Chapter 2

[Sera]

The word hits me so hard the room tilts. Mate. The one thing every wolf girl dreams of hearing, whispered like a curse in this shadowed room. Killian Voss, the untouchable Alpha King, pinning me against the door with eyes like liquid gold, and he's calling me that.

Me. The wolfless nobody who couldn't shift if her life depended on it. The girl who sketches his face in secret because real life never hands out miracles like this.

I should laugh. Or scream. Or shove him away and bolt before Victoria's heels click back this way. But my body's not listening. It's like every nerve ending has tuned into his frequency, buzzing with something electric and terrifying.

"Killian," I manage, my voice coming out as a pathetic rasp. "This... this can't be right."

But he doesn't pull back. If anything, he presses closer, his breath hot against my skin. And then his mouth crashes into mine, not soft, not tentative, nothing like the polished gentleman from the ballroom. This is all teeth and fire, his hand tangling in my hair, the other gripping my jaw like he's afraid I'll vanish if he lets go.

My back hits the door harder. His body's a wall of heat, solid and unyielding, and my brain shorts out. All those magazine clippings, those late-night doodles, they didn't prepare me for this. For the way he tastes like whiskey and something wild, or how my hands end up fisted in his shirt without my permission.

Outside, Victoria's voice cuts through the fog. "Killian? You back here somewhere?"

Panic surges through me like ice water. I shove at his chest—or try to. My arms have gone heavy and useless, pinned against the pounding rhythm of his heart. Push him off. She's right there, and you're the idiot letting the guy who just called you trash devour you like this. Push. Him. Off.

But nothing happens. My fingers curl into his shirt instead, pulling him closer, because damn it, I feel it too. This pull, like gravity rewired itself around him. Like my whole life's been off-kilter until this second, and now everything snaps into place.

The heels hesitate. One click. Two. My pulse stutters.

Then they fade, retreating down the hall. Gone.

Killian doesn't even notice. His lips trail to my throat, and I arch back without thinking, exposing more skin. He growls, the sound vibrating through me like thunder, settling deep in my belly and sparking something desperate.

His hands move then, one arm scooping under my thighs, lifting me like I'm weightless. He carries me deeper into the room, away from the door, his touch shifting from frantic to something almost careful. Like I might shatter if he moves too fast.

I should bolt. Run screaming into the night, back to my crappy apartment and my safe, pathetic crush from afar.

But I don't. I let him carry me.

The room's a blur of low light and luxury, a plush velvet chaise in the corner, wine-red fabric glowing under a dim lamp. He lowers me onto it like I'm something breakable, precious. Those golden eyes search my face, and for the first time tonight, I really look back.

Something shifted between the coffee bar and this room. I don't understand it, can't name it. But the man holding me now isn't the one who sneered at my scent. Whatever wall he built out there, it's gone. And I'm too far gone to question why.

He shrugs off his jacket, yanks at his tie, pops a button on his shirt in his haste. The fabric parts, revealing sharp lines of muscle under golden skin, and it's so much better than my sketches. My hands tremble as I reach for his chest, and I feel his heart kick hard against my fingers.

His mouth finds my neck again, licking, nipping, teeth grazing that spot that makes my hips buck. I'm soaked already, aching in ways I didn't know were possible. He scents it, nostrils flaring, and makes this sound, raw and reverent.

"Perfect," he breathes against my collarbone, the word almost reverent.

No one's ever said that to me. Not even close. The word catches fire somewhere inside me.

He tugs my shirt over my head, mouths at my breast through the cheap bra. I arch up, chasing the heat, and he yanks the fabric down, sucking hard. The noises spilling from me are embarrassing, desperate and needy, but he growls approval, like it's music.

When his fingers dip into my pants, I freeze. Not scared, exactly. Just hit with the reality that this is territory I've never been in before.

He feels me freeze, pauses, looks up. Those eyes still gold, but softer now. "First time?"

I nod, throat tight.

Something fierce flashes across his face. Possessive. "Good."

I should bristle at that, but it melts me instead.

He kisses me slower, coaxing, his fingers teasing over fabric until I'm squirming, whispering pleas. When he finally touches me bare, stars burst behind my eyes.

Then his mouth follows, tongue slow and deliberate, parting me like he's savoring every second. My hips jerk; he pins them down with one arm and dives deeper, curling, sucking until I'm sobbing his name.

The climax hits sharp and shattering, my body bowing off the chaise. He doesn't stop, drawing it out until I'm trembling, oversensitive, begging for mercy.

I'm still shaking when he climbs back up, kissing me so I taste myself on him. His hardness presses against my thigh, hot through his pants, and I reach for him, fumbling but desperate.

"I need you," I whisper. "Please."

He groans like I've wounded him, shoves his pants down. He's huge, flushed, and my mouth goes dry even as fresh want floods me.

He drags himself through my wetness, teasing until I'm whimpering again. At my entrance, I tense, nerves flickering.

"Eyes on me," he rasps, voice strained.

I do.

He pushes in slow, stretching, burning in the best way. When he's fully seated, he stills, forehead to mine, breath ragged. Then he moves, deep, rough snaps that drag across every nerve.

It's overwhelming, perfect, real. He whispers fragments, my name, mate, mine, beautiful, like he can't hold them back.

Maybe the universe finally cut me a break. After the endless grind, the empty nights, maybe I'm allowed to have this one thing.

"Mine," he growls, thumb circling me. "Let go. Need to feel you."

It breaks me, harder, brighter, my body clenching around him. He follows with a roar, spilling deep, hips stuttering.

For a breath, everything is still. His forehead rests against mine, chest heaving. Then something shifts in his gaze, darkening, focusing on my throat. His head dips, slow and deliberate, lips brushing the curve of my neck until they find a spot that makes my skin hum. He stills there, mouth open against my pulse, and I feel it before I understand it. An instinct older than thought, pulling him down and pulling me open.

His teeth graze. Then sink in.

Ecstasy explodes, white-hot, linking us deeper than skin. Something floods through me that isn't mine. Fierce and warm and overwhelming, like being wrapped in a feeling I don't have a name for.

We stay tangled, his teeth in my neck, my legs locked around him. Eventually, his jaw unclenches, and he licks the wound with slow, tender strokes until the sting fades to warmth. He nuzzles the spot, breathing me in.

"Mine," he whispers, like a promise.

And I believe it. Every syllable.

Time blurs after that. Exhaustion crashes in, warm and heavy. His heartbeat under my cheek, his fingers combing my hair with unexpected patience. Every now and then a wave of something rolls through me from his side of the bond, wordless and warm, and I let it carry me.

I trace his collarbone, smiling when he makes a contented rumble.

Tomorrow should scare me. Victoria, the world, what happens when they find out the Alpha King's mate is a nobody like me.

But it doesn't. Not with the mark humming like a second pulse against my skin. For once, I feel like I belong.

His arms tighten. I drift off, still smiling.

---

 

Awareness creeps back slow. Warmth first. His scent, cedar and skin. The ache between my legs, more proof than pain.

The gala's hum is gone. Gray light filters under the curtains. Pre-dawn.

I open my eyes.

He's asleep, features softened, lashes dark against his cheeks. Not the sharp-edged icon I've obsessed over. Just a man, almost vulnerable.

Beautiful. And mine.

I scan his neck, scratches from my nails, a faint bruise from my mouth. Heat rushes to my face. I did that. To him.

I reach out, fingers hovering.

His hand snaps up, grabbing my wrist. Hard. Alert. Like he's wired for danger even in sleep.

"Hey," I whisper, soft, still smiling. "It's just me."

His eyes open. Gray. Cold steel.

Everything inside me goes quiet.

He stares at me, expression shifting. Not to warmth, not recognition. To a sharp frown, like he's woken to a mess he didn't make.

"How are you here?"

Flat and empty. No trace of the man who whispered mine.

My smile crumbles.

"I... you brought me... you said..."

He's not hearing it. His gaze sweeps down, my bare skin, his, the tangled sheets, my clothes scattered. Comprehension hits, and he goes rigid.

Rage replaces everything.

I open my mouth, to explain, to remind him of the gold in his eyes, the mark—

His hand shifts. From wrist to throat, pinning me down with cold precision.

"What did you do to me?"