Page 13 of The Rust in Her Hair

"What?" The word is breathy, and it takes everything in me not to push up onto my tip-toes and press my mouth to his.

"I’m—"

But before he can finish, the heavy door groans open.

The scent of clove and dark musk hits me almost instantly, and ice tips into my veins. Owen's posture changes beside me, going stiff.

"There you are." Crispin's voice fills the room. He's smiling, which is the worst version of him. "Sneaking off, Lyra? That's not very ladylike."

The alpha doesn't look at Owen at all.

His shiny black shoes hit the polished floor in a hard, uneven rhythm. Too fast. The sound echoes off the glass cases and the high ceiling, sharp and metallic, like a clock counting down.

"I’ve been looking everywhere for you." He sways like his balance is a little off.

He's drunker than he was an hour ago. I can see it in his eyes now. They're glassy and a little wild, and they're locked on me with a terrifying amount of intensity.

Fear slips over me as he gets closer, and I take a small step back, but my hip bumps the display case. There is nowhere to go.

"Mr. Maleth," I say, holding up one hand, like it'll do anything to stop him.

But it’s too late.

Crispin is practically on top of me, his hand closing around my upper arm, jerking me forward.

It immediately hurts.

His grip is too tight, and a small sound escapes my throat before I can stop it. The champagne tilts in my glass. I don't drop it. I want to drop it but I don't.

"Mr. Maleth." Owen's voice is shockingly calm. Conversational. He sets his own champagne down on top of the display case with a small careful click. "I think there's been a misunderstanding."

"Fuck off." Crispin doesn't look at him. He's looking right at me as his thumb digs into the soft inside of my arm.

"Lyra is an unmated omega," Owen says, very pleasantly, the way you might explain something to a three-year-old. "Touching her like this would damage her reputation considerably if someone saw. I'm sure you would never want that for her."

I want to laugh, and tell Owen that this asshole just groped me in a room filled with people. But I keep my mouth shut.

"Her reputation?" Crispin slowly shifts his gaze to Owen, then the alpha’s lips peel back from his teeth, baring his canines. The growl that comes out of his chest is low enough that I feel it in the floor.

The hair on my arms rises as I duck my head. My hand finds the edge of the display case behind me and grips it.

But Owen doesn’t move an inch.

His shoulders stay relaxed, his hands loose at his sides. The only thing I notice is the small movement at his throat as he swallows, and the slight tightening at the corners of his eyes.

But his voice, when he speaks again, is the same.

"Lyra’s parents would be embarrassed if word got out. Lyra has worked very hard tonight to be a credit to her family. It would be a shame to undo that over a few minutes in a side gallery."

I can't move.

The pressure on my arm is climbing past pain into something that feels like a warning. My eyes are burning, but I refuse to cry. Instead, I focus on a single seam of light along the edge of the nearest display case, and I breathe through my nose.

I wish I could still smell Owen, but all I can smell is Crispin’s thick clove scent. It’s suffocating, making me want to gag.

"You think you get a say in this, beta." Crispin's gaze cuts to Owen.

In one swift movement, the alpha releases my arm and shoves Owen's shoulder so hard, he stumbles back one step, but he doesn’t go down.