The Painted Skull

(Florian's POV)

I stood transfixed by the painting on the easel. What had started as a simple depiction of the mating ritual had transformed into something powerful. In the center of the romantic scene, a blood-red wolf skull dominated the canvas, its hollow eyes staring directly at me.

The contrast was jarring—the soft colors of the ceremony against the brutal honesty of the skull. It wasn't just impressive; it was a statement. Rebellion captured in oil paint.

"It's beautiful!" I exclaimed, genuinely moved by the raw emotion in the artwork.

I'd been so entranced that I'd forgotten about the woman standing nearby. The same woman who had created this masterpiece with such skill and defiance.

She turned to me, her eyes—green with gold flecks—assessing me coolly.

"Hey," she said, her voice surprisingly direct. "Are you mated yet?"

The question caught me off guard. I shook my head, watching as she stepped closer.

Her scent hit me—orange and grapefruit, bright and vibrant, cutting through the typical smells of the gathering hall.

Logan, my wolf, growled deep in my mind. *Mate. Ours.*

The recognition hit me like a physical blow. This woman, this artist with defiant eyes, was my fated mate.

Before I could process this, she reached out and boldly stroked her hand across my chest, her touch light but deliberate.

"Want to have sex? Right now," she said, gesturing toward the large bed in the corner of the room.

I stared at her, shocked by her directness. The contrast between her traditional white gown and her bold words was jarring yet intriguing.

Her eyes held a hidden fire, a light that hadn't been extinguished despite whatever had put that careful mask on her face downstairs.

I remained silent, processing her offer. My hesitation must have seemed like rejection because she immediately turned to leave.

I watched as she walked to the bathroom, washed her hands, and headed toward the door. I followed her into the hallway, still trying to make sense of what had happened.

She approached a tall omega from the food service staff. The way she leaned toward him made my blood boil with sudden jealousy. Would she make him the same offer?

I moved quickly, grabbing her wrist and pulling her against me. My grip was too tight—I could see red marks forming on her skin—but I couldn't loosen my hold.

What disturbed me most was her reaction. She looked up at me with emotionless eyes, no excitement, no recognition of the mate bond that had my wolf howling inside.

Yet I couldn't deny my attraction to her defiance, her talent, her boldness.

"Yes," I finally answered her proposition. "Let's go."

I scooped her into my arms, feeling Logan growl in satisfaction. *To bed her.*

She didn't protest as I carried her to a secluded suite. Once inside, I threw her onto the bed with more force than intended.

My movements weren't gentle as I tore off her skirt, driven by a hunger I hadn't expected. But then I paused, uneasiness washing over me.

Something felt wrong. The emptiness in her eyes, the mechanical nature of her responses—it didn't feel right, despite my wolf's signals.

I got up and switched off the lamp, plunging the room into darkness save for moonlight through the window. I wanted to ask her name, but the calm detachment in her expression stopped me.

Suddenly, chaos erupted in the hallway. Voices shouted accusations, footsteps pounded against the floor.

"That bitch deliberately wore white to the ceremony!" a woman's voice screeched. "And that painting! She defiled our mating portrait!"

The commotion grew louder, but it felt distant compared to what was happening between us.

I focused solely on her as we connected. It was only after I pushed inside her that I realized—the resistance, the slight gasp of pain—this was her first time.

"You're a virgin?" I asked, freezing in place.

"So what?" she replied, her voice calm as if discussing the weather.

"I would have been gentler," I explained, regretful. "Done more foreplay, prepared you better."

She shrugged beneath me. "Isn't it all the same?"

Her response increased my uneasiness. The contradiction between her experienced proposition and her physical innocence made me suspicious.

"Are you... mentally sound?" I asked, unable to continue without understanding.

"I'm perfectly sane," she assured me, then leaned up to press a kiss against my throat. "Please continue."

Despite my doubts, I began to move again, but differently. The initial roughness gave way to careful movements. Logan insisted on care rather than domination, protective instincts overwhelming the urge to claim.

"You're being gentle," she observed, sounding surprised.

"Does that disappoint you?" I asked.

"No, it's unexpected. You look like someone who would break things, not put them back together."

Her assessment was fair. Most people saw only my intimidating exterior.

"I've never been with a virgin before," I admitted, watching her eyes widen slightly. "I don't want to hurt you."

"That's... considerate."

I moved deliberately, watching her reactions, learning what made her breath catch. For someone who had proposed sex so bluntly, she seemed puzzled by the attention to her pleasure.

When it was over, I got up and walked to the small humidor on the desk. I lit a cigar as I gazed out at the moonlit valley.

She joined me minutes later, fully dressed. Without asking, she reached for the humidor and took a cigar, lighting it with practiced ease.

She stood beside me, looking out at the night sky, moonlight illuminating her profile.

"Who are you?" I asked, studying her. "One moment you're the perfect, obedient pack female, the next you're... this." I gestured at her standing there, smoking like she'd done it a thousand times.

She didn't answer. Instead, she took another puff and frowned.

"These aren't very good," she commented, examining the cigar critically.

"What brand do you prefer?" I asked, intrigued.

"Doesn't matter," she replied with a slight shrug.

"Let me order some food for you," I offered, remembering she hadn't eaten. "You must be hungry."

She gave me an enigmatic smile, waved dismissively, and walked toward the door.

"Wait," I called after her. "At least tell me your name."

But she was already gone, leaving me alone with only her lingering scent. I realized I had no idea who she was, this fated mate who seemed to care nothing about the bond between us.

(Natalie's POV)

I stood at my easel, losing myself in the painting. The mating ceremony spread out on the canvas—all the pomp and false celebration captured in detail.

But I couldn't stop my left hand from reaching for another brush. While my right hand created the image they wanted, my left added what I truly saw—a blood-red wolf skull in the center of all that pretense.

The skull represented everything about pack life—beautiful outside, dead inside. Just like me.

I heard movement and turned to find a man watching me. Tall, powerful, radiating Alpha energy that filled the room.

Vega howled inside my mind. *Mate! Our mate!*

I silenced her immediately. A mate was the last thing I needed, especially an Alpha who would only cage me further.

"Hey," I said coolly. "Are you mated yet?"

When he shook his head, I made a split-second decision. My escape plan is just around the corner, and soon I'll be leaving Silvercrest Valley for good.

But first, I wanted one experience of my own choosing.

I touched his chest, feeling the solid muscle beneath his shirt.

"Want to have sex? Right now," I said, pointing to the bed.

His shocked expression almost made me laugh. Alphas always assumed they were the ones who made propositions.

When he didn't respond, I took his silence as rejection. I walked to the bathroom, washed the paint from my hands, and headed for the door.

In the hallway, I spotted a handsome omega server. Perhaps he would be less surprised by a straightforward proposition.

Before I could approach him, strong hands gripped my wrists. The Alpha pulled me against his chest, his grip tight enough to leave marks.

I looked up without emotion. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing me wince.

"Yes," he finally said. "Let's go."

He lifted me as if I weighed nothing, carrying me to a suite. Once inside, he threw me onto the bed with enough force to bounce.

His movements were rough as he tore at my skirt. I remained passive, waiting. This was what I wanted—wasn't it? One act of defiance before I left?

Then he stopped, something shifting in his expression. He turned off the lamp, leaving us in moonlit darkness.

I heard the commotion outside—they'd discovered my altered painting. Victoria's voice carried through the door, shrieking about my white dress and the "defiled" portrait. I felt satisfaction.

Let them be outraged. Soon, I'd be beyond their reach.

The Alpha recaptured my attention as we joined. The sharp pain surprised me—I'd expected discomfort, but not this burning sensation.

"You're a virgin?" he asked, freezing.

"So what?" I replied, keeping my voice neutral despite the pain.

"I would have been gentler," he said, sounding regretful. "Done more foreplay, prepared you better."

His concern was unexpected. I'd assumed all Alphas were like Connor and my uncle—taking what they wanted without regard for others.

"Isn't it all the same?" I asked.

He studied my face with suspicion. "Are you... mentally sound?"

The question almost made me laugh. After ten years of isolation and abuse, probably not entirely.

"I'm perfectly sane," I assured him, then kissed his throat. "Please continue."

To my surprise, he changed completely. His movements became gentle, careful, almost tender. This wasn't what I'd expected from an Alpha who looked so powerful.

"You're being gentle," I observed, unable to hide my surprise.

"Does that disappoint you?" he asked.

"No, it's unexpected. You look like someone who would break things, not put them back together."

"I've never been with a virgin before," he admitted. "I don't want to hurt you."

His confession shocked me. An Alpha this powerful, this attractive, had never been with a virgin?

"That's... considerate," I managed to say.

His attentiveness was disconcerting. I'd proposed this as an act of rebellion. I hadn't expected to feel cared for.

When it ended, he went to the window and lit a cigar. I dressed quickly and joined him, taking a cigar from his humidor.

As I stood beside him in the moonlight, he studied me curiously.

"Who are you?" he asked. "One moment you're the perfect, obedient pack female, the next you're... this."

I didn't answer. Instead, I examined the cigar.

"These aren't very good," I commented. My grandmother had taught me about fine tobacco during our rare moments alone.

"What brand do you prefer?" he asked.

"Doesn't matter," I replied, glancing at the clock. I needed to leave soon to meet Emma at our rendezvous point.

"Let me order some food for you," he offered. "You must be hungry."

His thoughtfulness was almost enough to make me hesitate. Almost.

I smiled, waved goodbye, and walked out. Behind me, he called, "Wait! At least tell me your name."

But I was already gone, leaving my mate behind just as I was leaving everything else in Silvercrest Valley. By morning, Natalie Silverstone would disappear, and with her, the last chains binding me to this place.