Chapter 2

Two Weeks Later

Sawyers POV

The annual territory meeting is tomorrow—and I’m not looking forward to it.

I haven’t seen Sebastian, my twin brother, since the last one. He stays on his side of the territory. I stay on mine. It’s easier that way.

He’ll show up with that booming playboy ego and his subtle snide remarks. Asshole.

When we became the Alphas of Acadia Moon, we split the territory in half. I haven’t forgiven him. I don’t plan to.

I take a slow swig of whiskey, savoring the spicy sweetness as it burns down my throat. The warmth doesn’t thaw the dread settling heavy in my chest.

He’ll only be here two days. Two days too many—but manageable. Then he’ll slink back to Acadia Woods.

A soft knock hits my office door. I smell her sickly sweet perfume before she speaks.

“It’s Savannah, Mr. Ashford. I have a few documents that need your signature regarding tomorrow’s meeting.”

“Enter.”

The door opens slowly. Savannah steps in wearing a tight red skirt suit, the deep V of her blouse dipping low. She crosses the room, slides the papers across my desk, and leans forward farther than necessary before straightening, hands resting on the wood.

“You look tense, Mr. Ashford,” she says softly.

“Lots going on,” I reply.

It’s obvious why she’s here. We’ve done this before.

“Is there anything I can do to help you relax?” she murmurs, tracing a finger along the edge of my desk as she moves closer.

She stops when our legs touch and leans back against the desk.

I swirl the last of my drink and look up at her through my lashes. She smiles and slowly drags her smooth leg against mine.

I swallow the whiskey and slide the glass away.

Enough.

I grip her hip, lift her off the desk, and turn her to face it, bending her over in one motion. I push her skirt up—it’s so tight it snags, and I tear the seam without caring.

She gasps.

One hand clamps on her shoulder. The other slides her panties down her thighs.

She shivers.

I unbuckle my belt, shove my pants down just enough, already hard. I don’t entertain women often anymore.

Not since my mate broke me.

I slap her ass once, guiding myself between her thighs, dragging slow tension through the space between us. She’s already ready.

She’ll do.

“Please. Please—”

“No talking,” I mutter.

I thrust into her in one hard stroke, bottoming out. Her gasp fills the room.

I hold her there—one hand on her shoulder, the other gripping her hip—and drive into her again and again, fast and merciless. Her moans turn breathless, unsteady.

Release builds tight and sharp in my gut.

I grab her neck and press her face down against the desk, delivering three final deep thrusts before pulling out and finishing on the floor.

I never finish inside them.

Not since Natasha.

Natasha—my ex-mate. The woman my brother stole from me.

Savannah straightens slowly, satisfied. I don’t look at her. I move to the liquor cabinet instead and grab one of the cheaper bottles. The burn is harsher, less refined. I take two long pulls straight from it.

“Will there be anything else, Mr. Ashford?” she asks lazily.

“You’re dismissed.”

Silence lingers. She’s waiting for more.

“Get. Out.”

“Yes, sir,” she says, sour now.

Humans. So dull. So needy.

I fix my clothes, lock the office behind me, and walk out with the bottle in hand.

__________________________________

I step off the elevator into my penthouse.

It’s dark. Quiet.

The city hums somewhere far below, but up here there’s nothing. No voices. Just the echo of my own footsteps as I head upstairs.

I strip off my clothes, letting them fall where they land, the stench of sex clinging to my skin. It follows me. Sticks to me. Sour and hollow.

I step into the shower, bottle in hand, and let the hot water beat down over my shoulders. Steam fills the glass around me, thick and suffocating. I scrub hard. Once. Twice. Until my skin burns.

It doesn’t help.

I miss my pack house. I’ve been down here in Bangor for a month, sorting things in the city. Business. Territory disputes. Budgets.

Excuses to stay away.

My territory stretches across all of Maine and New Hampshire—mine and my brother Sebastian’s territory.

My pack house sits in the northern part of the state, in Presque Isle. My home. The scent of pine and dirt. The constant thrum of wolves moving through the halls. Life. Noise. Belonging.

I’ll take the jet back first thing in the morning. The territory meeting will be held at my pack this year.

Usually, the meeting is hosted by one of the lesser packs in our territory—the only one large enough to hold us and the other Alphas. The Crescent Oak Pack.

But their Alpha and Luna just welcomed their first son, and I didn’t want to invade their first week with their newborn.

I lean my forehead against the cool tile and close my eyes.

The water helps to ease the tension that had started to creep back in.

I hate everything about tomorrow except the good it usually does for the pack.

I take one last swig of the whiskey and step out of the shower, wrapping a towel around my waist.

My room feels too quiet as I walk back in.

Flopping backwards onto my bed I stare at the ceiling praying that tomorrow isn’t absolute chaos.