Chapter 85
In the Sapphire Tide Pack’s office, Mason leaned back in his chair and fixed his gaze on Larkin, who lounged casually on the sofa with a mischievous smile playing at his lips. The room was suffused with quiet tension, broken only by the rustle of papers and the distant hum of the pack’s operations beyond the walls.
“You seem unusually upbeat these days,” Mason observed, narrowing his eyes with a subtle hint of suspicion.
Larkin’s grin widened, his voice laced with amusement. “Why wouldn’t I be? I’ve stumbled upon a particularly fascinating prey,”
Mason’s brow furrowed deeper, his voice dropping into a more serious tone as he set the document before him aside. “Larkin, cut it out. This isn’t a joke.”
“Oh, come on, Mason,” Larkin teased, stretching languidly. “You’re an Alpha. Surely you appreciate the elegance of a good
hunt?”
Mason’s frown deepened, a skeptical edge creeping into his words. “If hunting were truly such a delight, why have you chased after so many prey over the years? Isn’t that exhausting?”
Larkin raised a finger, wagging it like a playful teacher scolding a student. “That’s just it. The joy isn’t in the catch–it’s in the chase. The process itself is the thrill. Understand, Alpha?”
Mason’s eyes darkened. “I’m not as twisted as you are.”
Larkin’s expression softened, a flicker of something vulnerable surfacing beneath his bravado. “I know Melanie was the one for you.”
His words faltered, weighed down by the ghost of grief and regret. The heavy pressure of the Alpha mantle seemed to lift, leaving the room heavy and still, as if Mason’s spirit had momentarily exhaled a long–held breath,
“Don’t speak her name again,” Mason said quietly, his voice firm but drained.
Larkin’s concern surfaced, softening the sharp edges of his usual teasing tone. “Mason, holding on to the past won’t heal you. You have to let go.”
Mason’s response was a quiet defiance, coated with cold resolve. “I don’t want to let go.”
The subject was closed, and Mason gestured towards the door.“Happy hunting.”
Larkin’s eyes gleamed as he glanced at the window, the city sprawling beneath the rising sun. “It’s still early. She’s not at work yet.”
Mason’s curiosity was piqued, his mind racing to understand. ‘It’s office hours now,‘ he thought, “If she’s not at work, it means she left early… What is he implying?”
Larkin shrugged nonchalantly. “That interesting new prey of mine? She works at a club.”
The words hung in the air, and an idea flickered in Mason’s mind before vanishing like smoke.
Mason rubbed his temples. “I don’t find club women fascinating at all.”
“But she is,” Larkin said, voice almost reverent. “The most intriguing woman I’ve ever met. And I just had a better idea. I’m not going to the club.”
Mason’s eyes narrowed. “You’re giving up on her?”
No I just prefer a different approach than meeting her there.” Larkin’s voice was casual, but his eyes glinted with intent, speaking either to Mason or himself
Mason knew Larkin’s past too well to pry further. Some subjects remained unspoken.
“See you, Mason.”
“See you.”
As Larkin’s hand grasped the doorknob, Mason sighed heavily. “Stop while you still can. You’re going to hurt others–and
- Chapter 85
yourself.”
Larkin shrugged, a playful smile tugging at his lips. “What are you talking about? I don’t understand.”
Mason shook his head. “You know exactly what I mean. What if your prey turns out to be your mate? Then what?”
“Impossible.” Larkin opened the door and stepped out without looking back.
Georgia’s footsteps echoed softly as she made her way back to her dormitory, the cold night air wrapping around her like a shroud after leaving the noisy, suffocating atmosphere of Vetro Club
Just as sh
she reached the door, her breath caught–there, standing in the shadows of the doorway, was Larkin.
“Mr. Nash,” she greeted cautiously, clutching her key tightly, unwilling to open the door while he was present.
“I’ve been waiting for you a long time,” he said simply, a faint hunger in his tone.
“What do you want?” Georgia’s voice was steady, but every muscle was taut with vigilance.
Her guardedness only fueled Larkin’s excitement. The thrill of cornering such a carefully protected prey was intoxicating.
“I’m hungry,” Larkin confessed, a hint of desperation breaking through his usual charm. “I haven’t eaten all day. I’m starving.”
Georgia blinked, momentarily confused. “Then you should go get something to eat.”
“Yes, you’re right. That’s why I’m here,” Larkin said, his grin widening.
*Are you saying you waited here for me so I could cook you something when I got back?” she asked, suspicion coloring her words.
“Clever girl,” Larkin chuckled. “But I won’t eat for free.”
With a flourish, he pulled out a checkbook, scribbled a number, and slid the check toward her.
Georgia stared at the figure, her mind tangled in conflicting voices.
One whispered, Don’t see him again. Don’t take his money.
The other urged, Take it. You need the money. Aren’t you trying to buy your freedom?
“Miss Cooper? Miss Cooper?” Larkin’s voice cut through her revèrie, urgent and persistent.
Startled, Georgia blinked and finally reached out, her hand trembling as it closed around the check.
Money was her weakness.
She unlocked the door, stepping inside and saying, “Mr. Nash, please come in. Have a seat. I’ll cook something for you.”
She set down her belongings and moved toward the kitchen, the weight of that check anchoring her thoughts.
Twenty thousand dollars–it was a fortune for her.
For the price of her freedom, she was prepared to do things most would shun without hesitation. Others wasted such sums without a second thought.
Georgia prepared a simple macaroni dish from sparse ingredients, the mundane act grounding her amidst the storm of uncertainty.
Larkin ate in silence, finishing quickly as always.
“The macaroni isn’t worth that much,” Georgia said softly, looking up at him with earnest eyes. “Why?”
Larkin wiped a corner of his mouth, smirking. “You may think that, but I think differently. I’m the one spending the money My opinion is what counts. Yours? Not so much.”
The arrogance in his tone was unmistakable.
“It’s getting late, Mr. Nash. I should see you out,” Georgia said, standing.
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Larkin’s interest was piqued. He knew if she invited him to stay longer, his mood would sour. Her resistance made everything more enticing.
He rose and walked toward the door.
Just as he reached it, with a swift motion, he brushed the hair from Georgia’s forehead and kissed the scar there.
Her eyes flashed with fury. “Mr. Nash! Didn’t I tell you before? Don’t kiss my forehead!”
