IN HEAT

Reed pov

The morning air was cold and clean. Too clean, given the blood that had soaked the floors just hours ago.

A letter waited for me on the table in my quarters. Heavy parchment, dark seal, pressed with the sigil of the Lycan King.

It had arrived just before dawn. Not by raven or courier, but delivered by one of the King’s personal enforcers—quiet, fast, and already gone before most of the pack had risen.

I broke the seal with a practiced thumb and scanned the contents.

Three days.

That’s how long I had to bring Scarlett Monroe to the capital.

No ceremony. No requests. Just a directive.

The King wanted to meet her. His words were careful but clear—he knew about the attempted succession, the rogue strike, and the return of a bloodline blessed by the Moon. He also knew about the mate bond. Somehow, word of it had already reached the capital. The King made no mention of surprise—only expectation. The entire Oakwood territory would be placed under watch, and a regiment of elite Lycan sentries would arrive within the day.

He didn’t trust them.

Neither did I.

Scarlett would need to be protected until we left.

And she needed to understand what her return had set in motion.

I folded the letter and slid it into my coat. My eyes drifted toward the far wing of the estate.

Her room.

I hadn’t seen her since last night. Not really. We’d fought together like we’d trained for years, but afterward, she’d vanished into her silence again.

And yet, I felt her.

The bond between us didn’t weaken. If anything, it had grown louder—demanding.

I didn’t knock when I reached her door. I didn’t need to. Her scent was already pulling me in—sharp, fresh, floral… and now laced with something warmer. Wilder.

She was in heat.

I knew it the moment I stepped into the room.

She sat on the edge of the bed, her silver hair unbound, eyes unfocused. Her cheeks flushed deeper than before. Her fingers curled tightly around the bedsheets like she was grounding herself.

I didn’t speak.

I didn’t need to.

She looked up slowly, her golden eyes heavy with something primal—equal parts frustration and need. And for the first time since our paths crossed, she didn’t pull away. She looked at me. Really looked.

“Close the door,” she said.

I did.

The room seemed smaller now, full of things we weren’t saying.

She drew in a breath that hitched halfway through. Her gaze dropped to my hands, my chest, then back to my face.

Her voice was quiet. “This is just the bond talking.”

I stepped closer. “Maybe. But it’s still talking.”

Scarlett exhaled sharply, her fingers twitching against her thigh. Her body betrayed her—leaning into the tension instead of away from it. Her scent deepened, wrapping around me like smoke.

I sat beside her slowly, not touching her. Not yet.

“You don’t have to run from this,” I said.

“I’m not running.” Her voice was hoarse. “I just don’t know what’s real anymore.”

“This is real.”

Her breathing stuttered.

I raised a hand, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. My fingertips lingered near her jaw, and I felt the shiver ripple through her skin.

“I can’t think when you’re this close,” she whispered.

“Then stop thinking.”

She leaned into the touch. Not much. Just enough.

I could feel her heartbeat through the bond, wild and raw. Her pupils dilated as I tilted her chin toward me.

The first kiss was barely a breath—just enough to taste her.

The second… deeper.

Warmer.

She didn’t pull away.

Her hands clutched the front of my shirt as if anchoring herself, her breath hot against my cheek. My fingers trailed along her back, slow, careful, reverent.

“Reed…” Her voice cracked. “This doesn’t mean anything.”

“It means you’re not alone.”

She let out something between a laugh and a broken exhale. “You’re dangerous.”

I kissed her again. Slower. “So are you.”

The air between us shifted again. Heavier. Wanting.

But I pulled back, just enough to see her face.

“We leave in three days,” I said quietly. “The King wants to see you.”

Her expression flickered, heat cooling just slightly.

“I’m not ready for that,” she murmured.

“You don’t have to be. I’ll handle him.”

She leaned back slightly against the carved wooden frame of the window, the early morning light painting soft gold into the strands of her silver hair. There was a line between her brows—frustration, maybe. Or confusion. I couldn’t tell.

Scarlett was a storm trying to hold itself together.

And I didn’t want her to.

“I didn’t ask for guards,” she said finally.

“No. But you didn’t ask to be hunted either,” I said calmly. “And whether you like it or not, your life is no longer just yours.”

Her lips parted, but she didn’t argue.

She knew I was right.

Still, her gaze flicked up to mine. “And you? Is this still just duty to you?”

I didn’t answer immediately.

Duty. That was the easy word. The safe excuse. I’d worn it for years like armor, sharp-edged and unyielding. But now, standing here with her—smelling the soft notes of apple and jasmine that clung to her skin, hearing the way her voice curled around my name—I knew it wasn’t just duty anymore.

“It started as duty,” I said. “But now… now it’s something I can’t walk away from.”

Scarlett’s breath caught—barely audible, but I heard it.

Felt it.

The air between us shifted again. Thicker. Charged.

“I don’t want to owe you anything,” she said, her voice lower.

“You don’t,” I replied. “But you will. Because you’re going to survive this. You’re going to take back what’s yours. And when you do—when you stand at the top of that hall with your head high—I’ll be there.”

“Because the King told you to?”

“No,” I said, stepping closer. “Because I want to be.”

She didn’t move away.

Her eyes flicked to my mouth, just for a second, before she looked down at the floor like she regretted it.

But I saw it.

I stepped closer.

Her pulse jumped.

“You’re in heat,” I said quietly, not as a question.

Her lashes lifted sharply. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” My voice dropped. “Don’t notice? Don’t smell it? Don’t want you?”

Scarlett’s jaw tensed, but her body didn’t move.

She wanted me closer.

She was just too proud to admit it.

I leaned in, slow, deliberate. “The bond is real. It’s not going away.”

Her breath hitched.

“Tell me to stop,” I said.

She didn’t.

Instead, she looked up—eyes fierce, golden, defiant—and whispered, “This doesn’t mean anything.”

I didn’t reply.

I kissed her like I needed her to breathe.

Her breath hitched, caught somewhere between shock and want. She didn’t pull away.

My hands found her waist, then her back, pulling her closer until there was no space between us—no logic, no hesitation, only heat and the pounding echo of something ancient thrumming through both of us.

I backed her against the wall, hips locking her in place like I owned every inch of her. as I ripped her dress open. Buttons scattered. Her tits filled my hands- warm , perfect, the nipples stiffening against my palm. I dipped my head, closing my lips around her nipple, sucking slow, then biting just enough to make her gasp.

My hand slid along her thigh, parting the fabric slowly, savoring the heat that met my skin. She shuddered when I traced the laced edge of her underwear, circling close to her ache but never quite giving her what she want.

"Say it," I growled. "Say what you need from me."

Her golden eyes snapped to mine—blazing, desperate, angry that I’d even asked. But she didn’t speak.

She didn’t need to.

Her hips lifted to meet my palm

-wordless, hungry, desperate for more.

I pressed my palm against her, feeling the heat of her, the way she trembled—barely holding together. The bond surged between us like fire in my veins, ancient and unstoppable.

“You’re burning for me,” I said, brushing my mouth along her jaw, down the curve of her throat. “You feel it too.”

She shivered.

“You hate that it’s me.”

Her fingers curled into my shirt, pulling me closer. “I hate that I don’t hate it.”

That—gods, that—sent a growl vibrating in my chest.

I kissed her harder this time, like I could stake my claim with my mouth alone.

She let me.

I hooked my fingers into her underwear and tugged-slow, deliberate-until nothing separated us. The remains of her dress riding up her thighs.

No more lace, no more barriers-just her, spread out and slick and mine.

"Look at you," I muttered, dragging my fingers through her wetness, spreading her open. "You're fucking  dripping"

She arched off the mattress when I replaced my fingers with my tongue, licking deep, relentless. Her thighs trembled around my head, her moans pitching higher as I sucked her clit, flicking fast-then slow just to torture her.

Before she could finish, I flipped her onto her stomach, pulling her hips back against me. One hand gripped her ass spreading her wide, while the other guided my cock to her entrance.

Then—

A loud knock shattered the silence.