SERA'S POV
His hands roamed down my body. Every place he touched seemed to ignite, my skin tingling. His fingers reached the hem of my dress, tugging slightly, and I froze. "Mr. Blackwood, listen to me," I said. "I think there's been a big misunderstanding." The words barely left my lips before his hands slid higher.
He didn't respond. His breathing was ragged, uneven. I could feel the tremor in his body, the barely restrained hunger in his movements. "Please," I whispered. His fingers continued upward until they found my innocence.
I thought of calling for help. My eyes darted toward the locked door. But then I thought of my mother—her tired eyes. We needed this job. If I screamed, if I caused a scene, it wouldn't bode well for us.
So I searched for anything—to save me. My eyes swept the room. His head dipped lower. His mouth was suddenly against the fabric of my dress, tracing a path up my ribs, each breath sending waves of shivers through me.
I could feel the heat of his lips even through the thin material, and my body betrayed me, trembling for reasons that had nothing to do with fear.
"Stop," I managed. His mouth moved higher, dangerously close to my breasts now, the warmth of his breath setting fire to places that had never known such heat. My thoughts were a chaotic mess.
And then, without meaning to, I moved against him. It was instinct. My hips shifted, brushing against him in a way that made his breath hitch. His answering sound was a guttural grunt that vibrated against my skin.
"Yeah… like that," he murmured against my skin. His breath was warm, brushing across my chest. My heart pounded so hard I could barely think. My mind screamed to get away.
"Shit," I muttered under my breath. My hands shot up instinctively, palms trembling. The motion pushed my breasts against his face, and for half a second, I froze at the sensation—the heat of his skin, the electric proximity of him. But then I remembered the lamp. The lamp! My fingers scrambled across nightstand.
I grabbed the lamp—and without thinking, I swung it with every ounce of adrenaline-fueled desperation in me.
The impact was solid, brutal. A dull thud echoed in the room as the lamp connected with his head.
He let out a soft grunt, "Mate?" and then his entire body went slack.
"Mr. Blackwood?" His body was heavy, far too still. My breath caught in my throat. "Oh my God," I whispered, eyes wide. "I killed him. I actually killed Eric Blackwood!"
My pulse went wild, and panic clawed up my throat. The room felt too small, the air too thick. "Oh no, no, no," I babbled, shoving at his shoulder. He didn't budge. "This cannot be happening. I was supposed to deliver a message, not commit involuntary manslaughter!"
I pushed harder, my arms shaking under his weight. He was solid and completely uncooperative. My attempts to move him were pathetic at first. I braced my feet against the bed frame and heaved, muttering under my breath. "Come on, come on, you infuriating Greek god impersonator, move!"
With one final push, gravity took mercy on me, and he rolled off the bed, landing on the hardwood floor with a loud, heavy thud.
I winced. "Great. Just great," I muttered, staring down at him. "How many times am I going to kill the man in one afternoon? Nice going, Sera. Real smooth." My chest heaved as I sat back on my heels, trying to catch my breath. My hands were trembling.
The room was a mess now. I swallowed hard, a strange ache twisting in my stomach.
"Oh, this is bad," I whispered to the empty room, pacing. "This is so, so bad." My gaze flicked toward the door.
I buried my face in my hands. "Fantastic," I groaned. "The one time she lets me leave the house, I kill a Blackwood."
For the second time that day, I leaned over him to check his pulse. My heart was pounding so hard I could hear it in my ears. His chest rose and fell in steady, powerful motions. He was breathing. Relief hit me and then, almost immediately, panic followed. Because if Eric Blackwood was breathing, then he was alive.
And if he was alive, then sooner or later, he was going to wake up — and I was going to have to explain why I had just assaulted the head of the most dangerous, most influential werewolf family in the city. The Blackwoods were more than rich; they were royalty in this part of the city. Werewolf royalty.
I straightened, heart racing. I knew he would heal. My pulse fluttered. Every instinct screamed at me to leave, to get out before he woke up and decided I wasn't worth the trouble of forgiving.
My mind spiraled — to my mother, to the fact that if the Blackwoods decided to retaliate, our lives were over.
So, I waited. To apologize when he woke up.
*****
DELILAH'S POV
I arrived at the Blackwood estate with my aunt in tow, nerves thrumming under my skin.
It was my first time meeting him — Eric Blackwood. Just the sound of his name made my pulse quicken. To think my aunt had managed to secure this arrangement was thrilling beyond words. "Behave, Delilah," she whispered as we stepped out of the car. "Smile, be polite, and remember why we're here."
I rolled my eyes, smoothing down the curvy dress.
"Relax, Aunt Viv," I said softly. "I know how to make a good impression."
Vivienne had spent all night coaching me on how to please a man, and by the time morning came, I was practically vibrating with nerves and anticipation.
The maid opened the door.
"This is Miss Duvall," Vivienne announced, chin raised high. "I'm sure you know who I am."
The poor maid froze. Her eyes widened, the color draining from her face. "Miss… miss Duvall?" she stammered, glancing between me and my aunt. "Then who…" Her words trailed off into nervous silence.