Page 137 of The Rust in Her Hair

I keep my chin level and my steps even, one foot in front of the other, past the portraits of dead alphas who never had to look at me.

We pass a tall mirror in a gilt frame, and I catch myself in it without meaning to. The woman looking back is composed. Calm. Her face is smooth and pleasant, her shoulders back in a scandalous dress. A picture of a lady on her way to have a civil conversation.

I want to scream at her. I want to grab her by the shoulders and shake her until the mask cracks, because inside I am coming apart at every seam, but none of it reaches the surface.

My mother trained me well to hide every real emotion I feel. And it never fails. Even now, when I want nothing more than to scream my lungs out, it holds, and I don’t know how to stop it.

Father opens the heavy door to his office and gestures us inside like a host.

I step through, and my eyes go straight to the couch.

That fucking navy velvet couch, against the far wall. A phantom pain pinches between my legs, my body remembering that horrific night.

I stop breathing.

My father is talking. His mouth is moving and words are coming out of it, low and clipped, but I can't hear a single one. There's only the couch, and the ache, and the sound of my own blood roaring in my ears.

I can't look away from it.

I'm nailed to the spot, my whole body gone rigid, every muscle locked down tight.

Then Adrian steps in front of me, blocking out the rest of the room.

His broad chest fills my whole view, and all I can see is his dark blue shirt stretching across those big muscles. The couch is gone. Just gone. There's nothing in front of me now but him.

I drag my eyes up to his face, to those steady blue-gray eyes already searching mine, and the world rushes back in all at once.

I'm okay. I'm safe. Adrian is here, and no one is ever going to hurt me again.

And then I feel Nico.

My pack alpha is close. Somewhere just outside these walls, and he's found the thread that runs between us and he's pouring himself down it. Warmth floods into me, steady and strong and certain, calm pressing into every cold, screaming place inside me until my lungs finally remember how to work.

I pull in a breath, and it goes all the way down.

"Are you even listening to me?" Father’s voice cuts through my thoughts, and my head snaps in his direction.

My spine wants to fold. My head wants to drop. Every instinct I have is already reaching for the words that make it stop, yes Father, I'm sorry Father, of course Father.

But Adrian speaks for me. "I’m going to ask you to watch your tone," he says, his voice never rising "I won’t let you speak to my mate like that."

Aldric snarls, an ugly sound low in his throat, and something absurd rises up in me.

The urge to laugh.

It climbs my chest fast and wild, because I have waited my whole life to see someone tell my father to watch his tone, and I never once believed it would happen.

Nico feels my slip of happiness, and our bond sparks bright. He pushes another wave of good feeling into me, warm and steadying, holding me up from the inside.

Aldric makes another displeased sound before collecting himself. He straightens his cuffs, and when he looks at Adrian again his face has smoothed into something businesslike.

"Let's speak plainly, then." He moves behind his desk, planting both hands on the polished wood. "I'm a practical man. Whatever it is you think you have here," he glances between Adrian and me, "I'm prepared to make it worth your while to walk away." He names a number.

It's obscene. It's more money than most people see in ten lifetimes, thrown across a desk to buy me back. Adrian would be a fool to turn it down.

I feel about as human as a dusty painting in one of the sitting rooms.

"No," Adrian says firmly. "You can’t pay me off. I’m not going anywhere."