Feral (The Wrong Alpha 2)

“All ri—” Liam started saying, but Devlin cut him off.

“Your brother can’t leave the ball with me,” he said, looking at Julian. “You don’t want any nasty rumors to start flying around, do you?”

He could actually hear Julian grind his teeth.

“Fine,” he said, still sounding a mix of annoyed and bewildered.

The helicopter ride to the Blake house was a strange one. Liam was the only one talking, chattering non-stop about the perfection that was Viscount Nasr while Julian determinedly didn’t look at Devlin.

Devlin bored his eyes into him, his fingertips tingling, his claws itching to come out. He curled his hands into fists and breathed shallowly, trying to ignore the way Julian smelled. It was impossible. Julian fucking reeked. He reeked of another alpha. Devlin wanted to fix it, run his hands all over the brat, until he smelled right.

It was probably a good thing that Julian was the first to jump out of the helicopter when they arrived, because Devlin didn’t trust himself.

Tearing his gaze from Julian’s retreating back, Devlin barely managed a polite goodbye to Liam, he felt so on edge. Fuck, he hadn’t felt this on edge in decades.

When he returned home, it took hours of taking out his frustration on a punching bag to get rid of the pent-up aggression. Barely.

Exhausted and sweaty, Devlin sat down on the mat, breathing hard. His skin still crawled with agitation.

Goddammit.

He didn’t know what was wrong with him. Years of teaching himself self-control and composure—it seemed to be all for nothing. He was once again acting like a creature driven by his instincts, unable to control his aggression. Little better than an animal. And why? Just because his future bondmate’s little brother smelled of a different alpha? He was losing his fucking mind.

Chapter 15

The next day Julian declined to accompany them again, because he didn’t feel well. Or at least that was what Liam said when Devlin asked.

It shouldn’t have bothered him as much as it did. Julian didn’t have to accompany them. He might really be feeling unwell. Or he might be with Nasr.

Either way, it was none of his business.

Devlin somehow managed to put on a smile for the cameras. He somehow managed a semblance of a conversation with Liam over their dinner date. He probably wasn’t as attentive as he should have been, judging by Liam’s baffled and annoyed looks, but it was better than the alternative.

When their date was finally over, Devlin dropped Liam off at the Blake house—and then stared at the building’s facade.

“Wait for me,” he told his pilot at last and got out of the helicopter.

Liam had long since disappeared into the house, and Devlin didn’t see him when he pushed the front door open. The butler was nowhere to be seen, either.

Devlin hesitated before heading upstairs, where he knew the bedrooms were located.

It would be only polite to visit Julian and ask how he was feeling.

Polite. Right.

Devlin stopped at the top of the stairs and looked up and down the empty corridor. He ran a hand through his hair, acutely aware that he shouldn’t be there. He should go downstairs, find the butler, and have him ask Julian if he was accepting visitors. Though that plan had an obvious downside: if Julian was asleep or really sick, he shouldn’t be bothered by servants.

But he can be bothered by you?

The thought made him grimace. The disturbing part was, the first answer that sprang to his mind was Yes. It was irrational and illogical—not to mention beyond arrogant—but he really felt like he had the right to bother him.

Fuck, he should go home.

He should go home and get his head sorted out. He was behaving irrationally. Like a Xeus.

Devlin didn’t move. He closed his eyes and let his senses sharpen instead of suppressing them as he normally did. Three heartbeats on the floor. The slightly faster one clearly belonged to an alpha, probably the uncle. It wasn’t difficult to guess which of the other two belonged to Julian: Liam’s distinct scent led to the room to the right. The one to the left had to belong to Julian.

Devlin walked toward it and then rapped his knuckles against the door before he could think twice.

After a few moments, he heard muffled footsteps, and then the door opened.

Julian looked ridiculously endearing in an oversized white t-shirt and a pair of knee-length shorts. He was barefoot, and Devlin found himself staring at his pale little toes.

“Your Grace? What are you doing here?”

“Haven’t I told you to call me Devlin?” he said, shifting his gaze to Julian’s face.

Julian rubbed the back of his neck, a strange expression appearing in his brown eyes. Embarrassment? Nerves?

Devlin focused on his senses again, but Julian’s scent was still too faint to serve as a good indicator of his emotions.

“Aren’t you and Liam supposed to be at the restaurant?” Julian said.