Chapter 71: Spoiled
Chapter 71
Four months later.
Lenora
Having a filthy rich mate has its bloody perks.
Dad, I think I’m officially spoiled. How will I ever go back to pack living after this? Actually—Ronan too. Mother Goddess, your children are simply not strong enough to resist temptation.
I lean closer to the mirror, fingers in my hair. I’ve never been precious about it—why bother when shifting between forms makes it all a mess anyway? But now... my curls are soft, glossy, perfectly defined. No split ends in sight.
I was out here living like a savage before.
My nails? Well, acrylics were a disaster. They didn’t survive the first night Cameron and I got... too enthusiastic. Snap, snap, snap—oops.
Now I have these absurdly expensive clip-ons instead. Practical for a wolf. Same with earrings—piercings just heal instantly, and shifting will rip them out anyway. But one time, I saw a pair in a jewelry store, sighed about it, and next thing I know? My mate had them custom-made into clip-ons. Who does that?
My mate apparently.
Oh, and he bought us a house on the outskirts of town so I can shift freely on weekends. The kind of house where the air smells like pine and the moonlight actually feels like a blessing instead of a distant reminder.
The only downside? The spotlight. Being the partner of a man like Cameron means every inch of you gets picked apart.
I’ve had my looks dissected like a high school biology project. People accuse me of having cosmetic surgery, enhancements...can a wolf even handle implants? I’m not volunteering to find out.
They’ve called me names too, the usual gold digger variations. As if I picked him out of a catalogue.
What can I say? Blame the Goddess. She gave Cameron to me.
"Are you ready?" says the man himself, leaning in the doorway like he’s in an advert for temptation.
"Are you ready?" says the man himself, our eyes locking through the mirror.
"Can we not go?" I ask, already knowing the answer but trying anyway.
He pauses like he’s weighing it. I stand and turn to face him.
"Maybe we shouldn’t," he says at last—then his gaze drifts down my outfit, and I see the moment his thoughts change.
"Nope," I say, grinning, "this way I get to tease you all afternoon in this." I give him a slow twirl, the hem of my black pleated golf skirt flaring just enough to make him smile.
And then I feel it—through the bond. Affection. Awe. Adoration. And, of course, desire. He might not have realized it yet, but this man loves me.
"Come to think of it... it’s honestly not that important," he says, eyes still on me.
"Nope," I counter, stepping toward him, "we’re going. Besides, you said the Netas will be there too—we can say hi."
He sighs like a man surrendering in advance, but I catch the faintest curve of his lips.
*
So boring, these events.
A parade of old men with interchangeable young women on their arms.
They all have the same face—blonde, skeletal, blue-eyed. The same sharp little nose, arched brows, glossy lips. Even their makeup is copy-pasted, like some secret society decided one prototype was enough for the entire roster. The variations are so slight it’s eerie, like a glitch in the simulation.
If it’s not the old white men, it’s their sons—just as bad, only younger and wearing slimmer suits.
My gaze snags on one of them in my line of sight: Cameron. He’s doing that thing with his eyebrow, the faint twitch that means he’s two seconds away from murdering the conversation partner he’s stuck with. His posture is perfect, polite, but I can tell—he’s bored out of his mind. Annoyed too.
I bite back a laugh and fail miserably, a snicker slipping out before I can stop it.
"What’s so funny?" a voice says behind me.
I glance over my shoulder and find myself face-to-face with a man who is, annoyingly, almost too handsome—sunlight hair, sharp suit, smile warm enough to melt butter.
Unfortunately, my type runs in the opposite direction: dark-haired, brooding, a little feral around the edges. This one? Too polished.
One of the Neta brothers.
"My mate’s boredom," I say, stepping back just enough to put space between us.
"Really? He’s bored? He’s had that perpetual scowl and resting bitch face since the day I met him. Worst opponent at poker, too."
I can’t help but chuckle. People say that like Cameron is unreadable, but I know him like the back of my palm.
"He is," I agree.
"It must be a mate thing," he says, and I just shrug. Maybe. Who knows.
"Last time, we weren’t properly acquainted. I’m Austin Neta from the Silvermist Pack." His tone is light, but his gaze lingers, scanning my face as if memorizing details. I glance around—no one’s paying us any attention.
"Lenora Maen. White Stone," I answer simply.
His mouth curves into a knowing smile. "I’ve heard of you. I was one of the suitors who sent word to your uncle, you know."
I open my mouth to respond, but before a single syllable can leave, a broad back and shoulders fill my vision, cutting off Austin entirely.
"Austin," Cameron says, his voice low but carrying a weight that stills the air.
"Whoa," Austin blurts, instinctively taking two steps back. His eyes widen, scanning Cameron from head to toe like he’s reassessing everything he thought he knew.
"You really are a wolf," he says slowly, awe and wariness mixing in his tone. "And an alpha wolf at that."
The statement hangs between them, thick with unspoken tension.
"I apologize," Austin adds quickly, hands coming up in a placating gesture. "I meant no disrespect."
Cameron’s gaze doesn’t soften, his stance a silent warning that the apology might not be enough.
I step closer until my shoulder brushes his arm, my hand curling around the thick muscle of his bicep. The tension in him is coiled, dangerous, but it eases under my touch like I’ve reached some instinctual part of him that listens only to me.
"It’s okay," I murmur, though in truth, the deep, territorial rumble beneath his skin sends a shiver down my spine. Goddess help me, I’m turned on.