Chapter 5: Breach of the Rules
We stepped past the threshold in an uneasy line, our bare feet sinking into the thick rug. Across the hall, dozens of men lounged in deep armchairs, high-stemmed glasses in hand, watching our entrance in calculated silence. The power in the room was suffocating, every gaze fixed on the shivering line of white slips.
Lady Vane stepped into the center of the floor, the click of her boots cutting through the quiet.
"The terms for tonight are absolute," she announced, her voice carrying over the crackle of the fire. "Until the clock strikes midnight and the Hunt begins, no man may lay a hand on any tribute. You may look. You may scent them. But your hands remain to yourselves."
A few of the men smiled into their drinks, unbothered by the restriction.
"The tributes, however, hold the floor," Vane continued, turning slightly toward us. "They may approach whom they please. If someone catches your eye, make your preference known. But remember—the claim belongs solely to the forest."
Her gaze swept over the men, sharp and uncompromising.
"Once marked in the woods, a female belongs to her victor. No female may bear two marks. If more than one of you pursues the same prize, you will fight for the claim under tradition until one stands."
She offered no parting words. Turning on her heel, Lady Vane walked out of the hall, leaving us alone in the open den.
The silence that followed was taut, stretched to its breaking point.
Besides me, Gwen didn't hesitate.
She smoothed the front of her slip, lifted her chin, and stepped out from our lineup. She wasn't running, and she wasn't hiding. She had spent years listening to the pack's promises, believing an Alpha mate was the only path to safety, status, and survival. Armed with that belief, she crossed the floor toward a man lounging alone on a long sofa, her gaze locked on him with deliberate confidence.
She stopped an arm's length away, offering a practiced, charming tilt of her head.
The man didn't return the smile.
Before Gwen could speak, his arm shot out. He caught the fabric of her slip and hauled her forward with sudden, unyielding force, pulling her down across his lap.
A startled gasp escaped her lips as her balance gave way.
He had broken the primary rule in plain view of the room. Yet none of the men intervened; they simply watched, amused by the transgression.
Gwen tried to recover, forcing a coy smile as she placed a hand against his shoulder to steady herself. But the man was already moving.
His thumb pressed hard against her mouth, dragging across her bottom lip before pulling back. He rubbed his fingers together, inspecting the slight, shimmering smudge of pink against his skin.
"What is this?" he asked, his tone dangerously calm.
Gwen's smile faltered, her posture stiffening. "Nothing."
Another man leaned over the back of the seat, catching the sweet, artificial scent in the air. "Cosmetics. Banned under Council decree."
A slow, mocking grin spread across the first man's face. His grip on Gwen tightened, pinning her in place before she could pull away.
"A breach of the dress code," he murmured, his voice dropping into a low, predatory rumble. "Such a little rule breaker."
Gwen pushed against his chest, attempting to slide off his knees, but his hold was an iron band. The delusion of romance drained from her face, replaced by the stark realization of the trap closing around her.
He leaned in close, his mouth hovering inches from her ear.
"In case you were never taught," he whispered, loud enough to carry across the quiet circle, "a breach of the rules on your part immediately voids every rule on ours."
Across the room, the truth landed with cold finality.
The protection Lady Vane had promised wasn't a shield at all. It was a technicality—and with a single swipe of gloss, they had dismantled it entirely.