CHAPTER FIVE

Talia

The scent of leather, candle wax, and jasmine clung to the air like silk draped over steel.

Talia moved through the darkened halls of Velvet Nocturne barefoot, quiet as smoke, her heels dangling from two fingers as she listened to the silence breathe. Night still hummed against the windows - soft, wet, alive - but inside, everything was still. Obedient. As it should be.

She paused at the threshold of her private room, fingers ghosting over the antique handle before pushing it open. The space inside was warm, dim, painted in shadows and low amber light. A single candle burned on the mantle, its flame steady, casting soft flickers over the padded cross, the ropes, the polished black table she favored when she didn’t want to speak at all.

Her sanctuary. Her edge. Her mirror.

She liked the quiet after a session. The way the air still held traces of her voice. The echo of power. The weight of release.

But tonight… it lingered differently.

He had lingered differently.

Talia exhaled and dropped her heels gently beside the door. She crossed the room and pulled her robe tighter around her waist, ignoring the tingling sensation still buzzing beneath her skin low in her stomach, pulsing at the base of her spine.

Ronan.

Not a real name, she suspected. Men like him rarely offered the truth not when they were running from it.

But there’d been something about the way he watched her. The way he’d fought submission like it was beneath him, only to unravel when her hand brushed his jaw and she whispered, "Kneel."

He hadn't come for play. He’d come because he was desperate.

And because a part of him one he clearly didn’t understand wanted to be consumed.

She had seen it.

Felt it when his breath stuttered, when his muscles tensed, not from fear but from recognition.

That hunger for surrender wasn’t learned. It was ancient.

And something darker clung to him. Something she hadn’t touched not yet. Something that bared teeth in the shadows of his eyes and hissed when she leaned too close.

Whatever it was, it hadn’t frightened her.

It had excited her.

She unfastened the belt of her robe, let it fall open slightly, and sat in the high-backed velvet chair facing the window. Below, the city flickered alive with people who thought they were free.

Talia traced a finger along her thigh, absentminded. Not aroused. Not yet.

But curious.

“Come back to me,” she murmured, eyes locked on the moon.

Not a command. Not a plea.

A certainty.

Because men like him didn’t walk away. Not when the leash had already slipped over their throats silk, invisible, and cinched with something they didn’t have a name for.

---

Ronan

The taste of her still haunted his tongue.

Not the physicality not just the press of her heel against his chest, or the whisper of her command.

It was something older. Something divine. Like the echo of a voice he wasn't meant to hear, vibrating in his bones long after it stopped speaking.

He drove without remembering the roads.

The city blurred outside the windows of the blacked-out car, glowing in places, fading in others. Every honk, every distant shout, every heartbeat of the city was too loud. And yet all he could focus on was the way she had looked down at him not with pity, not with amusement, but with power. A precise, intimate power he hadn’t felt since…

Since her.

The Moon Goddess.

He gripped the wheel so tight it creaked beneath his hands. His jaw ached from the pressure of restraint. His wolf, ever restless, paced just beneath the surface of his skin agitated, aroused, confused.

She hadn’t called him beast. Hadn’t recoiled. Hadn’t even blinked when that side of him flared, trying to assert control.

She’d quelled it not with brute force, but with presence. Like a predator too refined to growl, yet far more dangerous.

And that was the problem.

He’d wanted to kneel.

It wasn’t just arousal. It wasn’t kink. It wasn’t rebellion against his nature.

It was truth one so raw and ancient it terrified him.

He took a hard turn, tires screeching on the wet road, and pulled into the underground garage of the pack compound. His chest heaved once he threw the car in park. He sat in the dark, hands trembling, head bowed like a man in mourning.

What the hell was wrong with him?

A voice inside whispered: Nothing. This is who you’ve always been.

He ignored it. Pushed the door open. Let the cold slap him across the face as he climbed out and stalked toward the elevator.

By the time he reached his floor, he’d locked his expression back into something unreadable. Detached. Cold. But Elias was already waiting.

Leaning against the glass wall like he'd been there all night, arms crossed, gaze sharp.

"You look like shit," Elias said, falling into step beside him.

"I’m fine," Ronan muttered.

Elias snorted. “Your scent says otherwise.”

Ronan stopped walking. “Did you find anything?”

“Velvet Nocturne is warded. Heavy protection spells. And she’s not just any domme, Ronan. Clients don’t just leave satisfied they leave... changed. Some have walked away from addiction, depression, rage.”

Ronan’s eyes narrowed. “Magic?”

Elias shook his head. “Not the kind I’ve seen. It’s not manipulation. It’s purification. Like she draws the rot out of people and turns it into power.”

Something inside Ronan clenched.

“She’s not a witch,” he said, more to himself than to Elias.

“No,” Elias agreed quietly. “She’s something else. Maybe something that can help you.”

Ronan turned his head, jaw tense. “I don’t need help.”

Elias didn’t push. He didn’t need to. His silence was louder than any judgment.

They both knew the truth.

The beast inside Ronan wasn’t just restless anymore.

It was hungry not for violence. Not for blood.

But for submission.

And Ronan didn’t know how to survive that truth... without being consumed by it.