The devil Alpha

The whos and whys

*Evangeline*

If I hadn’t been standing so extremely close to Claybourne that our hearts fairly beat in the same erratic rhythm, I would have thought he had received a brutal blow. Although he seems to recover quickly enough as he releases his hold on me and steps back, his face once more an unreadable mask.

His expression had been just as inscrutable when he had first walked into the room. While I was certain his butler had told him that a she-wolf had come to call, Claybourne had not even looked surprised to discover I was the one waiting for him. It was only when he had drawn back from the kiss that I had seen any emotion at all, and I could have sworn it was desire. Desire for me specifically? Hardly likely. It was no doubt nothing more than lust unleashed and the particular she-wolf standing before him of no consequence.

He is known for flirting at the edge of respectability, and he is no doubt accustomed to dragging others over the precipice with him. But to my immense shame, I can’t help but think it would be a lovely way to go. In the secret recesses of my mind where wickedness lurks, I have dreamed of him kissing me, but never in my wildest fantasies had I imagined that his lips would be so soft, his mouth so hot, his tongue so determined to have its way.

What our mouths had been doing was quite uncivilized, and even though I knew I should have stepped away, I should have objected, I should have slapped him, all I had wanted was to deepen the intimacy. He tasted of a flavor I had never before experienced. He was bold with his explorations, enticing me to forget all I had learned of decorum.

With his mouth playing over mine, he had succeeded in making my body thrum madly and burn with desire as it never had. I had been halfway tempted to follow where he was leading, but more was at stake than satisfying my own yearnings. His earlier words had convinced me that he would hold no respect for me if I succumbed to his charms, as no doubt many a she-wolf had before me, and at this stage of the game I needed to have the upper hand.

Giving me his back, he walks to a small table where an assortment of crystal decanters rest. He takes the top off one and pours amber liquid into one glass, and then another.

“Dispensed with? Such gentle words. I assume you mean you want someone killed,” he states flatly.

“Yes.” Reaching down, I gather up my pelisse, holding it close as though it had the power to stop my trembling. Dear Goddess, but I want to reach out to him, run my hands over his back, his shoulders. I want to comb my fingers through his thick, dark hair. I want to press my body against his. Waltz with the devil, indeed. Dear Goddess save me, I want to lie with him.

Turning from the table, he holds a glass toward me. Swallowing hard, forcing my body not to reveal its inner quivering, I reach for the glass, pausing as my gaze falls on the inside of his right thumb, scarred with a series of raised welts as though someone had repeatedly slashed at him. Upon further inspection, I realize more than a knife had been used. He has been burned as well.

“Staring at it won’t make it look any prettier,” he says.

I snap my gaze up to his. “My apologies. I…” I can say nothing to make the matter right, so I simply take the glass he offers. “Thank you.”

His gaze roams over me. Disdainfully. It is all I can do to keep holding my head high, but hold it high I do.

He brushes past me and drops into a chair, lounging insolently. Gone is any semblance of him being a gentleman, any hint that he views me as a miss. Although in truth, he’d ceased to be a gentleman the moment his warm, pliant lips had met mine.

Even now, my body heats with the memory of his mouth urging mine to open for him, to welcome the thrust of his tongue. And in the welcoming, I cease to be a miss, but I can regain my footing easily enough by simply reverting back to my upbringing.

He takes a long swallow, then with the hand holding the glass, indicates the chair opposite him. Not certain how much longer my quaking legs can support me, I gracefully sit, ever mindful of my posture, determined to remain above reproach, even if he is no longer acting the gentleman. Since that first night, at least a thousand times, I have imagined being in his presence, but not like this. We are always in a ballroom, our gazes meeting across the crowded room…

“Who?” he asks.

The brusqueness of his tone brings me back to the moment. I wrap both hands around the glass. “Pardon?”

He sighs with impatience. “Who do you want killed?”

“I won’t tell you until I know for certain that you are willing to do it.” I tell him.

“Why?” He asks.

“Because I don’t want you warning him if you are not going to take care of the matter…”

“No,” he interrupts brusquely.

Disappointment slams into me. I consider arguing, but I feel almost undone by the kiss and his complete disregard for my plight. Despising the small tremors cascading through me and determined to make as dignified an exit as possible, I stand. “Thank you for your time then.”

“No,” he grinds out. “I wasn’t saying I wouldn’t do it. I said no because youare answering the wrong question.”

“Pardon?”

“I wasn’t asking why you wouldn’t tell me who he was. I was inquiring as to the reason you wanted him killed.” He explains.

“Oh.” I sit back down. Hope returns like a fledgling bird learning to fly. “I’m afraid I can’t tell you that either.”

He takes another swallow of his brandy, studying me over the rim of his glass. It is all I can do not to squirm. He isn’t what I would call classically handsome. His nose is slightly bent and uneven across the top as though at one time it might have been smashed. Oddly, it adds strength to a face that might have appeared a bit too elegant otherwise. He is in need of a shave, but at this time of night, I suspect most men are. I can still feel where his dark whiskers had abraded my chin and cheeks as he kissed me.

I close my eyes and fight back those carnal images and my body’s embarrassing reaction to them. My lips are still tingling and swollen. I wonder if they will ever again feel normal. Apparently being spawned from the depths of hell causes everything about a man to be exceedingly hot. I am surprised I have not burned to a cinder.

“How many men have you kissed?” he suddenly asks.

My eyes fly open, and… Drat it! I squirm. I consider lying, but what is to be gained by deception? I suspect he does enough deceiving for both of us. “Only tonight.”

He takes another long swallow, scrutinizing me again. I don’t like when he studies me. I don’t like it at all. I am reminded of that first night, at the ball, when I had felt as though he had been measuring my worth… and had decided I was worth very little.

“But I’m not here to discuss kisses. I’m here to discuss…”

“Yes, yes, whether I will kill someone for you. And you expect me to take you at your word that he deserves killing without even telling me what he has done. For all I know perhaps he neglected to ask you for a dance.” He says.

I blink, “Surely, you don’t think I’m as trite as all that.”

“I know little about you, miss Evangeline, except that you have no qualms about visiting a gentleman in the dead of night. Perhaps you visited this gent, he rebuffed you, and you took offense.” He suggest.

“I’m not in the habit of visiting gentlemen in the dead of night.” I huff.

He shrugs, “Your actions would speak otherwise.”

“Do you judge all by their actions?”

“They are more telling than their words.”

“And you no doubt have considerable experience with false words.”

One corner of his mouth eases up slightly, a mocking imitation of a smile. “Most she-wolves fawn over a gentleman when they wish him to do their bidding.”

I glance down at the glass in my hands. I wonder if I drink its contents if I will find my retreating courage at its bottom. “I meant no insult.”

“Did you not?”

I lift my gaze back to his. “Yes, I suppose I did.”

His eyes widen slightly, as though surprised by the truth of my answer.

“So what did the gentleman do to earn your displeasure? Mock your gown? Step on your toes while waltzing? Present you with wilted flowers?” He asks.

“My reasons are my own, my Alpha. You will not goad me into telling you. Our arrangement will involve nothing more than you agreeing to take care of the matter, at which point I will tell you who is to be taken care of.”

He shakes his head, “Why should I agree to this? What is the benefit to me?”

“I shall pay you handsomely for this service.” I tell him.

His harsh laughter, echoing between the walls lined with shelves laden with books, somehow seems at home here. As though masculinity rules and no space is allowed for anything of a kinder nature. “Miss Evangeline, money is the one thing of which I have absolutely no need.”

I feared that would be the case, leaving me in a weak bargaining position. What could I offer him? I have heard enough rumors to know he isn’t a man who does anything as a result of having a charitable heart. “What are you in need of then, my Alpha?”

“From you… nothing.” He says.

“Surely you are in need of something that your present circumstance can’t provide.”

He stands. “Nothing that would cause me to kill a man simply because you wish him dead. You have wasted your time by coming here. Please see yourself out.”

Dismissing me, he walks back to the corner and begins refilling his glass. I won’t beg, but neither will I give up quite so easily. I rise to my feet. “Is there nothing you want so desperately that you would be willing to do anything in order to acquire it?”

“If you want him dead that badly, kill him yourself.” He mumbles.

“I fear I will botch it. I suspect it takes a certain type of individual to complete the act when the reality of it comes rushing home.” I admit.

He looks at me, “A man like me perhaps? A coldhearted bastard?”

“Did you… did you kill him? Did you kill your uncle?” I can’t believe I have asked the impudent question. The words rushed out before I had a chance to stop them.

He downs the amber liquid and pours more into his glass. “What answer would satisfy you, Miss Evangeline?”

“An honest one.”

Turning slightly, he meets my gaze. “No, I did not kill my uncle.”

And in spite of his answer, which his unwavering gaze reveals to be the absolute truth, the fine hairs on the nape of my neck prickle, and I no longer have any wish to linger in his presence. I had been a fool to come here, but then desperation often creates fools.

“I’m sorry to have bothered you, my Alpha.”

“No bother, Miss Evangeline. The kiss was well worth the intrusion on my evening.”

I angle my chin haughtily. “A pity I cannot claim the same.”

His dark laughter follows me out of the library, and I have little doubt that the sound of it will filter into my dreams, along with the memory of his lips pressed against mine.

Visiting the devil has been a mistake, and I can only pray that my actions won’t return to haunt me.