Bloodlust

Proposition

— VENICE —

I gaped as the driver pulled our car into the driveway of a colossal antebellum house. The home was two floors and painted white with black shutters, railings, and stairs. This place looked like a scene straight out of a history textbook about the Civil War.

"This is stunning," I said. "Pepper lives here alone?"

"A few staff members are live-in," Macay replied.

Brita remained silent. As soon as the car stopped by the front steps, she jumped out and went directly into the house.

I took a deep breath and unbuckled my seatbelt. Before I could follow her, Macay placed a hand over mine and squeezed gently. His bright eyes searched mine but I turned my face away.

We hadn't yet discussed the blatant lie he told his mother and I was internally still fuming.

"Ready?" he asked.

I nodded and pulled my hand free of his, using it to push open the door. Macay walked closely as we walked to the front door and entered.

The foyer was open with tall ceilings, an elaborate chandelier, and a grand horseshoe staircase. Macay started up the right side. I looked around, wanting to do anything but follow him, but I complied.

We entered a large bedroom with an en-suite bathroom and bay windows overlooking an orchard of pecan trees. Floral upholstery rolled over all the furniture and the bed was hardly full-sized.

I padded into the bathroom to take care of business. When I emerged from the toilet, Macay stood at the vanity over one of the granite sinks. Avoiding his gaze, I approached the second sink and washed my hands.

While I was drying them, his voice came from behind me.

"You're upset with me," he said.

I turned to face him and stepped back in surprise at seeing how close he was. My pulse jumped.

Smoothing a hand over my hair, I stared down at his shoes and nodded once. He directed my chin up until our eyes locked. His unwavering eyes and silence unnerved me.

"Why would you tell your mother that you marked me?" I blurted.

He released a breath and stepped away. "She's not doing well. I'm just trying to make her happy and give her everything she wants while I still can."

Tears threatened to rise in my eyes but I forced them out by reminding myself of why I was pissed.

"We aren't even together, Macay," I said. "I understand you want to make her happy and I want that, too. But this just feels like—like a . . ."

"Trap?"

My gaze snapped back to him. I wasn't going to use that word, but now that he said it, I agreed.

Being here, being held at his side for what seemed like perpetuity, was like a trap. Macay was forcing me to act like we were happily mated and on our way to having kids to placate his dying mother.

Maybe he didn't see the fault in that but I never agreed to deceive Pepper. I was never even given the choice.

My trust in him was wearing thin, and I was terrified of how our relationship would change when that trust ran out.

Macay exhaled forcefully. He sat on the edge of the bathtub and raked a hand through his hair.

The urge to comfort him gripped me. I forced myself to stay planted by the sink, squeezing my hands together.

"I know you're upset about your mother," I said. "You have every right. I don't want to get in between you and your family and I'm not trying to make this about me. But . . . you can't put me in that situation, Macay. I can't pretend to be your mate."