Free Web NovelChapter 20: Chapter 20 Thinking It Over
Christina’s POV
I stood in the shower like a soggy pretzel, hoping the scalding water would burn the confusion out of my head.
Spoiler alert, it didn’t.
Hudson’s words kept looping in my head, "We complete the mating ritual." In other words, "Let’s get married for real."
Excuse me? Was I concussed? Had I slipped and hit my head and developed some sexy-Alpha-themed delusions?
Because, last I checked, we were in a mutually agreed fake engagement. No strings, no vows, no wedding hashtags that would make The Crescent pack gossip mill explode.
Just a registered mating ceremony to keep his pack’s lawyers from investigating. Wait, did he want a real marriage from the beginning? Was I set up? But what could he possibly want from me? No, Chrissy, don’t think the worst of people!
And yet, there he was, five minutes ago, standing before me with that infuriatingly composed face and that annoyingly persuasive Alpha voice, dropping a "let’s get hitched" like he was suggesting we go for a run under the full moon. freēwebnovel.com
I mean, what even was that?
He had leaned in, speaking in that velvet-coated, emotionless Alpha tone like he was negotiating a territory dispute, but the only thing merging in my brain was every single R-rated thought I had ever had about him.
I hadn’t registered a single word, too busy inhaling his intoxicating scent.I was staring at his lips, and letting my dumb, horny body teeter on the edge of blurting out yes.
Thank the Moon Goddess for the ringing phone that cut through the haze before I threw myself at him.
I cranked the water hotter, gently bumped my forehead against the tile, and groaned.
What was wrong with me? The second Hudson appeared, my logic disappeared like a rabbit in a wolf chase, leaving my poor human side to fend for itself against the tsunami of Alpha pheromones and sculpted abs.
I wondered if he saw through my act, if he knew that while he talked about strategic marriage alliances,all I could think about was the taste of his lips and what lay beneath his belt.
If he ever realized I was so into him that I wasn’t even listening to his perfectly sensible, legally and pack-law airtight proposal and was just picturing him naked... I’d actually die. Of humiliation. Possibly on the spot.
"Damn it," I muttered, smacking the tap as if it owed me money.
I tried to rationalize it,maybe it was just the post-Niall drought. After all, it had been awhile. My libido had gone into hibernation after accepting his rejection, and Hudson had apparently jump-started it back to life with terrifying efficiency.
Besides, it wasn’t all my fault. I bet even Wonder Woman would get distracted by Superman without his shirt on, and she’s literally a warrior goddess. If trained professionals couldn’t resist those pecs, what hope did I have?
I was just a regular woman with a pulse. And a highly reactive, dangerously thirsty hormone system that hadn’t quite recovered from being rejected by my former mate.
By the time I stepped out of my extra-long shower, my fingers were prunier than a sad raisin in the sun.
I stood in front of my wardrobe. Do I wear my usual sleepwear, which consisted of a threadbare college tee with a coffee stain shaped suspiciously like the map of Texas and a pair of shorts?
Or do I pretend to have dignity and put on something that didn’t scream "I’m trying to seduce the sexy Alpha"? freewebnøvel.coɱ
In the end, I reached for a long, ankle-length dressing gown I’d bought during a misguided attempt to look more "graceful-like" and never worn since. It was shapeless, scratchy, and about as flattering as a camping tarp.
I tiptoed out of my flat and paused at Hudson’s door.
He hadn’t pressured me for an answer when he suggested we get married. Said I should take my time and think about it, which was refreshingly un-Alpha-like behavior.
But honestly, I was terrified that if I saw those hypnotic blue eyes of his again, I’d throw all rational thought out the window and say "yes."
Even worse, I was worried I’d get so worked up that I’d suggest we celebrate our fake engagement by making it feel very real in bed.
Not that that was something I’d usually do.
Then again, I wasn’t really a one-night-stand kind of woman either. Or a fake mate-to-be kind of girl.
Apparently, I was going through a phase called "acting completely out of character and confusing the hell out of myself."
When I finally pushed open the door to his place and saw the empty living room, I wasn’t sure if I was relieved or gutted.
Possibly both.
He had left a note on the coffee table. Said he had to fly to another territory for urgent pack business but he’d be back in time for the pack gathering. Also said I could treat the place like my house.
Dangerous words from an Alpha. Because five seconds later, I was standing in his bedroom weighing the moral implications of crashing on his sofa versus full-on starfishing in his bed where his scent was strongest.
The bed won.
It smelled like him and carried that intoxicating scent, so I slept like a baby.
Next morning, I woke up to find that my mother Caroline had called me roughly two dozen times and left a string of messages long enough to qualify as a pack history lesson. Each one more accusatory than the last, blaming me for Louisa’s accident while carefully avoiding any criticism of her precious Beatrice.
Niall might have called too, but I wouldn’t know. I’d blacklisted his number as soon as I’d left the hospital, a trick Ysolde had taught me years ago.
There was also a message from Hudson. Louisa was out of surgery but still in ICU, loopy on werewolf-grade anesthetic and not up for visitors.
I texted back a quick thank you and inhaled a breakfast of cold toast and half a banana.
Then it was time for work.
I’d barely set foot in the studio when I got summoned to the boss’s office.
Nyx Collective was a high-end jewelry design house co-founded by two bosses, but one of them was basically a ghost. As in, no one had seen him. Not once. He could’ve been a rogue Alpha for all I knew.
Word on the street was that this mystery founder had bankrolled 80% of the start-up costs, which made him the real power behind the velvet curtain.
Anyway, the person currently sitting across from me wasn’t that elusive financier, but the other boss. The one who did the actual work.
Savannah Lane was pushing forty but looked like she’d just been cast as the sexy human who knows about werewolves in an urban fantasy series. Glowing skin, hair like a shampoo ad, and a wardrobe that screamed "rich but relatable."
"Vanna, I’m really sorry," I said as soon as I walked in, before she could unleash the guilt-tripping Kraken.
"I know this week was a nightmare for the studio and I just... disappeared. I was sick, then there was pack stuff, and time sort of did that thing where it flings itself into a volcano."
"Relax." Savannah smiled at me. "I didn’t drag you in here to scold you. I’m giving you a bonus."
