The maid stood frozen in front of Deucalion.
“Alpha… please,” she whispered. “I cannot.”
Deucalion’s eyes were dark and hungry. The drug had already taken hold of him. His breathing was heavy. His body felt hot and restless.
“Strip,” he said again, voice low and rough.
The maid shook her head.
“I was only told to bring the wine. I was not told to—”
He stepped closer.
“I said strip.”
Her hands trembled as she reached for the buttons of her dress. She started unbuttoning it slowly. The fabric slipped from her shoulders and fell to the floor. She stood in front of him in only her underclothes.
Deucalion’s gaze moved over her body with open hunger.
Outside the study, Aria waited in the dark corridor.
She had timed everything carefully. The maid was supposed to deliver the wine, make
