Stolen and Marked by the Alpha King

Elodie POV:

The heavy satin of my custom-made gown dragged against my ankles, each step a monumental effort. My heels sank into the plush corridor carpet of the Waldorf Astoria, slowing me down, trapping me.

I reached up and pressed the heels of my palms into my cheeks, trying to massage away the ache from a full evening of smiling. The muscles were stiff, a frozen mask of polite joy that didn't reach my eyes. I just needed to find my fiancé, Brennan Christian. Then we could leave this suffocating engagement party.

A sliver of amber light sliced through the dim hallway ahead, spilling from a suite door left slightly ajar. It was a break in the monotonous pattern of closed mahogany doors.

As I drew closer, a cloying scent hit me. Sweet, cheap roses, so thick they choked out the familiar, clean fragrance of cedar that always clung to Brennan.

My stomach clenched. The two scents warred in the air, a nauseating combination that my body rejected on a primal level.

Holding my breath, I peered through the narrow gap. My eyes followed the beam of light to the king-sized bed, and what I saw nailed my feet to the floor.

Brennan. He was on top of a woman, his body moving with a desperate rhythm I'd never known. The light caught her profile as she turned her head.

Dasia. My cousin.

My vision tunneled. A hand, cold and invisible, wrapped around my heart and squeezed until I couldn't draw a breath. The air thickened, turning to cement in my lungs.

I slapped a hand over my mouth, biting down on my knuckles to stifle the scream clawing its way up my throat.

Dasia's light, tinkling laugh echoed from the room. "She'll have you all to herself after tonight," she purred, a venomous sweetness in her voice. "That wolfless waste of space."

Brennan let out a low, contemptuous chuckle. The sound ripped through me, more violent than a physical blow. "I'm only marrying her for the Randolph Industries shares," he said, his voice rough with exertion. "You know that."

The words were like silver daggers, plunging straight into my brain. They shredded every last illusion I had clung to, every hope for this marriage, for him.

Heat flooded my eyes, but I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood. I would not cry. Not for him.

A wave of dizziness washed over me, the floor tilting beneath my feet. I had to get away. I stumbled backward, my body clumsy and uncoordinated, desperate to flee the toxic space.

The heavy skirt of my gown tangled around my legs. I lost my balance, my back slamming hard against the solid wall of the corridor.

The dull thud echoed in the silence, loud and damning.

Inside the room, the movement stopped.

"What was that?" Brennan muttered, followed by a curse.

I heard the rustle of sheets, the thud of feet hitting the floor. He was coming to the door.

Panic seized me. I hitched up my skirt, all thoughts of grace and decorum gone, and ran. I fled blindly down the hall, aiming for the corner, for escape. Tears blurred my vision, turning the ornate sconces into streaks of light. I didn't see the massive shadow looming in my path until it was too late.

I collided with a chest as hard as a brick wall. The impact sent a shockwave through my body, throwing me backward.

Before I could fall, a powerful arm snaked around my waist, yanking me back with absolute control. I was slammed against him, my face pressed into the fine wool of a suit jacket.

An aggressive, intoxicating scent filled my senses—expensive whiskey and a cold, ancient forest. It was overwhelming, an Alpha scent so potent it seemed to suck all the air out of the hallway.

I tilted my head back, my breath catching in my throat. I was staring up into a pair of amber eyes, as deep and cold as a frozen lake.

Griffith McMahon, the most powerful alpha on the East Coast.

The man looked down at me, his expression unreadable. His nostrils flared slightly, and for a second, a flicker of something wild, something possessive, burned in those golden depths. It was as if he'd just caught a scent that his very soul recognized. Lilies. My scent.

I struggled against his iron grip, a pathetic attempt at resistance. My strength was nothing against his. He was a predator, and I was caught.

From down the hall, the click of a door latch turning echoed ominously. Brennan's footsteps were getting closer.

The man holding me didn't loosen his grip. If anything, he pulled me tighter, pressing my body fully against his. His voice was a low, rough whisper next to my ear, a vibration that shot straight down my spine.

"Tears don't suit you."

His thumb moved to my face, roughly wiping away a tear at the corner of my eye. His gaze was a dangerous, hypnotic thing.

He looked straight into my terrified eyes, his voice a tempting poison.

"Want revenge on the fool in that room?"