The Alpha's Naughty Christmas

11: Restraints

Zolani’s POV

The bass thumped through the walls jolting me awake so hard I almost fell out of the massive bed. My brain was pure fog for a hot second... silk sheets tangled around my thighs, fur duvet half off.

Then it clicked. Blackthorne Lodge. Snowy mountains. Murder-daddy next door.

A sudden sharp knock cracked against the door.

I bolted upright, robe slipping off one shoulder, voice thick with sleep. “Come in.”

The door swung open and a small army of servants filed in like they’d rehearsed this s**t.

Six women, all in crisp black uniforms, each carrying something obscene, armfuls of dresses draped over velvet hangers, velvet boxes of jewelry that glittered like sin, silver trays piled with breakfast, and random s**t I couldn’t even name, silk scarves, leather gloves, a crystal decanter of what looked like liquid gold.

They bowed in perfect unison.

“Good afternoon, Miss,” they chorused, voices soft but reverent.

I stared, mouth open, brain still rebooting. Afternoon?

I twisted toward the little antique clock on the nightstand and my eyes widened.

Noon.

Fucking noon.

How the hell had I slept that long? I’d crashed around midnight. That was twelve hours. Twelve hours of drooling on silk while the lodge partied without me.

“Um… hi?” I croaked, clutching the robe closed like it might save my dignity. “I think you’ve got the wrong room. I’m Zolani. Aradia’s best friend. Not… whatever this is.”

The head servant probably, a tall woman with silver-streaked hair and eyes that saw everything, stepped forward with the calm authority of someone who’d dealt with Alphas longer than I’d been alive.

“Yes, Miss Zolani. We know exactly who you are.” She smiled, small and knowing. “The Alpha instructed us to serve you personally. We are at your complete disposal. Would you like us to bathe you?”

My eyes nearly popped out of my skull.

Bathe me?

Like I was some pampered princess who couldn’t wash her own ass?

“No f*****g way,” I blurted, then clapped a hand over my mouth so hard my teeth clicked. “I mean… thank you, but no. I can bathe myself. I’ve been doing it for twenty-three years. I’m good. Really good.”

The servants exchanged glances, quick, amused flickers of eyes that said they’d seen humans freak out before and found it adorable.

The head one, silver-streaked hair pulled into a severe bun, inclined her head with the patience of someone who’d dealt with Alphas longer than I’d been alive.

“Of course, Miss,” she said smoothly “Then perhaps you’d allow us to assist with dressing? The Alpha personally requested the best designers. He sends apologies for… the unfortunate incident with your previous wardrobe. Miss Aradia also urges you to hurry...the two of you are going out for dress fittings in town. The car leaves in forty-five minutes.”

My stomach flipped so violently I nearly dropped the robe.

Cassian had personally requested designers.

For me.

And apologized.

For the blood-soaked suitcase... again!

Like he hadn’t murdered a man over my panties and then looked at me like he wanted to f**k me on the corpse. Then why was he acting all different just yesterday.

The head servant gestured, and the others moved in... they were efficient, gentle, and no nonsense.

Dresses were laid across the bed like offerings to some ancient, horny god...black silk with a thigh slit that should’ve been illegal in at least three countries, crimson velvet that screamed “f**k me in a cathedral and let the saints watch,” emerald lace so delicate it looked designed to be torn off with teeth in a fit of impatience.

Jewelry boxes popped open next, rubies the size of my thumbnail, black pearls strung like a collar that made my throat tighten just looking at them, diamonds that caught the firelight and threw it back like tiny, mocking stars.

Then, tucked in the corner, a stack of cold-weather clothes, soft cashmere sweaters, tailored wool coats, leather boots that probably cost more than my car payment. Beautiful, restrained and safe.

I stared, mouth dry, pulse hammering in my ears.

“Nah,” I mumbled, voice barely above a whisper. “These are too much.”

Too much everything. Too much exposure. Too much temptation. Too much of him.

I reached out, fingers hovering over the black silk, then snatched my hand back like it burned.

I can’t accept these.

Evan would hate it, he’d see the low neckline, the slit, and ask why I needed to “advertise” when I was supposed to be his modest future wife.

Mom would smell the sin from six thousand miles away and drag me to confession before I even unpacked. Dad would shake his head, disappointed, muttering about how I’d “changed” since I started hanging around “those people.”

They’d all be right.

And yet… f**k.

I badly wanted to take them.

Not even to wear, just to own. To hold something this luxurious, this dangerous, and know it was mine. I could sell them later, quietly, add the money to my startup capital, buy a few more shares of that tech stock I’d been eyeing. It was practical, smart and safe.

But I couldn’t.

Because these weren’t just clothes.

They were Cassian’s choice.

His apology.

And the second I slipped that silk over my skin, I’d feel him, his eyes, his scent, his voice murmuring “little human” while I stood naked in front of a mirror that wasn’t his but might as well have been.

I exhaled hard, shaking my head.

No.

I’m not doing this.

I’m not letting one man, one terrifying, blood-stained, murder-hot Alpha turn me into someone who forgets who she is.

I’m Zolani.

Catholic.

Engaged.

Human.

Good girl.

I turned to the head servant, voice steady despite the tremor in my hands. “Thank you, but I’ll stick with what I brought. The clothes are fine. Really. Just… send up something simple for today. Sweater, jeans. Whatever’s warm.”

The servants exchanged glances again, amused, and almost proud but they didn’t argue. The head one nodded once. “As you wish, Miss. We’ll prepare something appropriate.”

They moved efficiently, folding the sinful dresses back into their garment bags, closing the jewelry boxes with soft clicks that sounded like doors locking on temptation. One of them laid out a cream cashmere sweater, dark jeans, and ankle boots on the bed. Yeah, they're also beautiful, and expensive, but safe and also normal.

I exhaled, shoulders dropping.

Better.

This is better.

The head servant paused at the door. “Miss Aradia will be ready in thirty minutes. She asked that you meet her in the foyer for the town fitting.”

I nodded. “I’ll be there.”

They filed out, leaving me alone with the quiet crackle of the fire and the faint echo of that dark spiced scent that still clung to the air like he’d never really left.

I rushed and did my thing in the bathroom, dressed quickly, sweater soft against my skin, jeans hugging my hips without screaming for attention. I glanced in the mirror.

Normal.

Safe.

Me.

But as I smoothed my wig one last time, my fingers brushed the spot where the rubies would’ve sat, and a traitorous shiver ran down my spine.

I’m controlling this.

I’m choosing restraint.

I’m not letting him turn me into someone who forgets her vows, her family, and her faith.

I’m good.

But deep down, in the part of me that still throbbed from his voice, his gaze, his blood-streaked chest… I knew restraint was a thin thread.

And Cassian Blackthorne was very good at snapping things.

I took one last breath, squared my shoulders, and headed for the foyer.

Aradia was waiting.

And somewhere out there...twenty-four hours or less from now..he was coming back.

Lord, keep me strong because if he sees me in this innocent sweater and still looks at me like he wants to rip it off with his teeth… I might just let him.

Ha! Just kidding... mostly.