Isla forced herself to look up, to seem as calm as she could manage under his razor-sharp gaze.
“I swear, I’m just a rogue. I’ve been alone… for a while now. I’m only here because I have nowhere else to go.”
“Tell me your name.”
“Isla.”
He took a slow step toward her, his dark eyes unrelenting. “Isla, it sounds so familiar. And I’m supposed to believe you’ve come to Crimson Fang, of all places, without any ulterior motives.”
Isla swallowed, her heart pounding. “I wouldn’t be here if I had any other choice. I’m no threat to you or your pack.”
The silence stretched, thick and suffocating, as Draven continued to stare her down. Finally, he gave a slow nod, but his expression was cold, calculating.
“Fine. I’ll allow you to stay,” he said, his voice like a low rumble of distant thunder. “But let me be clear—if I even suspect you’re lying, there won’t be anywhere left for you to run.” He lifted his chin, motioning for one of his pack members. “Watch her closely.”
One of the wolves stepped forward, his eyes narrowing as he sized her up. Isla’s relief barely lasted a breath before she felt the scrutiny of everyone around her, their eyes sharp, suspicious, and untrusting. They’d be watching her every move, waiting for her to slip up, to reveal the secrets they all suspected she carried.
Draven turned back to her, his intense gaze still unyielding. He leaned in, voice low, dangerously smooth. “If you want to stay here, you’ll prove your loyalty,”
Isla’s throat tightened. “How… can I do that?”
The smallest flicker of intrigue flashed in his dark eyes. He leaned forward, just enough that she could feel the warmth radiating off him, smell the rich, wild scent that marked him as Alpha. His hand reached up, brushing a stray strand of her hair behind her ear, fingers lingering a little too long, a silent test of her limits.
“You’re shaking,” he murmured, his tone deceptively soft, like silk wrapping around iron.
“I’m not afraid of you,” Isla lied, her voice thick with defiance. But she couldn’t back down. Not here, not now.
“No?” His hand dropped to her jaw, fingers barely pressing, his thumb brushing over her cheek in a way that sent a shiver through her. “But maybe you should be.”
Isla’s pulse pounded at his words, a tantalizing warning woven through the threat. She held her breath as he trailed his fingers down her neck and stopping just above her collarbone. He was close enough. If she leaned forward even a fraction, their lips would brush. She could feel his gaze drop to her mouth, lingering there, his eyes darkening with something raw and unspoken.
Every instinct screamed at her to pull away, but she was rooted in place. Her skin tingling under his touch, her own desire warring against her better judgment. It was a dangerous game, and she knew it. Her breath catching with every almost-touch, every lingering glance.
Draven’s lips quirked into a faint, wicked smile. He let the silence hang between them, his gaze trailing slowly over her, unnervingly thorough.
“Let’s see, if you’re as harmless as you claim to be.” His eyes locked on hers, unflinching, probing. “Tell me, are you pure?”
Isla took a step back. A chill ran through her body, her legs trembled and her face flushed with shame. But there was no point in running, she was trapped in a trap.
