DEVON
I didn't move. I didn't even breathe.
Irene stood in the center of my dining hall, a vibrant, bleeding wound of a woman against the cold mahogany and stone. The red dress was a statement—a scream of defiance against the white lace Voltage undoubtedly had waiting for her. Her amber eyes were rimmed with red, her chest heaving, her scent a chaotic storm of vanilla and pure, unadulterated adrenaline.
I let the silence stretch. I let the clock on the wall tick once, twice, three times. I was the Alpha. I was the man who had lived through many deaths . I wasn't going to let her see the way my heart was currently trying to punch its way out of my ribs.
I set the bourbon bottle down with a slow, deliberate click.
"You're late for breakfast," I said, my voice as smooth as the silk of her dress.
