Two

"Leave her alone." The voice was a low, velvet rumble that set every nerve ending on fire. It was dangerously attractive, a sound that sent a frantic shiver down her spine, not of fear, but of recognition. Her soul felt a sudden, violent tug. Her wolf roared to life inside her, screaming for the man who had just stepped out of the shadows. She had never felt anything like this; it was a heavy, possessive weight that made it impossible to look away. Under the full moon, he stood tall, the leather jacket revealing just enough of his chest to command attention without effort.

"Alpha! He’s an Alpha wolf! Jack, move!" The rogues’ voices were distant, frantic echoes. The hands that had been bruising her skin suddenly vanished as her attackers scrambled into the darkness. She didn't care where they went. She didn't care that, moments ago, she was facing a nightmare. All that mattered was the man standing where the shadows met the moonlight.

She blinked, and in a heartbeat, he was there. He didn't just walk; he appeared, towering over her like a god of the forest. His scent hit her, cedar, rain, and something primal that made her head spin.

"Mate," he growled.

The word was a physical balm, washing away her terror and replacing it with an ache so deep it felt like hunger. Her hand moved of its own accord, palm landing against his hard, warm chest. The contact was electric. A literal current sparked between them, locking them in a gaze that felt like a collision of two worlds. His eyes were dark, swirling with a hunger that promised to consume her.

"I want you," she whispered. Her voice was thick, desperate. Maybe it was the adrenaline from the narrow escape, or maybe it was the soul-deep realization that she belonged to him, but the need to be claimed was driving her toward madness.

He didn't wait. He closed the distance, his mouth crashing onto hers in a kiss that tasted of lightning. She didn't hesitate; she surged upward, standing on her toes and winding her arms around his neck. Sensing her struggle to get closer, he hooked his hands under her thighs and hoisted her up. She wrapped her legs around his waist, molding her body to his as the kiss deepened into something feral.

Her skirt was soon gone, discarded in the dirt, leaving her exposed in the cool night air. She didn't feel the chill. She was burning. Her hands fumbled for his belt, her fingers trembling with a frantic need to feel him against her.

Suddenly, his large hand clamped over hers, stilling her movements. He pulled back just an inch, his breath ragged against her lips. "Are you a virgin?"

The question should have cooled her down, but the raw protectiveness in his eyes only made her heart swell. He was vibrating with need, yet he was trying to hold back for her.

"Yes," she breathed, her voice breaking. "But don't stop. Please. I need this."

He didn't need a second invitation. He surged forward again, his kiss turning aggressive, and pinned her against the rough bark of a tree. The friction was unbearable. She felt a heat pooling between her thighs, a slick, heavy ache she had only ever read about. She began to grind against him, desperate for relief, and was rewarded with a low, guttural groan that vibrated through her entire chest.

He lowered her to the ground, his body a heavy, welcome weight. This time, when she reached for his belt, he didn't stop her. She undid it and pulled his pants, her wolf howling in joy.

He moved between her legs, and she spread them wide, inviting him in.

"I am going in," he murmured against her lips, a final warning. She nodded breathlessly, her fingers digging into his shoulders.

He slid his hand down, moving her panties aside, and pushed into her in one slow, relentless motion. A sharp cry escaped her as the pain flared, a hot, tight fullness that made the world tilt. He froze instantly, resting his forehead against hers, his muscles corded with the effort of stopping.

"Are you okay?" He rasped.

She looked up at him, her vision blurring with tears of both pain and overwhelming affection. She forced a small, shaky smile and nodded.

She felt the pain begin to dull, replaced by a thrumming tension. "Don't stop," she urged, pulling him back down to her.

He searched her eyes for one more heartbeat, ensuring she was sure, before he began to move, slowly at first, claiming her as his own.

"Ahh," she moaned, the sound lost against his skin as the initial sting of the tearing vanished, swallowed whole by a tidal wave of pleasure. It was as if her body was expanding and shifting to accommodate him.

His pace quickened, turning rhythmic and feral. The only sound in the silent forest was the heavy, wet thud of their bodies colliding. Every thrust felt deeper than the last, his size stretching her until she thought she might break, yet her body hungrily molded to him, meeting every surge with a desperate tilt of her hips.

He leaned down, his breath a scorching brand against her neck. "Ah!" She shrieked, as agonizingly beautiful teeth pierced the junction of her neck and shoulder.

He was marking her. Claiming her.

He began to lick the wound, his tongue soothing the fire he had just started. Her eyes rolled back, her mind fracturing under the sheer weight of the pleasure. In that moment, nothing else existed, not her past, not her father, not the rogues. Only the man buried deep inside her. Her mate.

She blinked, her eyelashes fluttering against the sunlight streaming through unfamiliar windows. As her mind cleared, a heat crawled up her neck, a blush fueled by the memories of the night before. She was tucked into a massive bed, dressed in a silk white nightgown she didn't recognize. ‘He must have changed me,’ she thought, a small, secret smile tugging at her lips.

She reached up, her fingers tracing the raised, sensitive skin on her shoulder. The mark. It was real. A surge of triumph filled her; she wouldn't have to marry the man her father had chosen. She had an Alpha now. She had a mate.

She turned to share the morning with him, but the pillow beside her was cold. The room was vast, masculine, and lived-in, but empty.

She threw back the duvet and tried to stand, but a sharp, biting ache between her legs made her gasp. She heard the first time was painful, but this was a heavy, bruised reminder of how thoroughly she had been taken.

She limped toward the door, but it creaked open before she could reach the handle. Her heart leaped, then plummeted. It wasn't him. It was a stranger with eyes as cold as flint.

"Good. You are awake," the man said, his voice dripping with boredom. "He left you money, clothes, and a phone. Freshen up and get out."

She froze, certain she had misheard. "Leave? Who are you?"

"Who I am is none of your business," he snapped, his lip curling in disgust. "Are prostitutes always this nosy? You got laid, you did your part. Now leave while I am still being nice."

The word prostitute hit her like a physical blow, stealing the air from her lungs.

"Who are you calling a prostitute?" She hissed, her inner wolf snarling. "I am the mate of the man who owns this house!"

The stranger let out a harsh, mocking laugh. "Listen to me, you foolish Omega. The man you slept with is engaged. He’s getting married this month. I don't know what gutter he plucked you from, but if you value your life, you will walk out that door and never look back."

The world tilted. "Why… why would he sleep with me then?"

"Men are men," the stranger shrugged. "You aren't special. You are just another warm body in a long line of Omegas he’s used. If you think a one-night stand gives you a claim on him, you are even stupider than you look. Get your things."

The rejection felt like a blade twisting in her chest. Suddenly, the memory of her lover cheating on her rushed back, layering fresh agony over an old wound. She felt like a pathetic cliché, a girl who let her hormones blind her to a man whose name she didn't even know. She had once again allowed herself to be used and discarded by someone she trusted. How foolish of her. She has had enough of it, and was not going to let anyone take advantage of her again.

Fuelled by a mix of shame and white-hot rage, she grabbed the clothes, dressed with trembling hands, and stormed out.

…

Standing in front of Rowan’s packhouse, the air felt thin. Three years. She had been away for three years, and yet the scent of the pines and the looming shadow of the stone building felt like a cage she had finally escaped, only to be dragged back to. But it was going to be over now, all of her pain.

She walked into the compound, the sound of shouting drawing her toward the main entrance. She stopped dead. One of her bags sat in the dirt, its contents spilling out onto the gravel.

"The slut is finally back."

She looked up. Standing there, looking down at her belongings with a smirk of pure malice, was her former best friend. The anger that had been simmering in her gut for years finally began to boil.