Chapter Thirteen

I notice him before he sees me. Or maybe it is the other way round because as soon as my eyes land on him, he stops walking.

Rex stands at the far end of the courtyard, with anger plaster on his face. The sun catches on his skin, the faint sheen of sweat making him look too real, too alive for someone I’ve promised myself to despise.

Every instinct in me says to turn back, to leave before he notices me. But my legs don’t listen. My chest tightens, my wolf stirring beneath the surface like it recognizes him before my mind does.

Then his head tilts slightly. Those eyes sharp, storm-dark lock onto me, and I know it’s too late.

“You are running already?” He asks, mockery obvious in his tone.

“The game is yet to start and you are backing off already. It's such a shame.”

“Running?” I scoff, rolling my eyes. “Me? Running? You wish!”

He strolls towards me slowly, his expression looking like a smirk and a warning. “Really? You look like you just saw a ghost earlier. You are scared."

My pulse skips. I force a scoff, hoping it sounds convincing. “You must be seeing things again, Alpha.”

“Alpha? Is that how you address your mate?” he teases. “My name should be on your lips by now.”

I laugh in disbelief, trying to calm the heat spreading throughout my body. He is standing too close to me now, his scent fills the air stirring up something in me. This scent has been haunting my dreams since that night.

“I’m not interested in saying your name,” I lie, hoping my face doesn't expose me.

He chuckles, bringing his face closer to mine. “Then why are your eyes telling a different story?”

I take a step back quickly, trying to steady my heartbeat, shaking my head in denial. “What story?”

“The same they told that night,” his lips curved into a smile.

The words hit me right in the center of my chest. I hate that he’s right. I do remember. Every touch, every shiver, every damn thing I’ve been trying to erase since that night in the bar.

I let out a dry laugh. “I can see your ego talking, like you know me.”

He leans in, studying me. “I don't know you but at least I know you are shaking.”

“I’m not.”

He steps closer. “You are.”

I hold my breath. The air between us feels thick, moving with something I don't want. It had nothing to do with the anger and revenge I want. Maybe it's because of the bond I’ve been pretending doesn’t exist. My mark itches again, glowing faintly under my collar.

He notices. Of course he does. His gaze lingers there, his voice dropping. “Your body reacts to me.”

“You are wrong,” I say, avoiding making eye contact.

“You think I am?” he answer, his eyes sparkle with desire. The same as that night.

When I take another step back, he follows me, like we're in a disney show. My back hit the cold stone wall behind me before I realize I’ve been retreating. He pauses in front of me, eyes flicking down my face, my lips, then back to my eyes.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmurs.

I open my mouth, but no words come. Because I can’t.

The space between us feels charged, like static waiting for a spark. His hand moves to my visible nipple, the harden under his touch. I bite my tongue, not daring to make a sound.

“Please,” I breathe, the word trembling. “Don’t.”

He leans in a little, kissing my earlier, his breath brushes my skin. “Say my name?”

“N… no.” I insists.

His jaw tightens. “Maybe that’s the problem. You are always stubborn.”

What he was doing makes something snap inside me. I push against his chest not hard enough to hurt, but enough to feel the solid warmth of him under my palms. The contact sends a current through me. My mark burns hotter, glowing brighter now.

He doesn’t move back. “That’s what you call distance?”

I glare up at him, heart pounding. “I call it control.”

“Then why does it look like you’re losing it?”

The air leaves my lungs. I hate that he’s right again. Every nerve in my body feels wired to his presence. My wolf’s heartbeat drums in my ears, syncing with his, and I can’t tell where mine ends and his begins.

He lifts a hand, hesitates, then lets his fingers brush a strand of hair away from my face. The touch is feather-light, but it sends a shiver through me so strong I almost lean into him.

My throat feels dry. “You should stop.”

“I should,” he says softly, “but you don’t want me to.”

I shake my head, but it’s weak. The warmth flooding my body betrays me. My breathing comes too fast, too shallow. My mark pulses again, the light flickering like it’s alive.

“I hate this,” I whisper. “I hate you.”

He gives a small, humorless laugh. “Then why does it sound like you’re breaking when you say it?”

He’s too close now. I can feel his heartbeat, steady and deep, calling to mine like a song I don’t want to hear. The bond hums louder a living, dangerous thing that wraps around us both. My fingers twitch again, aching to touch him even as my mind screams no.

I step aside quickly, breaking the eye contact, clutching my arm like I can squeeze the feeling out. “This isn’t right.”

His voice drops, softer now, but still rough around the edges. “I didn’t ask for it either, Raya.”

Something in his tone, the honesty of it unravels the last thread of my composure. I turn away, hoping that if I can’t see him, I can breathe again. But the second I move, the bond tugs, sharp and heavy, like an invisible rope yanking at my chest. I stagger, catching myself on the wall.

He reaches out instinctively, grabbing my arm to steady me. The moment his skin touches mine, everything explodes light, heat, sound. My pulse races, and a soft, helpless groan escapes me before I can stop it.

His grip tightens, but his expression flickers between hunger and panic. “Raya…”

I pull free, gasping. “Don’t touch me,” I choke out.

He freezes, his own breathing rough now. The glow around my mark fades slowly, leaving behind a faint ache, like my body misses the connection even when I don’t want it.

The silence that follows feels heavier than the pull itself. I can still feel the echo of him under my skin.

“You should stay away from me,” I warned.

“Are you sure about that?” he says quietly.

I finally look at him and what I see there makes my stomach twist. His face is a war zone of emotion: anger, confusion, longing, something deeper I can’t name.

I can’t stay here. I need air, distance, anything.

So I turn and walk away. My legs feel like they’re made of stone, every step an effort not to turn back. I hear him exhale behind me long, sharp, defeated.

By the time I step out into the cold air, I realize my hands are still shaking. I press them against my chest, trying to quiet the wild rhythm inside me.

Whatever this is this bond, this curse, this unwanted fire. I don't want it. Not now! Not ever!