The worst part was … Oscar wasn’t lying. That was what Isobel tasted like, at least partly. But Oscar hadn’t said a thing about the rich, heady syrup scent she gave off, and how her skin tasted like that when she clenched her thighs together and sucked on her lip like she was trying to savour the aftertaste of her favourite candy.
Kilian found himself clinging onto that fact, but then quickly grew irritated that Oscar had managed to turn it into some sort of fucked-up competition in his head.
Isobel didn’t belong to any of them, and she never would.
It was impossible.
There was no competition. Whether Oscar tasted her or whether Kilian did, she would always be unattainable. More so now than ever, because Kilian’s ex was the one who helped to cut her open and defile their bond.
5
Seven Minutes In Hell
Theodore wasn’t expecting much, but he definitely expected longer than Kilian lasted, and he sighed as he got up to take his turn next. Isobel stole his seat as soon as he stood, as though she needed to give Kilian a break, and he tried to tamp down on the rush of satisfaction it gave him.
Not because Kilian would be disappointed—he couldn’t begrudge Kilian needing physical contact all the time, that was just who he was, even if Theodore found it endlessly infuriating to have his bergamot and bark scent saturating Isobel.
It was more to do with the illogical urge to claim and possess. Isobel belonged in his chair because she belonged to him.
Stop. Fucking hell, just stop.
He stalked off and burst into the garden shed ready for a fight. Oscar chuckled as he closed the door behind him, throwing them into darkness.
“You make it too easy, Theo.” Oscar turned on his phone’s flashlight, setting it beside his thigh. He was sitting on one of the workbenches, looking like he had already won the game.
“Don’t know what you’re talking about.” Theodore plastered on a wide smile. “You didn’t try to make out with Kilian, did you? He practically ran back.”
“If I had, he’d be running for a cold shower. Why do you ask? Jealous I might have seduced both of your best friends?”
“You didn’t seduce Isobel. The chains hypnotised her.”
Oscar didn’t feel like antagonising Theodore. The younger Alpha was just too … amenable. He kept a cool head with Oscar seconds away from stealing two of his fingers and hadn’t even let out a squeak when Oscar had broken them. Or tried to come after him.
Theodore didn’t sulk the next day or try to take the issue to Kalen or Mikel. He continued like nothing had happened, smiling and joking around like the infuriatingly good-natured person he was.
Oscar sighed, pinching his nose. This was why he preferred Moses. The moody fuck was always up for a fight.
“Leave now,” he expelled on a short breath, “and I won’t unleash chaos the second she steps through that door.”
“Deal.” Theodore spun on his heel and yanked the door open, disappearing immediately.
Oscar leaned back, his head thumping against the wall, his fingers tapping agitatedly against his thigh. He would have just left and refused to play the game at all, but movie night was non-negotiable. Kalen had made that clear.
He wanted to get them in front of a camera. It was time they started stepping things up so that the fans had them firmly in their thoughts over the break.
Isobel walked into the shed, closing the door behind her and leaning back against it with her arms folded tightly across her chest, her eyes skirting all around him but refusing to actually look at him.
“What did you do to the others?” she asked, finally lifting her gaze to his.
He licked his lips, shifting forward to notch his forearms against his thighs. “I sat here and didn’t move a muscle. Come closer.”
“No.”
“Why not?” He smirked at her. “I just want to see your chain.”
She took deliberately slow steps toward him, probably trying to drag out the three minutes. “Why is everyone so scared of you, Sato?”
“Because they know what’s good for them.” He coiled forward when she was close enough, catching the neckline of her dress and dragging her between his legs until she was pressed up against the bench, dirtying the pale fabric that drifted against her skin like the lightest, softest tease.
Her rich-girl clothes did his head in.
He hated that he could sell one of her dresses and fill up his sister’s account at the commissary for the next three months, and he hated how beautiful she looked draped in small fortunes. He still remembered the slide of her silky, rich-girl pyjamas beneath his rough hands.
He quickly released her, gripping the edge of the bench to control the urge to rip and tear until she was just as poor and filthy as he was.
“Show it to me.” He tried to frame it as a suggestion, but it rolled off his tongue as a husky command, and his gut tightened at the way her hands lifted instinctively, tugging down her neckline as much as she could, revealing only the top of the chain.
“What did Niko tell you?” she asked quietly.
He wanted to touch the chain. It was his chain, after all, but he couldn’t trust himself. The Sigma was slowly driving him insane, and he had yet to figure out if he had been obsessed with her since his first taste on the rooftop of the chapel, or if he was secretly wishing he had never saved her in the first place.
“He said it happened suddenly,” he grunted, staring at the tiny gold links embedded smoothly into her skin, looking like they had always been a part of her. “It made its way to your chest, hooking into your skin, and then healed you. You’re lucky the bond didn’t complete.”
“I’ve been thinking about that,” she whispered. “Maybe it doesn’t count because it’s a soul artefact? I mean Teak said the bond can’t force me, and if an artefact marks me and completes the bond for me, well … that’s forcing …”
She nibbled on her lip, her mind drifting away. It was only a moment when her attention wasn’t on him, but it was enough to snap his control, to draw his hands from the bench.
Except she wasn’t there anymore.
She had disappeared and reappeared against the shed door, her arms folded tightly across her chest, her face painted in confusion, her breath a rasp through her pink lips.
Isobel gasped as a pinprick of heat dug into her chest. Sato was already off the bench, already standing before her, his brows heavy with confusion. “Did you just teleport?”
“I … don’t know. It didn’t feel like a teleport.” She tugged down the top of her dress again, staring at the chain—or more specifically, at the tiny little gemstone that had materialised half an inch from the top of the chain. It was yellowed amber, a light, leering gold that reminded her of the winking eye of a prowling beast.
“What does that mean?” Sato’s voice was quiet and rough, spilling over her temple as he leaned over her, staring down her dress.
“I don’t know,” she muttered distractedly, trying to figure out what had just happened. “Everything just … blurred. Like time turned backwards, and then I was back here again.” She spread her arms, looking at the door.
Sato reached past her, yanking the door open and calling for the cameraman who stood nearby. “How much time is left?”