“And I hope you’ll reconsider immigrating to Russia. We’d miss you. And Joel . . . well, he hasn’t made many friends in the pride. Doesn’t click with people easily. But he considers you a good friend, and I wouldn’t like him to lose one of the very few he’s made.”

God, Mila’s mouth was hurting from the strain of keeping the fake smile in place. “I can understand that. He’s very lucky to have you.”

“I’m the lucky one.” Adele put her hand on Mila’s shoulder, and her cat wanted to bite it. “You take care.” With that, she headed up the stairs.

Letting out a long breath, Mila continued her descent to the basement. Pacing within her, her cat hissed and spat—she despised Adele almost as much as she despised Joel.

He’d come to the barbershop that morning to have his hair cut. Strangely, it hadn’t been as hard for Mila to touch Joel as it usually was, but it had been no less easy for her cat. The only thing that had ever calmed the feline in Joel’s presence was having Dominic there. How annoying.

When GQ had called her with the news that Trey wanted him to stay clear of her, Mila had been furious. Some might have said that he was only following the order of his Alpha, but she’d seen the darker side of Dominic and knew there would be no forcing him to do anything he didn’t want to do.

Affronted, she might not have answered any of his subsequent calls, but she’d lost some of her anger after reading Pierson’s second article. It was one thing to hear Dominic give her the gist of it; it was another to read it for herself and see all the lies and hurtful insults spun together.

Both she and her cat remained offended that he’d think she needed protecting from anything, but Mila could see why Dominic would be willing to heed his Alpha in this. Pierson wanted metaphorical blood, and he was slicing out at GQ in whichever ways he could.

Not that she’d have cared if the human turned his attention her way—she could handle a little fart like him, no matter how he came at her—but Dominic would want things to settle down, not escalate. If Dominic were seen with another female, things would definitely escalate. So yeah, she’d taken his calls and responded to his texts.

She’d also kept an online-eye on the responses to both of Pierson’s articles, relieved to find that most people weren’t giving any weight to Pierson’s words. Some females, claiming that they “knew” Dominic well, had sworn he would never drug a woman. A few of the other commenters claimed to be friends of Rosemary’s ex-husband and confirmed that she was indeed pretty disturbed. Whether they were true or not, those particular comments would piss off Emmet—Mila was all for that idea.

As she pushed open the basement door, her cat wrinkled her nose. The strong scent of chlorine permeated the thick, moist air. She was glad to see that the pool was empty. She liked having it all to herself and really wasn’t in the mood to listen to laughter and shrieking echoing around her. She wanted to be alone.

The pool was pretty basic. There was a waterslide at the shallow end and a diving board at the other. Near the life jackets was a pile of water toys and kickboards.

She peered through the door to the attached fitness room but couldn’t make out if anyone was inside. It was quite popular among the males of the pride, especially Tate, Luke, and the enforcers.

In the changing room, she swapped her clothes for her bikini and scrunched her curls up into a hair tie before stuffing her bag and towel in a locker. Mindful of the slippery tiles, she walked back out to the pool. The water gently rippled and lapped at the edges. Thankfully, it was still empty of people.

Holding her breath, she plunged into the pool. The cool water swallowed her, felt almost welcoming. She swam for the surface and sucked in a mouthful of air, shoving the wet tendrils of hair out of her face. For a few moments, she just floated there, enjoying the feel of the water lapping against her skin.

There was something very peaceful and calming about being in the water. There was no bombardment of sensations or list of things to do. Just her and the water. It enabled her to switch off, which she sorely needed to do right then.

The silky water slid over her skin as she swam length after length. Her tension gradually slipped away, but she didn’t stop. She kept going. Pushed herself until her muscles were screaming for rest. Yet, she felt better. More relaxed. Her head no longer felt crowded by thoughts.

Hearing a slight plop of water, she glanced over her shoulder. No one. Not even a shadow under the water. Frowning, she shrugged it off. Ready to get out, she began a gentle swim toward the metal ladder—

Something tightened around her ankle and yanked her under. The shock of it almost stole her breath. She looked down. It was a rope. No, a snake. It was a fucking snake. Triangular-shaped head. Wormlike lure on the end of the tail curled around her ankle. Large dark bands surrounding a black, short, robust body.

Death adder. One so huge that it could only be a damn shifter.

Panic clawed at her insides, but she wrestled it down before it could engulf her. Her heart pounding, she kicked her leg wildly and slashed the fucker’s long body with her claws. Its hold loosened enough for her to wriggle free of its grip and kick for the surface.

Sucking in huge gulps of air, she bobbed there for just a second. Get out, she told herself. Get. Out. She made a frantic swim for the ladder, knowing she had a better chance of fighting the snake if she were out of the water.

Sharp pain blazed up her leg. The little bastard had bitten her. Fuck. Adrenaline racing through her system, she swam faster. Almost there—

The snake snatched her ankle and pulled her under the water again. Raging, she kicked and thrashed and clawed at the creature. Her cat’s fury pulsed in her blood, feeding her anger. The feline wanted the freedom to battle the snake herself, but its smaller body had less of a chance against the creature.

Helplessly inhaling the water, Mila kept on fighting. Or tried to. Her muscles were weakening, and she wasn’t sure if it was from the venom or the struggle. The chlorinated water stung her nose, pricked at her eyes, and burned her throat.

The snake tried to curl around her chest. Oh, the fuck no. She stabbed her claws deep into its body and twisted her hand, making yet more blood stain the water. The snake jerked away, releasing her, and she quickly kicked for the surface again. She gasped for air, spluttering, coughing, and choking.

She clumsily grabbed a metal rung of the ladder. Triumph would have filled her if she didn’t feel so heavy and drained, which was no doubt thanks to the venom. Managing to climb a few of the steps and drag herself weakly onto the tiled surface, she lay flat on her stomach, greedily inhaling huge gulps of air. She wouldn’t get far, she knew. Wouldn’t make it out of there, and her throat was too raw for her to scream for help.

Her frantic daze darted around, searching for a weapon or—

There was a whistle near the kickboards.

Her heart jumped. She could use it to signal for help. Water drizzled down her body onto the tiles as she army-crawled her way to the whistle, conscious that it was her only chance. Snatching it, she put it to her mouth and blew hard. The weak, shaky screech bounced off the walls. She did it again and again, but the sounds got fainter and fainter. No one came.

Something shackled her ankle yet again. A large hand this time. That hand pulled her backward. Her nails scrabbled at the tiles, but it was no use. Panic wrenched the breath out of her as the water swallowed her whole. It gushed into her mouth and shot up her nose yet again.