Chapter Twenty-Four: Poor Mr Skippy

The Lycan's Hotel room was fancier than mine, go figure, but I hardly had enough time to gawk at it or even sip the fancy complimentary champagne.

"Strip."

I want to protest at the unfairness of his opening words, but I do as he says, only slowly.

I tug each strap with a teasing slowness from each shoulder before reaching for the zipper on my side; he does not protest, merely watches me.

His silver eyes darken sinisterly as the dress pools to my feet, leaving me only in jewellery, heels and panties, everything he bought for me.

"Alba."

"Yes,"

I answer breathily as his hand strokes the gem on my chest.

The whole room holds his scent, yet there is clarity in my haze, unlike the first time his mere presence induced it— as if it is slowly stabilising.

I don’t want its stabilisation because what excuse will I use to feel this way in his presence? To give into my desire for him?

There is a chill in the room from the air conditioning, or perhaps it is his gaze that erupts goosebumps from my