Chapter 3

Shattered Composure

I used to assume memories faded with time, like old ink fading beneath rain. But his touch, his fragrance, the ragged sound of his breathing on my skin - they have never faded. If anything, they haunt me more clearly with each passing year. 

 “Don’t look away from me,” he muttered, voice deep and guttural as he held my wrists above my head. The cheap motel room smelled of liquor and perspiration, neon light flashing through the damaged slats over his muscular shoulders. His eyes flashed molten silver in the dark, pupils blown wide with want so hot it bordered on agony. 

 “Lucian ” 

 His mouth swallowed my words, tongue pushing beyond my lips, seizing me with frantic, primitive want. I tasted his wrath, his sadness, his unsaid longing to lose himself in something deeper than hatred. He tasted whiskey and winter pine and a loneliness that mirrored my own. 

 My thighs gripped around his waist as he pushed into me again, slow and devastatingly deep. My back arched off the discolored mattress, fingers clutching at his forearms as tears scorched down my face. He felt so fantastic. Too excellent. Like home and destruction all at once. 

 He halted, drawing back to gaze at me, chest heaving with heavy gasps. “Tell me you’re mine,” he said, voice quivering with something almost like dread. 

 “Lucian ” 

 “Say it.” 

 A sob burst out from my throat as his hips moved into me again, the pleasure so intense I thought I’d break apart. “I’m yours,” I sobbed, tears pouring from my eyes. “I’m yours.” 

 His forehead crushed to mine, perspiration mixed with my tears as his thrusts turned furious, desperate. “Don’t ever leave me, Elara. Don’t ever fucking leave me.” 

 I didn’t answer. Because deep down, even then, I knew I would. 

  

 I jolt back to the present with a gasp, chest heaving as I sit in the leather recliner of Lucian’s penthouse office. The memory washes over me with the intensity of a tidal wave, leaving behind only humiliation and yearning and a bone-deep agony that no amount of time has eased. 

 He’s standing near the floor-to-ceiling windows, peering out at the sparkling Los Angeles cityscape, one hand tucked into his pants pocket while the other clutches a glass of amber whiskey. Moonlight flows over his hair, making the strands gunmetal gray, highlighting the stiff planes of his shoulders and back. 

 “Comfortable?” he asks without glancing around. 

 His voice is calm. Deceptively so. It’s the same voice I heard when he arranged a transaction for two billion dollars in fifteen minutes. The same voice I heard when he had a treacherous pack Alpha beheaded for trafficking shifter children to vampire traffickers. 

 The same voice that once murmured my name like a prayer as he came undone inside me. 

 “I shouldn’t be here,” I moan, my voice raspy from hours of quiet crying. 

 He turns then, slow and deliberate, glittering eyes settling on mine with a predatory calm that makes my stomach tighten in panic and something far more frightening. 

 “On that, we agree.” He takes a sip of his whiskey, his stare never leaving mine. “But here you are.” 

 I wrap my arms about myself, squeezing my elbows to keep from shivering. “What do you want from me, Lucian?” 

 He tilts his head, watching me with chilly enjoyment. “I think the better question is what you’re willing to give to keep your precious life in San Diego intact.” 

 I frown, bewilderment piercing through my terror. “What are you talking about?” 

 He grins then. It’s not a kind grin. It’s sharp and cold and lovely, like winter sunshine glinting off a blade. He lays down his glass and moves towards the sleek black desk, pressing a button on the intercom. 

 “Marcus,” he says. “Bring it in.” 

 The door opens and Marcus enters, his enormous wolf bulk barely contained by his fitted suit. He has a large folder marked with the Blackthorne Enterprises emblem. My blood goes cold as he lays it down in front of Lucian and leaves without a word. 

 Lucian flicks the folder open and begins sorting through documents with surgical precision. “Let’s see,” he murmurs. “Quinn Event Designs. Five unpaid bills from the LA Night Court totalling forty thousand. A potential breach of contract lawsuit from the Valencia Pack for failing to deliver their Mabon Festival exhibit on time. And, yes - your warehouse lease is three months overdue.” 

 My mouth falls open. “How… how do you know all this?” 

 He lifts his gaze, and the malice there makes my stomach churn. “You think I wouldn’t keep tabs on the woman who ripped out my heart and vanished?” 

 I recoil, bile rising in my throat. “Lucian, please ” 

 He holds out a hand, silencing me. “You’re drowning, Elara. But lucky for you…” He shuts the folder with a subtle, lethal thud. “I’m feeling generous.” 

 I gaze at him suspiciously, every fiber in my body screaming that his concept of charity is nothing short of torture. 

 “You’re going to work for me,” he adds gently. “Effective immediately.” 

 My heartbeat roars in my ears. “What?” 

 He walks around the desk, perching on the edge in front of me, his legs bracketing me. The aroma of sandalwood and clean perspiration envelops me, heady and familiar and stifling all at once. 

 “You’re going to take over the Blackthorne Foundation’s Winter Gala next month. Then the Night Court’s Yule Ball. Then the Valencia Pack’s New Year Summit. Every supernatural occurrence in this region will go through your hands.” He moves in closer, his lips touching my ear as he says, “Under my command. Under my roof.” 

 A sob comes in my throat. “Why are you doing this to me?” 

 His hands cup my jaw, pushing me to face his eyes. The silver in his gaze mixes with something deeper, something shattered and enraged. “Because you owe me. Because I gave you every bit of me that night, and you departed without so much as a goodbye.” 

 I clamp my eyes tight, tears running down my face. “I had to,” I murmured. 

 “Why?” he snarls, shaking me softly. “Tell me why, Elara!” 

 “I can’t,” I sob, my shoulders trembling with the power of it. “Please… please don’t make me.” 

 His hold lessens, thumbs caressing my damp cheeks with a tenderness that makes my chest hurt. “What are you hiding from me, little wolf?” 

 I shake my head miserably. “Please don’t make me say it.” 

 He exhales loudly, his forehead pushing to mine, and for a tiny second, I feel his suffering. The primal, guttural sorrow he hides underneath all that power and violence. It resonates between us like a live creature. 

 “Fine,” he murmurs. “Keep your secrets. But know this - I shall have the truth. One way or another.” 

 His lips brush mine, a quick contact that sends electrifying sparks running down my spine. Before I can react, he pulls back and stands to his full height, looming over me with lethal ease. 

 “Marcus will drive you to your hotel. Pack your things. You move into Blackthorne Tower tomorrow morning.” 

 I gaze up at him, chest heaving with quiet sobbing. “Please don’t do this to me, Lucian.” 

 He grins, icy and lovely and so achingly familiar it destroys something inside me. “You did this to yourself, Elara.” 

 He looks aside, dismissing me with a flick of his hand. Marcus arrives at the door like a menacing shadow. 

 “Let’s go,” he rumbles. 

 I stand shakily, my knees threatening to crumble beneath me. As I follow Marcus out of the office, I take one final glimpse over my shoulder. 

 Lucian stands near the window, peering out into the night. But I know he sees nothing but me. 

 As the elevator doors close behind me, my quivering palm presses to my flat tummy, tears running down my cheeks as a secret cry rings in my thoughts - Please don’t let him find out about Aaron.