10. Dylan

Dylan

Chapter 10

I'd always resented living in my father's house. It was lavish and impersonal. Now, though, with my mate within its walls, I found I had a whole new appreciation for it. His scent would forever linger in these hallways, the air he breathed seeping into the carpets and draperies. Now I would always get to keep a piece of him here with me—even in the worst-case scenario, that I wouldn't get to keep all of him for myself. With his hand in mine, he felt so real, so solid, like being apart was an impossibility.

My father strode ahead at a quick pace, shoulders back. "Cilla, please add a place setting to the table. We have a guest this evening," my father said to the simpering young woman in an all-black uniform, standing in the hall with her head bowed. Without a word, she dropped a curtsy and scurried back to the kitchen to let them know.

Cilla was a fieldmouse shifter. My father preferred to hire docile prey shifters for the domestic roles because he felt they posed less of a security risk. Working in the kitchen were three deer, one rabbit, and a gazelle.

My steps faltered as I felt Tristan's hand tighten around mine. When I looked up at him, I saw his eyes widen, his head angled to take in the chandelier high above. His awestruck look made me reassess my home through his eyes. What did he see? Marble and crystal and pottery and paintings. There was no doubt we were wealthy, while judging by his clothes, his experience was likely far different than mine. What had his childhood been like? What kinds of things had he seen? He probably thought I was pampered and spoiled, and in a way, he was right. I'd never wanted for anything in my life, never gone hungry, never worried about where I would sleep at night. But I'd also never truly lived. I would give all this up for a chance at a future with Tristan, somewhere far away from here.

"Hungry?" I asked, bringing his attention back to me, those blue eyes as cool and clear as ice.

"I could eat," he said, his voice raspy as his gaze flicked down my body.

His smirk dropped, though, as soon as we rounded the corner and entered the dining room. It was brightly lit, the long dining room table draped in a white tablecloth, flickering candlelight reflected off polished silver, crystal glasses, and expensive china. It was already being prepared with a third spot for Tristan.

Tristan froze in the archway, and when I tried to tug him forward, he shook his head. "I-I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I'm not dressed for this."

Father turned, his eyes briefly darting down to where I was still clinging to him, before pretending he didn't care. He understood all too well the pull of a fated mate. He couldn't possibly expect me to keep from touching him when he was this close. "I promise we're not snobs," Father said, not unkindly. "If it would make you feel better, I'll ditch the tie." He forced a smile and chuckled tightly, before sighing. It wasn't just the rags Tristan was wearing; he reeked of sweat and blood. "Fine. Dylan, why don't you take him upstairs and show him where he can wash up, and give him something of yours to wear."

"Of course, Father." I tried not to appear too eager, but really, inside I was squealing in childish glee. I was desperate to be alone with my mate, even just for a minute. "Come with me, Tristan."

Father narrowed his eyes on me. "Don't take too long. Wouldn't want the food to get cold." That was code for "I'll be watching."

I forced myself to walk slowly up the stairs, but as soon as we were out of sight, I broke into a run, keeping my steps as light as I could. I felt him behind me, closing fast. He was hunting me, and every part of me longed to be taken down and eaten. I fumbled with the knob on my suite, and Tristan came down hard against me, pinning me to the door, his body hot even through my clothes.

"Hurry up and get this door open before I take off these filthy clothes right here in the hall," he gritted out in my ear, grinding his rigid cock on my ass. "And it would be rude of you to let me get naked all alone…"

I whimpered, dropping my head back on his shoulder as slick trickled from my hole. His chest rumbled with a hungry growl against my back. "Door. Open. Faster," he grunted, his fingers inching around my hips toward my— The door popped open, and I would've fallen flat on my face if it weren't for Tristan's tight grip on me.

We stumbled into the room, and as soon as the door was closed, Tristan flipped me around and walked me back until I was sandwiched between him and the solid wood. "How much time do we have before your dad comes looking for us?" he asked, his lips feathering over mine.

"Not nearly enough," I said regretfully. My father would absolutely send someone to find us if we weren't quick, and I wanted nothing more than to take my time with him.

Tristan gripped the back of my neck tightly in one hand and rolled his hips, refreshing my memory of just how well-endowed he was. "Then we'd better make the most of it." Then he planted his mouth on mine and did his damnedest to devour me whole. His tongue swept through my mouth in long strokes, tasting me.

First I went soft, melting into his touch like butter in a hot pan, but once I was over the initial shock, then I went hard. I was electrified! I raked my hands over his pecs, up his neck, and buried them in his hair, fisting it until he pulled back with a hiss. "There's my ferocious kitty," he teased, his pupils so huge they nearly eclipsed his irises.

And even though I wanted him with my whole body, I knew it went deeper than being attracted to his looks. The connection between us was soul deep. From being lust drunk, I sobered quickly. "You scared me today," I whispered, my eyes getting misty. My emotions were all over the damn place. I was ramped up, didn't know which way was up. "When Andreas had you in his grip… I swore I heard something pop. I thought that was it, that you were—"

His predatory grin softened, and he eased himself back, giving me some space. "Hey, shh, it's okay. I'm okay," he said, brushing away a stray tear with his thumb. "I'm tough. It'll take more than a huge-ass gorilla to take me down."

"What about a tiger?" I blurted before I could stop myself. I felt my face crumple. I'd done a fair job of managing the overwhelming fear so far, but when I looked at it straight on, it shoved every other emotion aside with ease.

He didn't answer for a moment, tracing his thumb along my bottom lip while he considered his answer. I appreciated that he spared me the platitudes, saying everything would be fine when we both knew it might not be. "Honestly, I don't know. I guess we'll find out. But I can tell you I won't ever give up fighting for you. Whether it's tomorrow or twenty years from now, I'm yours until my dying breath."

I nodded and looked down, drawing in a sip of air through my tight throat. I didn't want to think of him dying. Clearing my throat, I eased out from where he had me caged in. "I'd better find you something that'll fit. You're a little taller than I am, so no promises on the pants."

He let me go, though it looked like he had to fight himself not to reach for me. "I'm not picky," he said with forced levity. "Whatever you have is perfect. Even showing off three inches of ankle, it will still be nicer than anything I own."

"Why don't you… jump in the shower," I suggested with a gulp as I started imagining him getting naked on the other side of that door.

"Mm," he murmured, reaching over his shoulder and dragging his shirt off over his head. He balled the ruined material in his hands, purposely flexing his muscles to get a reaction out of me. And of course, I looked, because how could I not? He was fucking hot. "Do we have time for you to shower with me?" he asked, tugging his lower lip between his teeth as he walked backward into the bathroom. "I can be fast… though I really prefer to go slow."

I groaned, tempted to say fuck it all and go with him. I could just imagine the way it would feel as he lathered up my body with his slippery fingers, exploring every inch of me, inside and out. "No," I answered instead, pouting.

"That's a shame," he said, flipping open the button of his jeans. Since his underwear was left somewhere on the mat downstairs, the head of his cock was right freaking there, weeping with precum. "Let me know if you change your mind." I gulped, unable to look away. He turned toward the shower and dropped his pants, stepping out of the pooled denim. Oh gods, his ass cheeks had dimples. My skin heated, and I was pretty sure I was panting. He cranked on the water and stepped into the shower stall, the frosted glass blurring his outline.

I rubbed my chin absently, making sure I wasn't drooling. "I am in sooooo much trouble," I moaned as I forced myself to step into the closet. I rifled through the hangers without really paying attention. My mind was in the shower with my mate. I was having a hard time remembering why I couldn't just have him now. I could have my cake and eat it too. We could fuck now, then after he won tomorrow, we could make it official.

Unless he didn't win…

My eyes burned, my stomach plummeting. I hated myself for not standing up to my father, for not having the strength to say no. I wanted to be strong, to be fierce, to carve out my own future, but I also knew my father was not someone who could be forced into changing his mind. We had no choice but to see this through to the bitter end.

Stomach roiling, I grabbed clothes at random and tossed them into the bathroom, keeping my eyes closed to avoid temptation. I was a weak, weak man. "I'll meet you downstairs," I called in.

I heard the glass door open as he stuck his head out, but I was already headed for the door. "Dylan, what's wrong?" I heard him call after me, but I couldn't stay, or I might do something I'd regret.

As I stormed into the formal dining room alone, Father took in my flushed cheeks and puffy lips, one brow arched as he leaned back in his chair. He wasn't born yesterday.

"What, you're not going to say anything?" I sassed, dropping into my seat on his right.

I grabbed the bottle of wine and poured myself a glass, refusing to look at him, but I heard him huff a sigh. "What else can I say that I haven't already said?"

"You could say you'll call off this fucking ridiculous competition," I snapped. "He is my mate!"

I thought for a second he was going to scold me for my cursing, but instead he said, "This fucking competition will keep things civil between the clans. They'll have no reason to dispute your mate since they all had an equal opportunity. If we back out now, you know it will only make an enemy out of Azar, and trust me, you do not want him as your enemy."

We'd all heard the rumors. Stories of his brutality were legendary, the kinds of stories children whispered to each other while tucked into their beds. Of torture and madness. Azar was the boogeyman, but they couldn't all be true… right?

Tigers were notoriously solitary creatures, and Azar was no different. His streak was small, only a few members, but they made up for it with ferocity and lack of morals. Azar was the only Alpha competing, so he was putting his entire streak at risk if he fell. He had nothing to lose and everything to gain. I was no fool; I didn't trust him.

I tipped my glass to my lips and drank it down in just a few swallows, before gasping for breath, grabbing a napkin to wipe the drip of wine from my lips.

I could tell my father wanted to say something, but he hesitated. After a long moment, he leaned forward, propping his elbow on the table between us. "I know you hate me, but I swear, if I'd known fate had chosen your mate…" my dad began, speaking softly. There were always listening ears.

"Don't," I said sharply. "You wouldn't have done anything differently if you'd known."

His mouth tipped down in the corners, and he opened his mouth to reply, but we heard Tristan approaching, the pad of bare feet across the marble floor.

Tristan walked into the dining room wearing a blue button-down that made his eyes piercing. He had the sleeves rolled up, and sure enough, his feet were bare, revealing a fair amount of his ankles at the bottom of the navy slacks, as predicted. "Still not fancy enough for this room, but at least I smell better," he joked, prowling in to sit in the seat across from me.

As promised, my father had ditched his tie, but that was as dressed down as he was going to get. I couldn't remember the last time I'd seen him barefoot. "Don't stress about it. Would you like some wine? Or I have an imported wolfsbane whiskey if you're in the mood for something stronger." He lifted his own tumbler, the ice cubes tinkling.

"I'll pass, thanks. I'm going to need my head screwed on straight tomorrow—or I guess that would be later today."

"Yes, yes, of course…" He sighed, examining Tristan with tired eyes. "I'm not often wrong, but when I am, I'm alpha enough to swallow my pride and admit it." He drew in a deep breath. "I was wrong about you, Tristan. You may not fight like someone who's been trained, but you hold your own. You've shown yourself to be strong and clever, and it seems my son is fond of you. And considering I wasn't very fair to you in that first match, I wouldn't have been surprised if you'd let Avi shoot me. You didn't have to save me, but you did. Thank you."

He shrugged like it was nothing, but I could see he appreciated the apology. "It was the right thing to do."

I wished I could reach out and touch him, but he was too far away. The table could easily seat a dozen, and it was ridiculous for just the three of us. It made Tristan look smaller somehow, less confident, the way his shoulders curved in. He was out of his depth here, and it showed.

As the first course was carried out by kitchen staff and set down in front of him, he stared down at all the forks beside his plate. I cleared my throat, and when he glanced across the table at me, I made a show of picking up the correct utensil.

He chuckled and followed my lead. "I'm sorry. This is… a lot to take in. I have to admit, I don't typically—" He debated what to say. "Honestly, where I come from, we don't even use utensils half the time. Hell, we don't even need plates if we're not in the mood. We live really simply. It's a camp in the woods a ways outside the city. We don't even have electricity or plumbing."

I could feel my dad's shock. "Then what finds you in the city?"

"I make most of the supply runs for my pack. Handle our financial investments, buy the food we can't grow or hunt for ourselves."

I'm not sure what I expected from my dad, but it wasn't the relaxed smile he gave Tristan. "That's an admirable life," he said, nodding. "I admit, I'm a little jealous of your freedom. I've been feeling a bit trapped these days." He gestured with his fork at the room around us.

"You have?" I asked, stunned by the revelation. I thought I was the only one that felt that way. "Then why don't you make some changes? You're the boss, you can do whatever you want."

He smiled softly at me. "Maybe one day I will…" After a moment, his smile turned mischievous. "To hell with it. No time to start like the present. Come on, grab your plates." He pushed his chair back and picked up his plate and tumbler of scotch. He shook his head when one of the staff tried to help. "I've got it."

"Oh—" I shared a quick glance with Tristan, then we both followed suit. I heard the staff behind us scrambling to make adjustments.

My father led the way down a long dark hallway and into his library. "This is my favorite room in the house," he said, setting his plate and glass down at a small table under the tall window that looked out over the rose garden. It was a smaller, more intimate table, and though it was still swanky, it wasn't as overwhelmingly lavish. "I've always hated the formal dining room. This is much better."

Tristan and I lowered into chairs at the table. We were close enough now that I could feel the heat coming off him, and when I shifted my leg, our knees bumped into each other. I smiled and added pressure, and he hooked his ankle around mine to pull me even closer.

"So, Tristan, tell me about your family. You mentioned you had two mothers. That's an unusual pairing around here. Do they live in the camp as well?"

Tristan's playful smile slid off his face, and for a moment, it was like I saw the real him, the one I yearned to know. "Uh, no. My mothers are dead. My sister too. Bianca was six."

My fork dropped with a clatter, loud in the sudden shocked silence. "Oh, I'm so sorry, Trisan," I whispered, my heart aching for his loss. I reached under the table and put my hand on his thigh, offering what little comfort I could.

"May I ask how it happened?" my dad asked softly.

Tristan's mask slipped into place, guarding his emotions and revealing nothing on the outside. I, however, could feel everything. Even though our mating link was incomplete, I could feel his grief, like bitter chocolate on my tongue. I was devastated by everything he'd lost. He shrugged. "A pack dispute after a lean year. We should've seen it coming. My family were not the only ones we lost. It was… bad."

"And did you get revenge?" My father's eyes had gone dark, his knuckles white in their grip on his knife and fork. I knew what he was thinking: Someone always has to pay. And while I didn't always agree with his business tactics, I found I was on the same page this time.

My mate sighed and gave a tight smile. "Trust me, I was ready to burn the world to the ground, but there was no one left to punish for what happened. Both packs were decimated in the fight. We rallied around our new Alpha, Shan, and those of us that were left started over somewhere new. It hasn't been easy, but it's getting better."

I squeezed his thigh gently. I knew all too well what it felt like to lose someone to a clan dispute. "My mom—" I began, but my father slammed his tumbler down on the table, scotch splashing over his hand. He glared at me, refusing to hear our own story told.

Father tossed back the last of his drink and pushed away from the table abruptly. "It's late. You'll stay here in a guest room tonight. You'll need your rest for tomorrow," he said firmly, leaving no room for argument.

"Thank you," Tristan said, glancing at me from the corner of his eye. He wasn't about to fight my father on this, and neither was I if it meant keeping my mate close for the night.

My dad paused in the doorway. "For what it's worth, I hope you win."