Gods, who gave the man the right to say her name like that? What divine entity had she pissed off enough to give him a voice that made her knees weak? It was smooth and low, but not too low. It was the kind of voice that sounded best in a close whisper, spoken just for her ears alone, and it called to the snarling thing in her like nothing else had.
Camille’s arms shot out to brace herself against the door jamb. Her claws dug into the elaborate molding, anchoring her to the present, to her side of the door. A pounding beat thrummed through her veins and traveled, with alarming swiftness, to settle between her thighs.
One word. That was all it took for her instincts to spin completely out of her control. One word, and she’d gone soft and wet for him.
“Cam, open the door. Please.”
There was no way she could do that. Even if there was no risk of exposure to his pheromones, she knew that she couldn’t resist him if they met face to face. Their last encounter had cost her greatly, and she wasn’t certain she would have that kind of strength of will again.
Her fingers flexed, sending a flurry of splinters and chipped paint to the floor. Her arms shook with the effort it took to hold still. “No. Why are you here? You have no reason to bother me.”
That was a lie. Camille knew why he was there. She just wanted him to say it. She wanted him to admit that he cared, just so she could throw it back in his pretty face.
She knew that she would never, ever matter to Viktor like he mattered to her. He was her consort, but she would never be his mate. Still, he seemed to have some sort of fixation on her — just as he had when they were teenagers, sneaking around her mother to spend stolen hours together at the beach, in the garden, behind the waterfall in Yerba Buena Plaza.
Whatever drove him to seek her out, it wasn’t enough to make her open the door. It was just enough to torture him a little, though.
She heard the rough sound of claws again, and then a hard exhale. His voice was muffled by the thick door, but close enough for her to hear the telltale shifter purr when he said, “Teddy told me about the union, Cam.”
The metallic taste of betrayal lingered on the back of her tongue. At least it appeared that he hadn’t told Viktor everything. She wasn’t sure she would have been able to stomach seeing Theodore again if he broke that one, sacred promise.
“He shouldn’t have told you anything,” she snapped. “That’s none of your business. And you know what? It’s none of his business either!”
She’d done the proper thing by telling him her plans and getting his blessing, but if this was how he treated family, then she didn’t give a flying fuck what he thought going forward. Clearly, he was not on her side. He was on Viktor’s.
Hurt swelled beneath the heat of her fury. It was immense, brutally hot, and heavy in her soul.
All she wanted was an escape; her own little slice of happiness. Instead of letting her have that, he turned around and spilled her secrets to the very man she was trying to run from. Was that what family did?
Camille knew what her mother would have said: The Solbournes can’t be trusted. The only people you can rely on are me, your brother, and yourself.
Marian was cruel and narcissistic, blinded by the grief of her lost consort, but at least she always kept her confidence. Camille never worried that her mother would betray her. She wasn’t a kind woman, and she wasn’t a very good mother, but she was loyal to her core. That was more than she could say for Theodore.
“Don’t take your anger out on Teddy,” Viktor warned, as if he could read her mind. “He just wants to protect you, Cam. He wants you to be happy. Just like I do.”
“You and I haven’t had a relationship in twenty years. What I do is not your problem. You can take your concern and shove it up your ass, Alpha Hamilton.”
A low, coyote growl rumbled through the door. “Damn it, Cam, just open the door so we can talk properly. I’m not doing this in the hallway.”
“I’d rather bite my own claws off,” she snarled back.
“Fine!” The word was barely discernible beneath the animal growl. “Then tell me why you’re doing this. Tell me what could have possibly brought this on. For godssakes, Cam, a union? You deserve better than that!”
Oh, she wanted to bite him!
Camille heard the crack of wood splitting under the force of her grip. Everything in her demanded she open up the door and lunge at him, claws and teeth bared.
The pull made her more aggressive — no moreso than to her consort himself. It was instinct to swipe, to bite, to test. If he cared for her, he would fight back and subdue her without doing harm. He would play.
But she couldn’t do that. If she opened the door, she would expose herself to him and undo all the hard work she’d done to combat the bone-deep craving that was the pull. And when he rejected her again, she knew she wouldn’t escape unscathed a third time.
No matter what instinct demanded, she would not give Viktor Hamilton another chance to break her.
Hissing through clenched teeth, she asked, “You want to know why I’m doing this?”
“Yes. What’s wrong, Cam? Is this because of your mom? What—”
“Because I want a mate,” she bit out, using words she knew he would understand. “I want a den. I want babies. I want my own life away from politics and the city. How I go about getting those things is none of your fucking business.”
If she had to sign a piece of paper, if she had to barter her time and her womb like assets in a business deal to get the life she wanted, Camille was fine with that. At least it was something. Anything was better than knowing her consort was out there and that he didn’t want her, while she remained alone, forgotten by her twin and no longer needed by her mother, left to be used as a political pawn by people who once shunned her side of the family.
Besides, at least now she didn’t have to worry about one day stumbling across her consort after she was contracted to another. She knew exactly who he was. The trick would be avoiding him — something that would be much, much easier when she tied herself to a family far beyond his territory.
Viktor was silent for several moments. She could just make out the sound of his harsh breathing. With her claws still gouging holes in the wall, she allowed herself to lean closer to the door. Her feverish cheek rested against the cool surface as she counted every exhale.
Something deep and wounded keened inside her, Open the door. Let him in. It will finally stop hurting if you give in.
But that way lay madness, so Camille did not give in. She did not yield. Not even when he breathed, “Cam… Please open the door.” His voice broke. “I just need to see you. I need to see that you’re okay. If this is what you really want—”
“You don’t need to see me to know that.” Pain reverberated through the fine lattice of every bone, every muscle, every fiber of her body and soul. The sound of him hurting didn’t give her the satisfaction she craved. It just made the ache worse.
Still, she had to be strong. Always, always, she was the strong one.
For Cameron, she was the buffer between them and her mother’s random, often inexplicable outbursts of rage and malice. For her mother, she was a constant source of support and the caretaker who was there all the way to the undignified end. Now, she would be strong for herself, even when she didn’t want to be.