Panties

Scarlett's POV

I froze, not from surprise, but with the paralysis that seizes your body when it senses danger before your mind can process it.

My breath caught. I stopped struggling against his grip as his eyes shifted into molten gold. His wolf, or perhaps his Alpha power had risen to the surface. I knew those eyes, molten gold.

My stomach dropped. 'No. It couldn't be him. Not here. Not after all these years'.

I stared at the man pinning me, desperately trying to convince myself I was wrong, that the pounding in my chest was just the party's aftermath, the fear merely panic. Then he removed his mask, and the world tilted beneath my feet.

Azrael.

My mate. The man I had spent years trying to erase from my memory. The man I had once loved so deeply that losing him felt like losing a piece of myself.

The man who had destroyed me.

He had changed, no wonder I hadn't recognized him at once. He was broader now, stronger, carrying a lethal authority the boy I remembered had never possessed. His once-soft features had sharpened into something colder and harder with his dark hair falling messily across his forehead.

Then my gaze caught the jagged scar running down the side of his face. I stared a second too long. Where did he get that? When?

And why, damn him, did that scarred skin only make him look more devastating than before?

But then again, panic clawed up my throat. He was going to kill me, finish what he started to clear the path for the woman he had chosen over me. As long as I drew breath, he couldn't reject the bond and officially claim another as his Alpha female.

She was never his true mate, yet she had always been enough for him. The same woman who made sure I starved on scraps in his packhouse while he turned a blind eye.

I remembered the rejection. The way he looked at her and chose her anyway. It had shattered something inside me, leaving a hollow ache that lingered for months after I fled his pack.

God, I had loved him and he had made me regret every second of it.

My fingers curled tightly into my palms as I fought to steady myself. No. I won't let him break me again. That girl was gone. She had disappeared the night I escaped. Azrael was dead to me.

At least, that was what I'd spent years telling myself.

Then a frightening thought struck me: how had he found me? How did he recognize me through a mask and years of distance?

Unless,

My blood ran cold. The woman from earlier, the one who had deliberately spilled her drink on me, was his girlfriend. The same woman he had chosen over me.

Oh, Goddess. What should I do?

I couldn't let him know I recognized him. Maybe he hadn't recognized me either. The mask covered most of my face, and I wasn't the starving girl who had fled. My face had changed; I had gained weight.

I forced myself to breathe slowly, schooling my features into a blank expression to hide my trembling body.

When he finally spoke, I gave him the only answer that might keep me safe. "I don't remember knowing you."

His mouth curved into a cold, amused smile. "Lie better."

My heart lurched. "I swear I don't," I repeated, my voice steadier than I felt. Denial was survival. "I don't know you."

His gaze never left mine. "You do," he said softly. "Your body already remembered." There was no anger in his voice. Only absolute certainty.

I shook my head. "You're mistaken."

"I followed your scent," he said, his eyes narrowing slightly. "It led me straight here."

The bond. The one thing I could never hide.

If I deny it hard enough, maybe he'll doubt his instincts.

I needed distance.

Braced against the wall, I shifted sideways toward the counter. He noticed immediately, cutting off my escape before I could reach the other side.

"I won't take you tonight," he said, leaning closer until his words brushed the shell of my ear. "Not while you're still pretending this is a coincidence."He knows. He fucking knows.

I resisted the urge to retreat again, refusing to show how badly he affected me.

"You can deny me all you want," he murmured, his voice dropping lower. "But the bond doesn't care. And I will show you that." He lifted his hand toward my face. "Take off the mask."

"No."

His expression hardened. "I wasn't asking."

"I said no!" I shoved him away with all my strength and to my surprise, he stepped back three paces.

Then, as if my defiance hadn't bothered him at all, he slipped one hand casually into his pocket. He looked infuriatingly composed and effortlessly intimidating.

"Take it off, little wolf."

"No."

"You've been hiding from me for years," he whispered. "Did you really think a mask would be enough?"

I forced a scoff. "You wish."

Something flickered across his face. Surprise, brief, but unmistakable. He hadn't expected this from the low-ranking princess whose pack had bowed to his kingdom. But I wasn't that girl anymore.

"Do I look like a lunatic to you?" I snapped. "You corner me, sniff me like an obsessed pervert, and claim I'm your mate?"

His jaw tightened. "Careful, little wolf."

"Or what?" The question slipped out before I could stop it.

His eyes sharpened. I knew that look, an Alpha who never needed to raise his voice to silence a room.

His gaze dropped to my shoulder, slowly.

"What are you looking at?" I demanded.

Instead of answering, his fingers caught the fabric of my dress possessively, the touch sending a traitorous shiver down my spine.

"Don't—"

He pulled the silk down my arm, exposing the curve of my collarbone and the swell of my breast. And there, glowing faintly under the bathroom light, was the permanent crescent burned into my skin by the Moon Goddess herself.

His mark.

Everything in his face went still. His eyes darkened with something hungry and absolute. "There."

I slapped his hand away and yanked the ruined silk back up over my chest, clutching it tight with shaking fingers. "I don't know what you're talking about!"

"I'll show you again then," he said, reaching for me again.

"Stop!" I caught his wrist.

He looked down at my hand, then back at my face. Something in his expression shifted, not anger, but realization.

"I gave you that mark," he said, lowering his voice. "I remember the night I marked you."

"You're insane! You have the wrong girl."

"I spent years looking for you," he said, leaning in. "You think I wouldn't recognize my own mark?"

I shoved him hard, but he barely budged. "Pervert!" I slapped him.

The sharp crack filled the room. My palm stung, but his head didn't even turn. He didn't flinch or look offended. He simply stared.

I had just slapped the most powerful Alpha in the kingdom, and he looked amused.

"Finished?" he asked quietly.

"You're an arrogant pervert. Nothing you do will make me yours."

"You still talk too much when you're frightened."

"I am not frightened."

"Of course not."

I hated the calm certainty in his voice. He wasn't angry, he was absolute. He studied the mark on my shoulder once more before meeting my eyes.

"How have you been coping with it?"

I frowned. "With what?"

"The mark."

My pulse stumbled. "What mark?"

His eyes narrowed. A slip of the tongue, the mistake I hadn't meant to make.

"You really intend to keep doing this?" He tilted his head. "You've spent years hiding it. You still feel it, don't you? The pull. The dreams. The pain whenever you try to deny the bond."

"Stop."

"You know I'm right," he murmured. "How have you been coping with being my mate, little wolf?"

I froze.

Voices echoed from the corridor outside. Someone was coming.

This was my chance.

I turned to bolt, but Azrael snagged my wrist. "Where are you going?"

"Home."

"You're not going anywhere," he said, his grip tightening. "I'm taking you."

"I'm not something to be taken!"

He leaned in, burying his face in the curve of my neck, dragging my scent deep into his lungs. A low growl vibrated through his chest, sending a wave of heat and terror straight to my stomach.

When he lifted his head, his eyes were black, glittering with something ancient. "If you want to leave so badly," he murmured, "take off your panties."

My breath caught. "What?"

"Take them off. Give them to me."

Rage took over. I wrenched one wrist free and struck his face again. His jaw felt like stone, he didn't even flinch.

"You madman!" I spat.

I jerked my knee up between his legs, but he intercepted me with humiliating ease. His fingers locked around my thigh, forcing my leg outward against his waist and throwing me off balance.

"What are you doing—stop—" Before the words could fully leave my throat, his hand slid lower.

He didn't rush. His palm burned warm against my hip, his fingers spreading over the soft curve of my thigh to hold my leg pinned against his waist. Then his grip shifted, sliding lower, cupping the swell of my ass to pull me closer until there was no space left between us, his thumb tracing skin until it found the thin blue string tied at my hip.

A sound escaped me before I could stop it, half gasp, half moan. "S-stop—" It came out broken and weak, nothing like the command I meant it to be.

Heat flared under his hand. The bond surged between us, unwanted and electric, and to my absolute horror I felt myself grow wet from the simple press of his palm. Slick and suddenly traitorous.

My body answered him even while my mind screamed.

His fingers found the knot and one sharp tug, the string gave.

Lace loosened, slipped, and came free in a single smooth motion as he drew it away between us.

Cool air kissed skin that had never been exposed like this in front of him and without the thin barrier of fabric, I became painfully aware of just how wet I was. The evidence of my own betrayal clung to the blue lace in his hand.

My face burned, a deep, scalding heat impossible to hide as I watched him fold the damp fabric into his palm and slip it into his pocket like a trophy.

As if he hadn't just stolen the breath from my lungs, as if he hadn't just taken proof of exactly what his touch had done to me.

Then he released my leg. My foot touched the floor again, unsteady, the sudden freedom almost as shocking as the loss of the lace. Before I could put distance between us, his hand returned to my throat, not crushing, but claiming.

"Little viper," he murmured. "I'm keeping you."

"You can't."

"I can." His gaze dropped to my mouth, his other hand reaching for my torn dress as if he had intended to finish what he had started. "And I will."

I can't let him take more.

Panic surrendered to instinct as my mother's self-defense training took over. Instead of swinging for his face, I slammed my heel down onto his instep and twisted my wrist hard against his grip, bracing my weight against the counter behind me. It was an ugly, desperate move, but it worked.

Surprise flickered through him, he hadn't expected a low-ranking omega to fight dirty and his grip loosened just enough.

I didn't waste the second. I shoved past him and bolted.

"Run if you want, little wolf!" His voice hit me from behind, calm, deadly, and so absolute that fear nearly froze my feet to the floor. "I'll always know where to find you."

I forced myself to keep running. I didn't dare look back, I knew if I saw the dark, patient satisfaction in his eyes, my lungs would give out entirely.

I sprinted into the hallway and nearly collided with his Beta. The man's eyes widened, dropping to the exposed mark on my neck before snapping to Azrael behind me.

"Alpha—"

I didn't stay to hear the rest.

I plunged into the crowded ballroom, disappearing into the sea of masks, music, and perfume, and fled straight toward the carriages.

My father was waiting outside. The moment he saw my torn dress and wild eyes, the color drained from his face.

"Scarlett!" he whispered harshly. "What happened?"

"We have to go," I choked out, clutching the torn silk of my dress to my collarbone. "I... I slapped an Alpha."

My father went deathly still, the color draining from his face. His head snapped toward the ballroom archway, eyes wide with terror as if Azrael might step from the light to claim my execution.

His expression hardened into pure panic. "You what?" The words scraped out of his throat.

He grabbed my arm, his grip bruising, and dragged me into the shadows. "We're leaving. Now. Before he tears this kingdom apart to find you." He shoved me into the carriage and barked an order to the driver. The wheels lurched forward, carrying us away from the palace and into the dark night.

I pressed my head against the cool window, finally allowing myself to breathe.

It was over.

My father's pack was small and hidden, we were insignificant to someone like Azrael. He would never search there.

"He won't find me," I whispered.

For the first time, I let myself believe it.

Yet beneath my collarbone, the mark burned softly, whispering the truth I was too terrified to face.