37: THE DANCE

**ELIJAH**

I should have known better.

The moment she was there, dressed—or barely dressed—which was my doing, I anticipated this. After all the girl loved attention. Heads turned. Tongues salivated. Eyes roamed. And something in my chest coiled tightly, a venomous snake awakening from slumber. I had summoned her in that little number for a reason: to embarrass her, to humiliate her enough that she might finally learn the lesson she so stubbornly resisted. To remind her of her place—below me.

But I hadn’t accounted for this.

The way every male eye clung to her like she was prey. The way their gazes lingered on the curve of her thighs, the swell of her breasts, the silk barely covering her skin. I hadn’t accounted for the way it would feel to watch them devour her with their eyes.

Rage, I know. I am familiar with that beast. But this was something else. A darker heat, a suffocating burn.

Jealousy?

No. It couldn’t be. I don’t get jealous. I’ve had women grovel for the mere scrape of my gaze. Celeste was not special.

And yet—

She walked with fire in her hips, deliberately slow, every step a rebellion against me. She knew what I was doing. Knew that I’d dressed her like this to break her pride. And still, she glowed with defiance, head high, eyes daring.

The room stilled. Silence, except for the low thrum of music in the background, an invitation to humiliation.

“Dance,” I ordered, my voice sharp as a blade.

She raised her chin. “You want me to dance?”

I didn’t repeat myself. She could see it in my eyes—I would not bend. If she disobeyed, the consequences would be far worse.

With a disdainful huff, she turned away from me and stepped into the circle of watching wolves. The music deepened, pulsed like a heartbeat. Her body began to move, slow and sensual, hips swaying with perfect rhythm. She didn’t look at me once.

But I never looked away.

Her skin shimmered in the dim light. Her long hair cascaded over her shoulders like black fire, her eyes half-lidded, sultry, yet hard. Unapologetic. Every twist of her waist, every bend of her back, was a declaration of war.

And the bastards watching—my wolves—forgot their place. Their growls deepened, lust-drunk. One of them licked his lips. Another leaned forward, eyes fixed on her breasts like they were a meal he could consume with just a stare.

The snake in my chest twisted violently.

I clenched my fists, my nails biting into my palms. Control yourself, I told the roaring inferno inside. This is your plan. You are the one who told her to dance.

But something inside me snarled, Not like this. Not for them.

When the music stopped, she turned, her breath slightly ragged, her cheeks flushed. But her eyes met mine—mocking, knowing.

“Again,” I commanded.

She blinked, sweat glistening on her collarbone. “You don’t even want me to dance again.”

The corner of my mouth curled upward. “Don’t test me, Celeste.”

She stepped forward, her voice low enough that only I would hear it. “You didn’t like it when your little friends drooled over me. You were stewing like a jealous lover the moment I walked in.”

My jaw tightened.

“That’s why you’re asking again,” she whispered, her eyes boring into mine. “Not because you want to see me dance. Because you want to punish me for being wanted by someone other than you.”

Before I could answer—before I could shove back that truth she dangled between us like a dagger—one of the Alphas behind her snorted.

“Watch your tongue, whore,” he snapped. “You’re lucky the Alpha lets a brat like you mouth off at all.”

The room went still.

And then I moved.

I was on him in an instant. One hand fisted in the collar of his shirt, the other tightening around his throat. I slammed him against the wall, his feet dangling inches off the floor. His eyes bulged in surprise, lips sputtering around the pressure of my grip.

“You don’t speak to her,” I growled, my voice like thunder, “unless I give you permission. And you never call her that again.”

He clawed at my wrist, choking.

“You think you’re entitled to a voice here? You’re nothing. Try that again and see how fast you lose your tongue.”

I dropped him. He crumpled like dead weight, gasping and wheezing.

The others stared, wide-eyed. Some with fear. Some with confusion. Celeste… she stood in the center of it all, unmoving, unreadable.

But her chest rose and fell quickly. Her eyes burned.

Not with fear.

No. She liked it. She liked the violence. The control.

And that—Gods help me—that did something to me.

The room cleared. I made sure of it.

“Out,” I’d ordered, voice calm now, cold. “Everyone. Now.”

The wolves scattered, cowards that they are, and soon the room was empty. Except for me. And her.

Celeste stood with her arms crossed, chin high. Her lips trembled, not with weakness, but with words she hadn’t spoken yet. I could feel them, each syllable humming under her skin, ready to strike.

“You nearly killed him,” she said finally, voice cool. Controlled.

“Would you rather I let him?” I shot back.

“I would rather you admit it,” she said, stepping forward. “That you hated them looking at me like that.”

I scoffed, though my heart pounded like a drum. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Oh, please,” she sneered. “You were practically vibrating with fury. The second one of them licked his lips, you looked ready to peel the flesh off his bones.”

“You danced like a harlot. They responded accordingly.”

“I danced because you ordered me to.”

I closed the distance between us. “I ordered obedience. I didn’t tell you to revel in it.”

She laughed—bitter, breathless. “You’re angry because I didn’t cry. Because I didn’t shrink. Because I looked every single one of them in the eye and reminded them I’m not some pawn you get to parade.”

My hand gripped her wrist before I realized I’d moved.

“You could have toned it down,” I muttered.

“Ah,” she said softly, “so now we get to the truth.”

“Don’t twist my words.”

“Too late.”

The silence that followed was heavy. Weighted. And full of everything I couldn’t admit.

I should’ve let go of her hand. Should’ve stepped away. But I didn’t. I pulled her closer. My body betraying my resolve.

Her chest brushed against mine. She wasn’t trembling anymore. Neither was I.

“You think this is desire?” I asked, voice low. “You think I want you?”

Her breath caught.

I bent my head down, mouth close to her ear. “If I wanted you, Celeste, I wouldn’t be hiding it.”

“And yet…” she said, voice tight with something dangerous, “you haven’t walked away. And neither have I.”

My grip tightened on her wrist. Her pulse fluttered beneath my fingers.

“You’re playing with fire,” I warned.

“I always have been,” she breathed, meeting my gaze.

Gods.

I wanted to shove her away. I wanted to devour her. I didn’t know which urge was stronger.

My hand slid up her bare arm, slow and deliberate. I felt every goosebump. Every silent shiver. Her lips parted, the tiniest sound escaping.

“You’re going to dance again,” I said, voice husky, trembling with control. “And this time, you’re going to look at me while you do it.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Or what?”

“Or I’ll remind you exactly why they’re all too afraid to look at you the way they did tonight.”

That silence returned—thick, aching.

She didn’t move.

And neither did I.

But gods, the tension screamed between us. It dragged claws across my skin, begged to be broken.

I had started this. I had planned it.

But somewhere along the way, she’d taken control.

And I hated how much I liked it.