Free Web NovelChapter 19: Werewine
Sammy
Sammy pulled the item from the bag and laid it gently on the bed. It was a royal blue chiffon dress, the kind of thing he’d seen on mannequins in city windows, not in a pack omega’s room. The bodice was fitted, with delicate caped sleeves, and shimmered with silver thread woven through the fabric. It nipped in at the waist before flaring out slightly, designed to fall just above the knee. He knew instantly the color would look incredible against Trishelle’s skin, making her grey eyes look like a stormy sky. It was a shame she didn’t have any makeup, but with a figure like hers, she wouldn’t need it. This dress was a weapon, and she didn’t even know it.
Trishelle emerged from the bathroom a few minutes later, a cloud of steam following her. She was glowing, a newfound confidence radiating from her that had been absent just an hour before. Hot water and a razor, he mused, could work miracles. She stopped short when she saw the dress on her bed and the wide, triumphant grin on his face. Her eyes flickered to his hands, where he held her comb, her broken brush, and a blow dryer he’d "borrowed" from a vacant room. She shook her head, a small, resigned smile on her lips. She knew better than to argue when he got that look in his eye.
Sammy excused himself, giving her privacy as she dug through her drawer for her best bra and a pair of underwear. They didn’t match, but it wasn’t like anyone was going to be seeing them anyway. The cheap soap she’d bought last week had left her skin surprisingly soft, and the conditioner he’d found had worked wonders on her hair. When she was dressed, he came back in and got to work. He plugged in the dryer and, with a skill that surprised her, began to manipulate her hair, coaxing it into soft, gentle waves that tumbled down her back.
"How are you so good with this?" she asked, watching his reflection in the small, cracked mirror over her dresser. freёwebnovel.com
He shrugged, focusing on his task. "Hmm... You know my official job with the Gamma is surveillance. But sometimes, to get the best intel, you have to infiltrate. Go undercover. One of my gigs was as an assistant hairstylist for someone who worked with some pretty big names in the city. Guess I picked up a thing or two."
Within an hour, Trishelle was primed and polished to Sammy’s satisfaction. He’d even found a pair of tweezers and meticulously shaped her eyebrows, framing her face in a way she never had before. Finally, he grabbed her hand. "Come on. There’s a mirror in the main hall."
He led her down the quiet hallway to the main entryway. Above a heavy oak side table hung a large, ornate mirror that Trishelle usually avoided. Tonight, she couldn’t look away. She did a double-take, her breath catching in her throat. The woman staring back was a stranger. The royal blue of the dress made her grey eyes pop, giving them an almost silver intensity. The silver thread in the bodice caught the light, drawing attention to the swell of her breasts, which the square neckline showed with a hint of cleavage she’d never dared to display before. The skirt flowed like water around her hips, and the hem, falling just above her knees, made her legs look impossibly long. She looked... beautiful. The kind of beautiful that belonged on a magazine cover.
Inhaling deeply, she tried to reconcile the reflection with the girl she saw every day. "Oh, Sammy. Is that really me?"
Sammy hugged her from behind, resting his chin on her shoulder and kissing her temple. "The one and only, Rosebud." He grabbed her hand, his voice full of playful excitement. "Come on, Cinderella. It’s time to go to the ball."
James
It had been nearly an hour since Trishelle disappeared into the house with Sammy, and James was on the verge of losing his mind. Every minute that ticked by was a fresh wave of acid in his gut. He’d watched Candice execute her part of the plan, the deliberate spill, the manipulation. He’d seen her lead Trishelle toward the house and felt a sliver of relief, only for it to be snatched away when Sammy had intercepted them. He was the one to take her inside. fгeewёbnoѵel.cσm
James tried to reason with his raging wolf. They were childhood friends. Just friends. If something was going to happen, it would have happened years ago. But the beast wouldn’t listen. It only saw a rival alone with his mate. A rival who had been away for two years. Two years in which Trishelle had bloomed from a shy, grieving girl into a stunning woman. A woman who might feel more comfortable with a "friend" than a dominant Alpha she barely knew.
What was taking so long? The image of Trishelle emerging from the lake, water cascading down her naked body, flashed through his mind. What if Sammy saw her like that? What if he couldn’t resist? The thought of Sammy’s hands on her skin, of him touching what was James’s, made a possessive growl rumble in his chest, deep and dangerous.
Deciding he had waited long enough, James started moving. He cut a path through the crowd of highly intoxicated wolves, his expression dark enough that most parted for him before he had to push. Females tried to grab him, to rub their bodies against his, but he was blind to them, deaf to their invitations. His only thought was getting to Trishelle.
Just as he reached the edge of the yard, a strange hush fell over the party. The music didn’t just fade; it stopped. The air itself seemed to shift, thickening with a sudden, collective awareness. Confused, James followed the crowd’s gaze toward the front of the pack house.
And then he saw her.
Standing there was Sammy, but he was just a shadow, a backdrop. It was Trishelle who had stolen the very breath from the lungs of every wolf present. James rubbed his eyes, certain the werewine had finally caught up with him, but when he looked again, she was still there. The star of his dreams, the object of his every obsessive thought, looking like a goddess descended to earth. They had come from the front of the house, not the back. If he hadn’t been so impatient, so focused on the back entrance, he would have been the first to see her, the first to smell her.
A red haze of jealousy clouded his vision as he watched the males in the crowd, his own pack members, stare at her with undisguised lust. They were slobbering over what was clearly, undeniably his. Tonight, he decided. Tonight he would make every single one of them know it.
Trishelle
The sudden silence was deafening. One moment, there was music and laughter, and the next, a hundred pairs of eyes were locked on her. Trishelle felt a wave of panic, hot and sharp. She wasn’t used to this. From being invisible to being the center of everyone’s attention was a whiplash-inducing shock. She didn’t understand the looks on their faces—a mix of shock, appreciation, and something darker that made her skin prickle. Grabbing the front of Sammy’s shirt, she tried to make herself smaller, to hide behind him. This was a mistake. She should have just stayed in her room, curled up in bed. She could have pleaded with Sammy to stay, and they could have spent the night talking about Rosie, about safe, familiar things.
"Are you sure I look alright?" she whispered, her voice trembling.
Sammy draped a protective arm across her shoulders, pulling her close against his side. He leaned down, his lips brushing her ear. "You look amazing, Rosebud. That’s why everyone’s staring. They just had no idea what a gem was hiding under all those baggy clothes. Don’t you worry about a thing." He planted a soft kiss on her hair and gently guided her back toward the bar, which was now at the edge of the dance floor. "Fellas," he called out to the bartenders, "can I get a Vodka and Cranberry for my beautiful date tonight?"
"Umm... Sammy, I’ve never had a drink before," Trishelle admitted, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of the dress, trying to tug it down a little lower.
"I know that, Rosebud. That’s why I want to have your first drink with you," he said, his voice gentle. "What do you say? I promise, as a gentleman, I will not reveal any of your embarrassing behavior." He winked. "Unless, of course, it’s to your future mate or your kids someday."
Trishelle choked on the sip she’d just taken. The liquid burned down her throat, and some of it dribbled down her chin, dripping onto her chest. She quickly wiped it away with her hand, relieved she’d stopped it before it could stain the dress. The smell of stale alcohol on clothes was one of her least favorite things.
Across the crowd, James watched the drop of pink liquid trail down her skin and disappear into the valley of her breasts. He licked his own lips, a primal urge to taste it, to taste her, overwhelming him. He took a gulp of his whiskey, the burn a poor substitute for what he really wanted. He turned to Richard, his voice a low growl. "So, what’s the next step?"
"You’ll see," Richard replied, his eyes gle
with mischief. Following James’s gaze, he noticed Candice weaving her way through the crowd toward the bar. No, toward Trishelle. He watched as Candice put on a drunken sway, her trajectory a perfect, calculated line.
James’s jaw tightened. He wondered if he could really trust this plan of Richard’s. It felt too loose, too reliant on the whims of a jealous she-wolf. Shaking his head, he made a silent promise to himself. If things got out of hand, if Candice so much as laid a claw on Trishelle with malicious intent, he would swoop in and save his damsel from distress. He would tear the plan apart and claim her himself, consequences be damned. For now, he watched, his body coiled and ready to strike.
