Page 135 of The Rust in Her Hair

He's got the same honey-brown eyes as Lyra, except where hers go warm, his are as cold as a well in January.

Aldric Van Houten looks at his daughter, and for half a second something crosses his face that almost looks like shock, like he genuinely didn't believe he’d see her again.

Then his gaze catches on her dress. That tight black number that makes her tits look amazing.

His face goes beat-red, the color climbing up out of his collar while he holds his polite expression nailed in place. Then he clears his throat, hard.

"Excuse us a moment," he says to the men around him, then his hand closes around Lyra's upper arm and he steers her off toward the edge of the room, away from the crowd.

I want to snarl at the fucker for touching our mate, but I keep it together, letting Adrian lead.

Adrian's on their heels before Aldric's taken two steps, close enough to remind the old man exactly whose mate he's got his hands on. The rest of us follow as I toss back the last of my champagne, then set the empty flute on a passing tray.

Showtime, for real this time.

Aldric stops at the edge of the room, near a tall window where the party thins out, and only then does Adrian step in.

"Sir." Adrian’s voice is easy, polite as Sunday. "I'd appreciate it if you'd let go of my mate."

Aldric doesn't move. His hand stays clamped on Lyra's arm, and I watch the argument climb up his throat. The fucker’s face gets even redder, the words loading behind his teeth, then his eyes cut out across the crowded room.

All those tuxedos and champagne flutes. All those people who came here tonight to shake Aldric Van Houten's hand and call him a moral man.

The fucker’s jaw works. And he lets Lyra go.

Adrian quickly wraps an arm around her shoulders, and Lyra steps into the alpha, rubbing her upper arm.

Nico catches my eye, and Lord, he's furious.

It takes everything in me not to smile. Fuck, I hope he hits someone.

I look back at Lyra, trying to keep my head in the game.

The omega is holding it together. Standing there in front of the man who sold her off like a parcel of land, spine straight, chin level, not a crack showing. I don't know how she does it. If it were my daddy, assuming I'd had one worth a damn, I'd have already put a fist through his teeth.

"I’d like a private word with you," Aldric says to her, low. "Let’s talk in my office."

"No." Lyra doesn't so much as blink. "We'll talk right here."

Aldric's face tightens, and his hand twitches like he's fixing to grab her again.

Adrian sets two fingers against the old man's forearm. Gentle. Almost friendly. "Let's not do that again," Adrian says.

Aldric glares up at him, because Adrian's got a good four inches on the man, and slowly draws his arm back. Then Aldric squares his shoulders and steps in close, tipping his chin up, doing that thing small men do when they're trying to make a bigger man feel like nothing.

"So." Aldric looks Adrian over like something scraped off a boot. "You're the alpha who stole my daughter."

Adrian laughs.

It's an easy, unbothered sound, and I'll be damned if I'm not impressed. The alpha who locked up tight the second we walked into this ballroom is nowhere to be found.

I’m gonna need to fuck the life out of him the second we get home.

"Stole?" Adrian shakes his head. "Nobody stole anything, sir. Lyra came to me on her own. She's free to walk out that door any time she wants." He holds Aldric's eyes. "But she doesn't want to."

Aldric's eyes narrow to slits.

Then he looks past Adrian, taking in the rest of us for the first time, his lip curling like we've tracked mud across his marble.