CHAPTER 31: CRASHER

CHAPTER 31: CRASHER

Leonard POV
Rose had a very alluring scent. It was everything I wanted—sweet, soft, feminine—and most importantly, it played heavily on what my wolf wanted, spurring both of us into desire every time, especially when I remembered the first. Her appearance barely registered in my mind, but it was that scent.
It was almost like roses mixed with chocolate and strawberries at the same time. It was feminine, sweet, and definitely the kind of scent that caused me to turn my head in her direction. But it was just the scent—that was it.
There were no sparks, as were claimed by many. In fact, Gavin was the one who often spoke of it. “Every time you touch, it’s like the Fourth of July, you know? Like New Year’s. Fireworks everywhere, sparks flying. It’s impossible to keep your hands off her. Even after years, it’s still there. The attraction never wanes, never changes. If anything, it gets stronger, especially when you know she’s ready for you.”
I didn’t experience any of those things, save for the alluring scent. Her touch was just the same—sometimes warm, sometimes cold. I didn’t feel as though I couldn’t live without her. I didn’t feel as though my very breath was taken just for her. No sparks. The attraction was mild at best. It was nothing special, nothing to write home about. It wasn’t epic. There were no fireworks going off in the distance.
But that was it.
Even despite that, I had initially wanted to mark her, but the drive was never there. The need was never there.
Enter Florence.
Seeing her was as though the entire world came to a stop. The way she panted heavily for breath, shaking her head vehemently as though I was tormenting her—it was intoxicating. Despite the obvious appeal in her disheveled appearance, I still wanted to have her. Desperately. Then came the sparks.
I touched her, and that was it.
Her scent did things to me, though not nearly as strong as Rose’s. Watching Rose walk into the dining hall of the Golden Dome sparked nothing but anger within me.
“I was quite sad when I didn’t receive an invitation,” she said, carving her dark red lips into a sultry smile. She jutted out one hip and swished her leg out from its hidden slit, the fabric sliding away to reveal her thigh, leaving much for the eye to see.
I was supposed to feel jealous or possessive, but I felt nothing. Slowly, I rose to my feet, deciding to be diplomatic rather than angry despite the storm brewing inside me.
“You might as well take a seat, no?”
I signaled for Gavin, who quickly moved and placed his ear close as I whispered to him.
“Luna,” he said, leaving me and walking over to her. “This way.”
He touched her briefly on the shoulder, leading her to the other end of the table, now occupied with one chair similar to mine.
“I don’t see why I get to sit here,” she said. “But, oh well.”
Not made for me, she moved to the chair, crossing her legs and meeting my eyes as though daring me to react.
Taking her out would be childish and an embarrassment to me—which I was hoping she wasn’t here to cause.
“I assume you’re not here to do that?” I said, raising an eyebrow.
Slowly, she seemed to concede, lowering her eyebrows and bowing her head slightly.
“It’s lovely,” she said, changing the subject. “Large. I didn’t think you’d be here,” she said, glancing to her left. “Dashworth hated me. I thought maybe…” She trailed off, oblivious to the silent war between myself and him.
“Since, maybe, you and your mate would keep silent, especially after the incident from last decade. I didn’t know you were once more back in society.”
Rose reached for her wine glass, raised it slowly to her lips, and took a sip, all the while hiding a smirk in my direction.
Rose, I thought to myself, fighting against the anger brewing within.
I would have lashed out. In fact, when Rose pulled the same thing again and again—talking to those I’d rather keep at arm’s length—I would have stood to my feet, grabbed her, and thrown her out of the building. But then I felt a small hand on mine, squeezing gently.
Slowly, I looked toward Florence and found her looking at me with slightly squinted eyes.
“Have you tried this?” she asked, pointing to the bowl of soup before her. “It’s very lovely,” she said in a rather delightful attempt to diffuse the current tension brought about by Rose.
“I don’t think I’ve had the privilege,” I said, glancing at the similar bowl in front of me.
Slowly, I reached for the spoon and tried it. Just as she had said, it was delightful. Delicious, in fact.
I found myself smiling just a little as Florence successfully diffused the situation, making the atmosphere slower, warmer, and less heated.
“You know, I have a chef of similar quality,” Elder Thorn said, easily jumping into the conversation. “The man can make the most delicious things out of sand. One time, I asked him to make a mud pie, and it was chocolate. You’d have thought it was made of actual mud—he got the texture spot on. I wanted to test him, you see, but the man took on the challenge. In the end, he made a rather delightful chocolate creation that still baffles me to this day. It’s still popular in my household.”
The room burst into soft laughter.
“But nothing quite as remarkable as this. I was halfway thinking it was a lemon tart, but I was wrong. This is just an appetizer,” he added.
Foren rolled his eyes with a smile, and soon, the rest of the dinner followed with a bit of ease. If ease could walk on broken glass, that is. Every so often, Rose would interject.
“You know…” Thorn’s young mate looked toward Rose when she did it again. “If you were wondering why you weren’t invited, well, I’m sure your attitude speaks for itself. While it’s decent that you have a seat at the table, don’t you think it’s enough without being the sour grape that ruins the bunch?”
Rose chuckled—or rather, it was a strange mixture between a laugh and a cry. Her face morphed slowly from a smile to a frown and then back again.
I would say it was a dish well-served, I thought to myself, keeping my eyes on Rose, knowing she would look to me for help. She always did that—made a mess of things and then expected me to fix it.
Her eyes turned to mine with an obvious fix this expression on her face.
I settled back, raising my glass toward Thorn’s mate.
“I would say it
was well-intended,” I said, keeping my eyes on Rose and meaning every word of it.