want to run more tests, but his vitals are stabilizing." Silas grabs his jacket, his Alpha-mode snapping back into place. "We’re going. Now. But Ivy..."

He stops at the door, looking back at me with a look of pure, unadulterated longing.

"If your father wakes up, things are going to get complicated. He doesn't know what I am. He doesn't know about the Pact. And he definitely doesn't know about the way I looked at you last night."

"He’s my dad, Silas. He loves us," I say, though a seed of doubt is planted in my chest.

"He loves you," Silas corrects. "He trusts me. Those are two very different things when it comes to a man like Arthur Vance."

As we walk out to the SUV, the sun is shining, the birds are singing, and the broken glass in the driveway has been miraculously cleared away. It looks like a normal morning in a normal town.

But as I look at Silas’s profile, I know nothing is normal.

"Hey, Silas?" I say as he starts the engine.

"Yes?"

"If my dad asks why there is a hickey on my neck, what should I tell him? That a very large mosquito attacked me in the panic room?"

Silas chokes, his face turning a delightful shade of red. He doesn't look at me, but I see the small, secret smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"I’ll tell him it was a rogue," he mutters. "Technically, I wouldn't be lying."

I laugh, leaning back into the leather seat. For the first time in days, I feel like I can breathe.

But as we pull out of the estate, I see a dark figure standing at the edge of the woods. It’s Cassian. He isn't smiling today. He’s watching the car with a look of cold, calculated fury.