11. I Am Not For Sale

Isobel knocked on the door before slipping into Mikel’s office. It was close to midnight, but it was the first moment of free time they were able to line up in each of their schedules. Mikel, Kalen, and Elijah were already waiting. Mikel was dressed for a run, the grey material of his shirt tight and a little damp as it clung to the ridges of his abdominals, his black shorts wrinkled up around powerful thighs as he sat with one sneaker notched against the coffee table between the couches. He raised dark brows at her in greeting as he pulled deeply from a water bottle dotted with damp condensation. Just like Oscar, Mikel liked to escape for a run whenever he felt tense. She sometimes found it surprising how alike the two Alphas were, but she shouldn’t. Mikel had obviously been a very heavy influence on Oscar.

“Thanks for the meeting,” she said, flicking her attention to Kalen, who was still in a suit. He had just finished up a training session with one of the humans.

She didn’t want to know which human on the off chance it was one of the females and they had been alone. The knowledge might force the bond to act up again. She and Kalen hadn’t said a word to each other about her sneaking into his room to appease the bond … or what had happened after, but there was something different in the way Kalen looked at her now. Whenever they were performing for the cameras, he surveyed her the same way he did the Alphas: with a razor-sharp focus, and an intimidating analysis of her every move churning behind his expression.

It dropped the moment they were out of view of the cameras.

His eyes wandered, just like they were doing now. That strong, amber gaze caressed the hem of her cropped sports top as though he was thinking of slipping his hand beneath the material to cup her breasts. His attention slid down, over her bared ribcage, fixing there like he was imagining his tanned hand spanning across her pale skin. Or remembering it.

When he looked at her like that, it was easy to imagine that he was seconds away from ordering everyone out of the room, bending her over Mikel’s desk, and demanding she tell him she was his again. But he didn’t. He only sat back and nodded at her as though his eyes hadn’t just stripped her bare.

Elijah’s icy stare was easier to meet, because even though he swept his eyes over her, she could tell that his brain had kicked into gear. He had already figured out why she had called a meeting with them, and he was probably already mentally an hour into the discussion after predicting what everyone was going to say. He hadn’t had a chance to shower yet, because he was still in the same clothes he had worn to their evening dance practice, his pale hair drifted across his forehead, a little wavy from a full day of training, his muscled arms crossed over his broad chest.

“You’ve decided what you want to do in the Dahlia Room?” he asked, without preamble.

“Yeah.” She moved to the seat beside him, facing Mikel and Kalen across the coffee table, but he surprised her by catching her wrist and tugging her into his lap instead.

“What do you need?” he asked, settling her sideways over his strong thighs so that she could still see all of them. Elijah and Gabriel both touched her and sought to settle their side of the bond less in group settings, and she wasn’t sure if it was because they were more reserved, or if it was just hard for them to shift their focus from caring and worrying about the others to doing whatever they needed to do for themselves.

She tried to focus on his question instead of the warm and spicy, smoky clove scent that clung to his skin, smouldering warmer as soon as her thighs hit his, his big hand settling high on her leg, right where her shorts ended, his thumb stroking back and forth absently, raising goosebumps over her skin.

“I’ll need a rig,” she said, clearing her throat. “An anchor point in the ceiling. And I’ll need them to pull down those curtains; they’ll only get in the way.”

Kalen’s brows twitched up, but Elijah was already nodding.

“Aerial silks,” he concluded, not even a question. “You’re right, that fits the space perfectly with the circular stage, and I think they’ll accommodate any ideas you have after your last dance. Do you have any experience?”

“I did some training as part of the gymnastics phase my father put me through. Enough to cover the basics and learn one routine, but I’ll obviously need a lot more,” she answered. “I can’t go in there and do a basic routine.”

“Let me organise it with Cooper,” Kalen said. “I’ll tell him Mikel and I are working on your performances together, so he doesn’t question it.”

She dipped her chin in an eager nod. Anything to escape Cooper. “Do you have time?”

“I’ll figure it out.” Kalen waved off her concern. “That’s my job. But you’ll need to put in extra hours. Do you have time for this?”

“I’ll figure it out.” She copied his hand movement, and his lips lifted into a small smirk, eyes dropping to Elijah’s hand on her thigh for a moment, heat flaring to life before he blinked it away.

She stiffened slightly, because it wasn’t the kind of heat she was used to—not from her other Alphas. For the barest second, it had looked as though he might rip her out of Elijah’s grip and start a brawl right there in Mikel’s office, but he shook it off so fast.

“Well then.” Kalen stood, shrugging off his jacket and stretching out his massive arms. “I’ve got a few things to look at before bed. Let’s get started tomorrow.”

It was almost 10:00 p.m. the next night when she walked into the private room Kalen had booked out in the fitness complex. It was a medium-sized gym that seemed to be fit out for different types of gymnastics—a room she had never visited before, though that was hardly surprising with how large the fitness complex was.

“How’d you get that set up so fast?” she asked, spotting Kalen in the middle of the room, fiddling with aerial silks hanging from the ceiling.

She jumped when Mikel pushed off from the wall and fell into step beside her.

“It was already here,” he said. “You get both of us tonight, by the way.”

She bit on her lip, because none of the responses that popped into her head seemed appropriate, though she managed to drudge one up by the time they reached Kalen.

“Are you guys worried I’m going to hurt myself?”

Kalen gave her that look again. “It’s cold outside.” His eyes skirted her bared stomach, inching up over her crop top.

“I ran here.” She tried to stop her brows from popping up. “I’ve got a sweater.” She waved her bag at him before dropping it on the floor. She bent, tugging it open and extracting Kilian’s shirt, which she had swiped on her way out of the dorm. It wasn’t even a clean shirt. She had picked it up after he tossed it on his bed on his way to the shower. It was drenched in his scent and maybe she was sick for stealing used shirts, but she had the convenient excuse of needing a bit of extra cover for this particular hour of training.

She tugged it on, the soft material falling to her thighs, and Kalen’s brows dipped for a moment, before he nodded to the silks. “Show us what you’ve got.”

She stepped up and gripped the fabric, and even though there was a falling mat beneath her, they both hovered close.

“How long has it been?” Mikel asked, as she did a basic climb, the silks sliding between her fingers as she lifted herself.

“My father got me started when I was … thirteen, I think,” she answered, directing most of her attention to the climb. “I only did it for a couple of years sporadically. My upper body strength wasn’t the best back then.”

It was better now. She could feel the difference, even though the silks felt a little unfamiliar and stiff. Still, it was instinctual for her legs to wrap around the soft material, her feet finding the familiar positions. She paused halfway up, enjoying the weightless feeling, the demand on her muscles, her breath easing as a slight weight lifted from her chest.

She moved through a few easier positions, stretching out her body before extending into a simple split. There was an initial spark of panic as she glanced below, but she forced her eyes back up and her body to loosen into the position. Trust in herself was essential when doing complicated or dangerous manoeuvres. It was the same on the ground as it was up in the air, and something Lye had been hammering into them in her Acro Duo classes with Gabriel and Elijah. The moment she doubted herself or her partner, her chances of injury skyrocketed.

She waited for all vestiges of panic to trickle out of her before moving to a new position. Her movements weren’t as fluid as they had been when she had first learnt the basics of aerial silks, but she was still able to move with a certain amount of grace. Her body was simply trained that way: to move to a rhythm, to be as fluid as water no matter the impossible ways she twisted and positioned it.

The tension in her arms was both challenging and oddly comforting. The ability to make herself weightless, to make herself fly, was something she had grasped at with all her strength. When the officials had dragged Kalen into the Stone Dahlia, he had turned their exploitation on its head and handed himself back control while exploiting their guests instead. And it sounded like Gabriel and Elijah had done a similar thing, though she had never seen what their performances entailed.

Now, it was her turn, and she had figured out what she wanted.

She wanted to fly above them.

She wanted to look down on them.

She wanted to be untouchable .

Even if it was all a fantasy, as easily crushed as a bed of fresh, soft snow beneath their designer heels and Italian leather shoes.

She felt a little spark of pride as her body began to move with better fluidity, falling into the routine her mind was slower to remember. Each twist and pose was simple and basic, but she completed them without a wobble of uncertainty or panic, and that was more important. Her finishing pose wasn’t complex, but it was strong and sure, and she was grinning when she dropped back to her feet, her body tingling with adrenaline.

“I think this could work,” she said, bouncing on the balls of her feet as she looked between the professors.

Their expressions were carefully guarded, which made her want to shake them and force them to show her something, especially since she was sure they could read everything she felt through the bond.

“I see significant potential for injury,” Kalen finally admitted, sucking air between his teeth. “But you were beautiful. I just know you’re going to push this as far as you can, and I’m worried about the strain it’s going to put on you with all your other obligations.”

She glanced to Mikel, but he seemed to agree.

He said, “It’s up to you.”

“I’m doing it,” she declared stubbornly.

Mikel shrugged, like he did his best to talk her out of it, and Kalen’s hard lips lifted slightly at the corners, like he had expected nothing less.

“Then I guess I’ve got some research to do.” Mikel’s blue-black eyes roamed over Kilian’s shirt like he found it distracting. “Wear a full-length leotard that covers your arms and legs, so you don’t get rope burn. We can practise two hours a night until I’m confident you won’t hurt yourself, and then you can perform. Until then, you’ll have to keep dancing—preferably without dislocating anything. Understood?”

“Understood, Professor,” she answered quickly. It was easy to see when Kalen and Mikel switched from her mates to her managers. The change of tone wasn’t even subtle.

They both grew still, eyes fixed to her face. It took her a minute to realise she had called Mikel “professor.” In private . The lines between them had become so blurred, but she had stopped deferring to them a while ago, considering them partners and friends more than anything.

She wasn’t entirely sure why it had slipped out in that moment.

“Oh.” She laughed awkwardly. “I mean?—”

“Let’s get back,” Mikel said, his grin a little sharp. “It’s late.”

“Right.” She pulled her sweater over Kilian’s shirt and trailed them out of the gym, enjoying the heat and mingling scents of them as they walked either side of her.

Strong, heady vanilla and storm-soaked condensation was a combination she wasn’t going to easily forget. Not after Mikel had spanked her after one of her and Kalen’s performances. Not after Kalen had pushed his cock down her throat. Not after they had shattered her into a thousand pieces without reaching for their own releases, muddying the boundaries of their relationship. Even after what Kalen had done a few days ago, she knew nothing had changed … and she hated it, but understood it at the same time.

There was just something about the way Kalen looked at her, something about the stillness that sometimes overcame Mikel when their eyes met, and she accidentally said something that stirred a thought in his head.

She was already juggling a lot with Theodore, Kilian, Cian … and now Oscar. Mikel felt like a storm that might sweep through and leave only devastation in its wake, and Kalen felt like a dragon who might jealously hoard her away, tearing the limbs from anyone who dared come too close. It seemed like Kalen knew that about himself, too, and was just as wary of becoming involved with her as she was of becoming involved with him.

Curiously, there was no hint of that dragon in his interactions with Josette.

How much do you feel through the bond? she asked, pulling them both into her head. It was so quiet outside, most of the students asleep at this time. She could smell the pine trees lining the pathway, the scent muted compared to the drenching rain and vanilla of her mates. Their steps were deliberately short, keeping pace with her, the cold breeze forcing her hands to retreat into the sleeves of her sweater.

Mostly big emotions, Kalen answered. If we concentrate, we can sense every little feeling that flits through you but big emotions barge right through. They’re hard to miss.

We could tell how the silks made you feel, Mikel elaborated, sensing that she needed more to understand. But I felt nothing through the bond a minute ago when your scent changed, so it’s not like mind reading.

When my scent changed? she asked.

Sweet, Kalen answered. Wet.

She wasn’t sure if he was talking about her scent being wet or her being wet, but she admittedly had been thinking about his dick in her mouth while Mikel spanked her a few minutes ago. She awkwardly cleared her throat, deciding to drop the conversation as they walked on.

“How’s the toe?” Mikel asked, once they neared the dorm.

“Great!” she lied enthusiastically. In reality, she was popping painkillers between most of her classes and white-knuckling the pain and discomfort while she danced and practised.

Mikel let out a small growl beneath his breath. “Ice it tonight,” he demanded.

“Yes, Professor.”

His exhale was harsh, and he pulled open the door to the dorm, standing back to let her in first. “Good girl.”

Teak began to subtly improve, and by the time fall break rolled around, she was managing to get through a session without crying.

Still, Isobel was grateful for the reprieve from their sessions and her usual classes. Since the break was only for a week, Kalen decided they would make the best of the time and spend every day in their brand-new training room, workshopping concepts for their first album. They all welcomed the change.

Their new training room was huge, with an attached bathroom and a small kitchenette, which was restocked with energy drinks, water, tea, and coffee every night. There was even an empty office tucked behind the practice room. Mikel filled it with first aid supplies and a massage table. With the increase in their training hours and intensity, there always seemed to be something wrong with at least one of them. Isobel spent more time in there than anyone, especially while she was recovering from her fracture. The Alphas all seemed to heal from their injuries within a matter of hours or days, but hers lasted for weeks.

The back wall of the training room featured a huge neon sign of their group name, while the right side wall housed long, carved wooden benches. The left side wall featured towering, arched windows and long, transparent white drapes, and the front wall was covered by floor-to-ceiling mirrors. There were two iron chandeliers, which created beautiful patterns on the floor after the sun went down.

The officials hadn’t just tossed them any old training room. They had gutted one of the performance halls and properly redecorated it. With care . It was simply stunning.

The first night, Isobel refused to leave. She sat on one of the benches and scrolled through her playlist until something caught her attention. The song was called “Palm Reader,” and she forced Cian to come back after his shower so that she could choreograph a partner dance with him. It was upbeat and fun, the emphasis on sharp movement and perfect synchronicity, but Cian decided to do their final take without his shirt, his tattoo-covered muscles on full display, and suddenly she was sweating for a different reason. He’d touched her constantly as they ran through it for the last time, playing up their chemistry for the recording. She couldn’t stop smiling because he was totally messing up the choreography, always stepping too close to brush his body against hers, shifting in the wrong direction so that she was forced to bump into him, or grabbing her hand and refusing to let go. They were both breathing heavily by the end, and she was smiling so hard it hurt.

The next day, Gabriel posted their dance. It immediately went viral, giving them a huge boost in popularity points, and the comments section exploded with pleas for her to choreograph a dance for each of the Alphas. They thanked her for giving them a dance so soon and heaped praise on Kalen and Mikel for making her the dance leader. Even the comments claiming that her and Cian were obviously sleeping together were quickly shut down by other fans, who said they were just acting and doing their jobs, and that Isobel always danced to a theme.

Things were going … a little too well.

Kalen brought a selection of songs he had been working on into the training room the next day, and they spent two days workshopping them and narrowing down their choices for the debut album. The entire time, Isobel tried to fight back the feeling that their good luck was about to topple and crash all around them.

On the third day of fall break, she hung back again, pulling her tablet from her bag. It was Gabriel’s birthday, but he had left to work on his rap sections for the album and wasn’t interested in celebrating.

Kilian sat on the floor, scrubbing through Cian’s recordings of Isobel workshopping dance ideas. He was pausing the video and taking notes, humming softly beneath his breath. Theodore copied the dances in the video, frowning at his reflection in the mirror. He was executing the moves perfectly but didn’t seem happy with perfect. The others had already returned to the dorm, hoping to catch an extra few hours of sleep, since Gabriel wasn’t interested in doing anything.

Isobel set her tablet against her knees and plucked up her electronic pencil, tapping into her sketching app.

“You’re still doing those?” Theodore asked, glancing at her screen as she began to draw.

“It’s not like he’s getting any other presents,” she said, frowning at him.

Theodore smirked. “You want me to get him a present? What do you think he’d like?”

“Hand sanitiser,” Kilian commented without looking up.

Isobel ignored them, outlining a bunch of cotton blooms, her brushstrokes soft and calm. She added more and more of them until they were taking up most of the screen. She could imagine grabbing handfuls of their softness and rubbing it over her cheeks. Gabriel’s clean linen scent made her feel like that sometimes. She just wanted to rub her cheek against his chest and breathe him in, but he would likely hate that.

In between the pretty little tufts, she drew hesitant, delicate ferns, their edges curling in on themselves. She coloured in the sketch and sent it while she waited for Theodore and Kilian to finish up.

Gabriel’s response came half an hour later.

Gabriel: I love it.

Gabriel: Thank you.

Isobel: Did anyone else get you a present?

Gabriel: Elijah got me a pen.

Isobel: What kind of pen?

Gabriel: The one I left in his room last week.

Isobel: Are you trying to make me feel sorry for you?

Gabriel: Is it working?

Isobel: It’s not NOT working.

Gabriel: You know what isn’t working?

Isobel: Please tell me it isn’t the pen.

Gabriel: It’s the pen. That’s why I left it in his room.

Isobel: I’m getting you cake from the dining hall.

She packed up her things, said goodbye to the others, and rushed to the dining hall, but it was too late to get any desserts from the dinner service. There were only snacks, drinks, and fruit available. She groaned and snatched up a packet of cookies from the coffee bar, rushing back to the dorm. She knocked on Gabriel’s door, but there was no answer, so he was probably still at the studio. She let herself in, planning to leave the cookies on his bedside table, but once she was inside, she was too curious to leave. She hadn’t been inside Gabriel’s room, and it seemed he hadn’t put up all his sticky notes from the previous Dorm A. There was still no blanket on the bed, which housed a single pillow, the sheets tucked so tightly there wasn’t a wrinkle or crease in sight. His desk still housed stacks of notebooks, ordered by the colour of the cover, but there were no notes.

She was just returning to the door to see if there was a message on the back of it when Gabriel filled the doorway. He stepped inside, closing the door behind him, revealing smooth, polished wood. There were no notes.

“You feel even worse now, don’t you?” He stalked over to his desk and began emptying his bag, arranging everything meticulously over his desk or into drawers. “You promised cake and didn’t realise the dining hall had stopped serving for the night.” He hung up his bag and then came around his desk, leaning on it and crossing his arms.

There wasn’t a hint of amusement on his face, but she knew, somehow, that he was laughing at her on the inside. She wanted to crack that demeanour. It was too perfect. His blond hair was tamed, a few darker gold streaks daring to rebel against the rest of the uniform colour. There was no curl in the strands but a persistent, adorable flop in the locks he always tried to tuck into place by his ear. He reminded her of a leading man in an ‘80s movie, with that little hair flop. All he needed was a tight shirt and a cigarette to wedge between his hard lips, and the image would be complete, but of course, he would sooner use that cigarette on the forehead of someone invading his personal space than smoke it. His features were masculine but not broad and so symmetrical it made his blank stare even more emotionless and chilling.

“I brought cookies.” She pointed to his bedside table.

“My favourite,” he said, without even looking.

She blew out a short breath, eyeing him. He looked tired. “Sorry for sneaking into your room.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Okay, fine. What happened to your notes?”

“They’re in the dressing room.”

She glanced at the closed door and then back to Gabriel. He lifted a brow.

She took a step toward the closet.

He didn’t stop her.

She took another step.

He rolled his eyes.

She skipped over to the door and stepped inside, her gaze widening immediately.

His problem hadn’t gotten better. It had gotten worse . Notes covered the back of the door, the walls, the shelves, and the drawers. She could even see them peeking out from behind the racks of clothes.

You are not for sale seemed to be scrawled on the notes often, along with other phrases.

You are not dirty.

There is nothing crawling beneath your skin.

You do not need to wash your hands.

You are in control.

She swallowed, her throat almost too tight to draw in air. “That private dance …” The words tasted like acid in her throat. “The one you traded in exchange for the location of the bond pieces?”

He had followed her into the dressing room. She could feel him behind her.

“What about it?” he asked.

She couldn’t look at him. “Did you do it?”

“Yes.”

“Who was it?”

“The wife of an official. She overheard him on the phone talking about the hair braids. He knew where they were, but he didn’t know what they were, just that they had to be a secret.”

“Do you still see her?”

“She’s requested me at the Icon Cafe a few times. She was at your first dance performance in the Dahlia Room.”

Isobel found it even harder to breathe, and her mind raced back, trying to dredge up a face. There was a dark-haired woman who had been at Gabriel’s table the last few weeks. Isobel remembered her because she was young—almost as young as Isobel, but she wore a gigantic diamond ring.

Gabriel saw her often .

She spun around, trying to read his impassive face. “What did the dance entail?”

“I had to take most of my clothes off. She didn’t touch me. She just watched.”

Her cheeks were wet. She was crying. Fuck . She refused to let her expression crumble, even though tears were escaping. “It was just the once?”

He nodded, his attention diverted by the tear that wobbled on the edge of her jaw. “I didn’t touch her. She didn’t touch me.” He sounded confused, like he couldn’t understand the look of pain on her face.

It wasn’t pain from the bond. She hurt for him.

“But she paid for you,” she said, stabbing a finger at one of the notes.

“Not with money.” He shrugged.