At Any Cost

Sloane stared up at the immensely powerful, cruel man lounging on the expensive leather sofa. She looked at Darius in a state of desperate, breathless disbelief. Her mind recoiled at the twisted scenario playing out in the stifling VIP room. He was the man designed by the Moon Goddess to be her eternal mate. She had endured unspeakable agony to silently refuse his brutal rejection years ago, clinging to the shredded remnants of their sacred bond. How could he now sit there and demand she intimately kiss another man for his own twisted amusement? The metallic tang of fear coated her tongue, making it hard to swallow the rising bile in her throat.

"Can you ask me to do something else?" Her hoarse voice vibrated with sheer panic and profound humiliation as she begged him.

"You don't get to negotiate with me." Darius leaned back against the plush cushions, a dark, merciless sneer twisting his handsome features.

He sat there like an untouchable king, watching her trembling form on the sticky carpet. He expected the once-proud daughter of the Crystal Creek Alpha to ultimately choose the physical pain of the liquor over the degradation of kissing a lowly pack guard. He waited for her to break.

Sloane’s trembling hand drifted to her side. She pressed her cold fingers against the thick fabric hiding the massive, ugly scar on her waist. The phantom pain of the deep wound flared in her mind. It was a brutal, daily reminder of the subterranean werewolf prison. She had been viciously bitten by feral inmates when she shifted, her flesh torn apart in the dark. The guards had treated her open wounds with agonizing wolf poison. The toxins had ravaged her body and ruined her internal organs. Drinking a full bottle of hard liquor would instantly amplify the residual poison lurking in her system. The burning alcohol would act as a catalyst, reigniting the venom dormant in her veins. It would ignite a fire in her stomach, melting her from the inside out, a torment she physically could not survive. She simply could not afford to die.

She slowly closed her eyes. Hot tears leaked from the corners of her lashes, tracing tracks through the dirt on her pale cheeks. The vivid, haunting memory of Zia flooded her consciousness. Zia was the young, brave girl who had thrown herself in front of a deranged inmate to protect Sloane in that damp, lightless cell. Sloane could still see the pooling slick of dark blood soaking into the stone floor. She could still feel Zia's cold body going limp in her arms as the life faded from her eyes. In the pitch-black nights, they had whispered about the sunny beaches of Hawaii. Zia never got the chance to see those pristine shores, to feel the warm sand beneath her feet, or let the ocean breeze brush against her face. For the brave girl who sacrificed everything, Sloane forced herself to survive at any cost.

She pushed past her overwhelming emotional despair. Her muscles strained as she stiffly pushed herself off the floor. Moving woodenly, her bad leg dragging slightly behind her, she limped toward the massive, stoic guard standing beside Darius. She bit her pale lip hard enough to draw the coppery taste of blood, attempting to feign a calm exterior. Her hands trembled without pause as she raised them. She weakly gripped the thick, dark fabric of the guard's broad shoulders.

Darius sat rigidly on the sofa. He watched her every micro-movement with a deeply complicated, dark expression. The cruel amusement drained from his eyes as her pale, scarred face inched closer to the guard's rugged jaw. A muscle feathered in his cheek. He opened his mouth, a sharp command resting on his tongue to halt the punishment.

"You again. Why haven't you left yet?"

A cheerful, disruptive voice cut straight through the thick, suffocating tension from the open doorway. Brant strolled into the room with his hands tucked casually into his tailored pants pockets.

Garrick quickly stepped forward from the shadows. He respectfully explained Darius's twisted, humiliating punishment to the newcomer. He treated Sloane's impending ordeal as a casual, amusing after-dinner performance for the gathered Alphas. Garrick pointed to the wine on the table, then to the unmoving guard, laying out the cruel choices presented to the kneeling cleaner.

Brant remained unbothered by the heavy stares of the room. His golden eyes lit up with mischievous interest. He strolled directly toward Sloane, invading her personal space until the scent of cedar and expensive cologne washed over her. He flashed a brilliant, roguish smile that reached his eyes.

"Mr. Rousseau knows how to have fun. Since you want to watch an amazing kissing scene, why don't you let me be the male lead for once? I'm boasting, but if my kissing skills ranked second, no one would dare to be first."

Before Sloane's terror-stricken brain could process his rapid words, Brant's large hands reached out. He grabbed her shoulders and forcefully pulled her fragile body flush against his hard chest. Dipping his head, he captured her trembling lips in a sudden, aggressive kiss.

Brant had initially intended the touch to be fleeting and mocking, a mere joke to disrupt the stifling, oppressive atmosphere of the room. He just wanted to annoy Darius. The reality instantly shifted his intentions. The unexpected softness of her lips and the unique, intoxicating scent of her skin caught him off guard. He found her alluring, far beyond his initial expectations. A primal urge flared in his chest, demanding more. He deepened the pressure of his mouth against hers, moving his lips over hers to pry them apart and taste her properly.

A terrifying force yanked Sloane backward by her arm.

She was ripped away from Brant's mouth. Stumbling backward on her bad leg, she crashed into a solid, furious chest. A familiar, overwhelming aura of explosive possessive fury enveloped her trembling frame.

Brant wiped his wet lip with the back of his thumb. His golden eyes flashed with sudden annoyance as he frowned at the aggressive interruption. The playful smirk vanished from his face, replaced by the hardening features of a challenged predator.

"Darius, give her back to me." Brant dropped his casual tone into a dangerous Alpha warning.

Darius stood rigidly behind Sloane. His face was gloomy, radiating a freezing, murderous cold that dropped the temperature of the VIP room. He tightened his bruising grip on Sloane's fragile wrist, his fingers digging into her skin like iron vices. He glared at Brant with barely contained lethal intent.

"She offended me. Before I cool down, no one can take her away."