MARIA.

"Mate."

The word tore out of him like a vow and a growl all at once, echoing in the room and vibrating through my bones.

The moment it left his lips, Damien yanked me closer, arms locking around me with a fierce, desperate strength.

Before I could protest, he spun me, drawing me flush against his chest. His breath ghosted across my ear, hot and ragged, and he lowered his head as if he needed to anchor himself to something real, something living. His lips brushed the shell of my ear, then lingered there, trembling.

He patted my head with a strange, almost reverent gentleness, the action clashing violently with the bruising hold he had on my wrists.

Then his nose pressed into my hairline, and he inhaled, slow and deep, ⁵as though my scent was the only thing keeping his wolf tethered to the earth.

I shivered uncontrollably.

His grip didn’t loosen. His fingers dug into my skin, pinning my arms to my sides, trapping me like prey caught in a predator’s jaws.

I twisted once, twice, yet it was useless.

"Please... you’re hurting me," I managed to force out, my voice cracking under the strain.

The change was instant—startling.

His fingers uncurled as if burned, he staggered back half a step, staring at me with wide, shocked eyes, eyes that flickered between brilliant wolf-gold and human gray. His face twisted, guilt and hunger fighting for dominance, and his lips parted like he wanted to speak but couldn’t.

Then something shifted, something darker, slowly, deliberately, he leaned forward again.

His lips brushed against the side of my neck, not a kiss exactly, more like a tasting, a claiming.

He inhaled sharply, the sound almost a growl. His nose traced a line from my collarbone to the soft spot beneath my ear.

His breathing turned uneven, ravenous.

And then... his mouth opened.

He began kissing my neck, slow, hungry, wet kisses that dragged heat through every part of me.

A tremor shot down my spine, my knees wobbled, and my wolf whimpered inside me, overwhelmed.

I tried to command my body to run, to shove him away, to scream, to bite him, anything, but my limbs felt heavy, useless.

Desire—unwanted, unshakable—spread through me like wildfire. My heart thundered so loudly I could barely hear anything else.

Slowly, agonizingly slowly, his lips traveled upward until they found mine.

The moment they touched, sparks detonated behind my eyes. I gasped, whether in shock or surrender, I couldn’t tell. His mouth moved against mine with a hunger that bordered on feral, and my resolve crumbled like dry sand.

Every thought screamed at me that this was wrong, dangerous, he wasn’t himself, he was using me, his mate bond release, his wolf’s relief, nothing more.

I knew all of that.

And still—I didn’t push him away.

Desire—raw, molten—flooded my veins, drowning reason.

His hands slid beneath my shirt, calloused palms gliding over bare skin. The touch burned, searing a path up my torso until his fingers cupped my breast.

I gasped, my back arching involuntarily into his touch.

He squeezed, firm, possessive, and a strangled moan escaped my lips before I could choke it down.

"Alpha Damien, please..." His name came out breathless, pleading, trembling.

The sound snapped something inside him.

He growled, not gentle, not playful, but furious, territorial, primal, and then his fingers tightened around my nipple, harder this time, rolling and tugging with a roughness that made stars burst behind my eyelids.

A sharp sound, half pain, half pleasure, spilled from me before I could bite it back.

My knees nearly buckled.

His breath hit my cheek, scorching hot, his lips dragged across my jawline again, leaving trails of fire in their wake.

Every instinct I had was screaming, run, push, fight, but my body betrayed me, melting helplessly under his touch. His wolf was consuming me, and I couldn’t even remember how to breathe properly.

"Mate," he murmured again, voice ragged and ruined, his forehead pressing to mine.

The word wasn’t a whisper, it was a claim, a promise, a warning...And there was no space left in the world for anything except his mouth, his hands, and the burn of my name on his tongue.

He moved with a predatory grace that was as terrifying as it was hypnotic. His fingers, calloused and warm, didn’t just move; they claimed. They trailed a path of fire down from my torso, sliding with agonizing slowness against the sensitive skin of my inner thigh. The caress was deceptively soft, a velvet touch that belied the raw power simmering beneath his surface.

I couldn’t help the sound that escaped me. It wasn’t just a moan; it was a surrender. My head fell back, the ceiling blurring as I became a passenger in my own body, drifting further into a fog of sheer, unadulterated desire. In that moment, the world outside the four walls of Alpha Damien’s chambers ceased to exist. There was only the friction of his skin against mine and the intoxicating scent of sandalwood and storm clouds that seemed to radiate from his pores.

With a fluid, effortless strength, he hooked his hand beneath the crook of my knee. He raised my leg, and I—driven by an instinct I didn’t know I possessed, wrapped it tightly around his waist. I sought the heat of him, anchored by his solid frame. He guided me with a gentleness that felt like a trick, a soft prelude to a storm, until I was lying low against the plush expanse of his bed.

The mattress sank beneath us, and for a heartbeat, the intimacy was absolute. But as the physical proximity deepened, the fog in my mind began to thin.

As I looked up at the shadow he cast over me, my heart didn’t just beat; it skipped, stuttering in my chest like a trapped bird. A cold wave of panic surged through my veins, clashing violently with the heat he had stoked moments before.

The reality of the situation crashed down on me. Would he take me? This wasn’t just a game of touch and go. I had never crossed this line with anyone. The sanctity of that first time felt like a heavy weight pressing on my lungs. I realized with a painful jolt that I couldn’t do this, not like this. I couldn’t give away the most intimate piece of myself to a man who looked at me as a conquest or a nuisance. I needed a tether of emotion, a spark of genuine feeling, and looking into his dark, piercing eyes, I saw only hunger, not love. I wouldn’t, couldn’t, do this with someone who didn’t have the slightest bit of feelings for me.

Unaware of the war raging inside my head, Damien descended. He lay low, his body a heavy, warm weight that should have been comforting but now felt like a cage. His lips, scorched and demanding, moved downward. He didn’t stop at my collarbone; he trailed a path of searing kisses to my belly. Each press of his lips sent a jolting sensation through me, causing my core to harden in a physical betrayal of my mental fear.

Then, the sensation turned sharp. As his teeth grazed the sensitive peak of my breast, biting down with a harsh, possessive intensity, the dam finally broke.

"Alpha Damien, please... I can’t do this," I whispered. The words were fractured, barely audible over the sound of my own pulse. The heat in the room felt like it was scorching the moisture from my eyes, and soon, hot tears were strolling down my cheeks, carving paths of salt and sorrow.

The rejection acted like a dousing of ice water. He recoiled, standing up so abruptly the bed heaved. The transformation was terrifying. The desire that had darkened his eyes moments ago was gone, replaced by a white-hot, visible anger. He looked down at me not with passion, but with a searing, jagged contempt.

"Those crocodile tears again," he spat, his voice a low growl that vibrated in the small space between us. He ran a frustrated, aggressive hand through his hair, ruffling the dark curls into a chaotic mess. The rejection hadn’t just bruised his ego; it had ignited a fuse.

"Get out!" he screamed. The volume of it made me flinch, the sound bouncing off the walls and ringing in my ears.

I stared up at him, my mind a whirlwind of conflicting signals. I was confused, reeling from the whiplash of his temperament. Yet, beneath the fear, a hollow ache of relief settled in my stomach, he had stopped. He hadn’t forced the issue. But as I looked at his heaving chest and the fury etched into his features, a shameful, traitorous part of me felt the sting of disappointment. A part of me had wanted the fantasy to be real.

"I said, Get out, you whore!"

The word hit me harder than a physical blow. Whore? The word echoed in the silent room. Was I? Was that how he saw the girl trembling on his bed, the girl who had just begged him to stop because she valued herself too much to be a nameless encounter?

I didn’t wait for a second command. I scrambled off the bed, my movements frantic and clumsy. I left his room instantly, the heavy oak door clicking shut behind me like a final judgment. As I hurried down the corridor, I felt a physical pain in my chest. It felt as though a thousand needles were piercing my heart deeply, over and over, scattering the pieces of my dignity and my affection until there was nothing left but the cold, lonely rhythm of my own retreating footsteps.