Chapter Twelve
Clink.
The ice in his glass slammed together, his cup empty.
A hand smoothed over him, plucking the cup from his hand, before replacing it with one brimming with whiskey. The loud music did little to cover the cries of pleasure from those partaking in the orgy around him. The red lights were dimmed by the haze of smoke, distorting scenes of bodies in various states of sex and the stupor of those indulging in wolfsbane.
The same hand glossed over his thigh, trailing higher to reach his chest, before the body followed, filling his periphery.
The stink of perfume masked his senses. His eyes slid to face her.
“Prince Rowan.” She bowed her head. “I didn’t think you fancied these kinds of gatherings.” Her painted lips stretched, her hand traveling to his face.
He stared at the girl, not bothering to shade his disinterest.
Her hand didn’t make it higher.
“He doesn’t–though I do–so keep your hands to yourself, sweetheart, if you like having them.” Large hands gripped the wrist of the young girl before flinging them.
She fumbled back, growling at the male who’d handled her, before rising to exit the underground lounge, flipping them as she went.
“You don’t have to leave! Oh–hey! Remember your NDA–well, shit. Another one huh?” The male sighed, turning to occupy the space beside him.
His eyes shifted to watch him. Finn had made it his duty to save every girl–since that one time–that approached Rowan, from his wrath.
“You could be a little less ‘I’ll rip your hand off’, you know,” Finn shifted to look at him. The male was in a half-state of dress, following his rut with a redhead.
“They could be a lot less ‘Let me fuck you’,” he grumbled, lifting his drink.
“Well,” Finn chuckled, shifting to face a blonde female as she danced naked, high off wolfsbane. “I’m sure that’s exactly what you’ll get with the fourteen candidates arriving today.”
He raised his drink again, flushing the liquid.
“I still think we should–where you going, Rowan?”
He’d come to forget the coming events, not be reminded of them.
Laura made sure to take the seat furthest away from Sophia and by the grace of whatever god, she barely spoke the entire flight.
They were approaching the castle now, having circled it once already. Laura found the exterior architecture only slightly less ostentatious than Grayson Manor.
The castle appeared as the American version of their more permanent European residence.
She’d been stationed nearby on a dig as a junior assistant once–though she never actually ventured over to see it.
It leaned toward modern, though it would be a stretch to say it lacked the touch of old times with its dark grey stone expertly emblazoned with emblems and art–mostly in the form of wolves.
They stepped from the plane, the castle looming more imposingly up close. On more than one occasion, she’d considered crossing her work into the history of shifters, though thinking better of it each time.
Laura huffed, kicking a stray pebble as she followed their guides.
No sense in marveling. She wasn’t going to be around long.
The grand doors opened to reveal a polished interior, more modest than she expected. Their heels clicked against the marble floor as they crossed the threshold. They were taken deeper inside before turning to a room that served as a welcoming hub.
A steward stepped forward to take their luggage.
“Good afternoon, Sophia Grayson,” the woman spoke, inclining her head in Sophia’s direction, “and Laura–oh dear,” she cleared her throat, “Laura of Pack Grayson.” She smiled, awkwardness settling in her eyes.
A snicker sounded from beside her, drawing both of their attention to Sophia.
How old is she this year?
Laura quirked an eyebrow, the attendant clearing her throat again.
“Yes, we’ll have you settled into your accommodations now.” A rehearsed smile spread across the woman’s lips before she turned to lead them down a hall.
“Now, you won’t get much of a tour yet–not until the first round of eliminations, so it is asked that you remain in your rooms for the remainder of the day.” The sound of her voice drowned in the taps of their heels. “You will be called for the greeting panel, where you will greet the court, as well as the king and queen.”
“What about the prince?” Sophia’s voice pitched high, her excitement vomit-inducing.
“Yes, Prince Rowan will also be present, though the focus will be on the court.”
Sophia’s strides jerked with her confidence, hearing what she wanted. How Laura got stuck with her, she didn’t know. But she could assume that the candidate opportunity wasn’t an opportunity to be missed by the Grayson family.
They turned down a wing, ceiling to floor doors lined the hallways, separated from one another at length. She could smell the scent of other female shifters coming from the first three doors they passed before they stopped at the fourth.
“This will be your room, honey.” She turned to Laura, opening the door, before motioning for Sophia to follow her.
‘Enjoy the luxury, mutt.’ Sophia’s voice rang clearly in her head. Laura promptly closed their pack link, having become lax with the block given the distance, forgetting a certain bimbo wouldn’t hesitate to abuse it.
Sophia brushed her as she walked past. It took everything she had not to snag the blonde slut by the beehive.
The pair disappeared with the curved slant of the hall, and Sophia was taken to a nearby room. Laura entered her temporary home and closed the door, slouching against the frame. She’d only traded her cell for a plush room in a castle. Freedom wasn’t the standard for either, as far as she was concerned.
Her duffle bag sat on a luggage rack, an embossed letter sitting neatly on top. She moved to open the envelope, reading its contents. It was an invitation to tonight’s introduction banquet, detailing the time and location, though someone would be at their accommodations to collect them.
Shower’s out then.
Laura flicked the letter into the trash can. She’d been looking forward to shedding the ridiculous attire she wore, though it made sense now, why she was made to go through the beautifying process. She flopped back onto the bed, having zero energy to do anything that required thinking first.
Then she jolted upright.
Laura scoured the room for pen and paper, coming across a notepad in an otherwise empty drawer. For the time being, she could record the sequence of events surrounding the last two months, and try to place the smallest details.
Maybe she’d recall something helpful.
Tap, tap.
Apparently, that much time had passed, because a new attendant stood at her door, announcing himself as her escort to the banquet.
She didn’t bother preening herself, or anything like that–no sense in facilitating a good impression. Before she could step out and join the male, soft footsteps drew her attention to the most beautiful woman she’d ever seen, floating past in a white evening gown–a match to her stark white hair. Laura buzzed when they made eye contact, as the woman’s grey eyes glazed over Laura without the hate she expected. Every inch of her radiated an air of true elegance.
The male attendants, both hers and Laura’s, seemed enamored by her presence.
Throat clearing brought Laura’s attendant back from his oblivion stare, his cheeks coloring as he turned to lead her away, deeper into the castle. Laura churned at least thirty scenarios in her head. Discounting the majority–considering a few–that would ensure her a swift departure.
Her face pulled into a grimace.
The fact that she had to consider the fallback of her actions…
“Announcing, Laura–of Pack Grayson!” Her appearance was accompanied by the shout of an announcer.
Heads twisted to watch as she entered, curious stares sizing their competition.