Feisty little Gianna

Gianna.

The kitchen was quiet when I walked in, just the hum of the refrigerator and the soft creak of the wooden floor under my feet. I reached for a glass and filled it with water, watching the ripples settle as I drank.

That was when I felt it.

That strange, almost electric awareness crawling up my skin. Someone was there.

I didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. His presence filled the room like heat — heavy, deliberate, impossible to ignore.

“Hasn’t anyone told you it’s rude to stare?” I asked, still facing the counter.

I could almost hear the smirk in his voice when he replied, low and unbothered,

“I don’t think staring at my mate is a problem.”

My heart skipped. The glass nearly slipped from my fingers.

I turned slowly, and there he was — Ivan Wolfe.

His electric-blue eyes caught mine, unwavering, like he already knew every thought running through my head. There was a quiet confidence in the way he stood, hands in his pockets, white hair catching the light.

Before I could speak, my mother’s voice broke the silence.

“Did I just hear mate?”

I spun toward her, panic flashing through me.

“Mum, I—”

She cut me off with a teasing tone that made my stomach twist.

“Gia has refused to find her mate, Ivan.”

Relief washed through me — at least she hadn’t heard what he really said — but irritation followed just as quickly.

“Let it go, Mum,” I muttered, placing the glass down a little too hard before turning and walking out.

She just said that out loud like it wasn't a personal decision 

“Wait, Gia—” she called after me, but I didn’t stop.

I needed air.

Outside, the night breeze carried the faint scent of rain and sand. I walked to the pool and sat at the edge, letting my legs dangle in the cool water.

 I couldn’t swim, but I’d always found peace around water — it was quiet, reliving, still.

I tried to breathe, to calm the mess in my chest. Mate. The word replayed in my mind like a curse.

I knew it too. The moment I saw him I knew. The connection was too strong to ignore. Too strong. 

“Why don’t you want your mum to know ginger?”

His voice again — calm, curious. He’d followed me.

I didn’t turn immediately. Of course he had.

Is a little bit of privacy too much to ask? I thought, but kept it to myself.

He sat beside me, close enough that I could feel his warmth even through the night air. My body tensed, but I refused to move away.

“That’s none of your business and my name isn't ginger,” I said quietly, staring at the water.

He didn’t respond right away. Instead, he pulled out a cigarette, placing it between his lips. The sharp smell hit me before the smoke did.

“Can you not?” I asked, my tone sharper than I intended, disgust laced in every word.

He glanced at me, eyes unreadable, then exhaled — directly at me, his eyes boring into mine, as the trail of smoke hit my face. 

For a second, all I saw was my father — his drunken rage, the broken glass, the burn of pain as blood ran down my skin. I exhaled inwardly trying to steady my breathing.

“Fuck you,” I muttered, pushing to my feet. 

“Gianna,” he said, standing as well. His tone wasn’t harsh — it was teasing, he was enjoying this. “If you don’t want your mum to find out, I can reject you.”

I froze.

Rejected by my mate. What a disgrace.

But did I care? Not even a little.

I turned to him, chin lifted. “Does it look like I care? I’d have preferred not finding out about you at all.”

Something flickered in his eyes — surprise, maybe a hint of anger — before his jaw tightened. He took a step closer, not threatening, but enough to make my heart race.

“Be careful how you talk to me, Gianna,” he said softly, almost like a warning, but there was no venom in it — just a strange tension I couldn’t name.

I met his gaze, refusing to back down. “Wow , threatening already? You're really nailing the whole stepbrother charm thing.”

“you'd be a fool to mistake me as charming”

“oh I wouldn't dare”

For a long moment, neither of us moved. Just the quiet rush of the wind, the reflection of the moon in the pool, and that unbearable pull between us.

Then I turned and walked away, refusing to look back even though I could feel his eyes on me — steady, searching, burning holes into my back.

Ivan's pov

I smelled her before I saw her.

Sweet. Warm. Wild.

The scent hit me so hard my wolf, Kyle, practically slammed against my ribs.

Mate.

The word rolled through me like thunder, and for a second, I forgot how to breathe.

Then she walked in — ginger hair catching the light, freckles dusting her cheeks, hazel eyes that looked like they couldn’t decide between curiosity and annoyance. 

She didn't look as thick as the girls I usually fooled around with, but I couldn't tell exactly because of the hoodie she wore, but damn if she had the perfect figure.

My dad was saying something polite, introducing her, but I barely heard a thing. All I could think about was how good she smelled. How my name would sound coming out of her mouth.

She met my eyes by the pool — just one glance — and Kyle growled so loud in my head it made my fingers twitch.

Ours.

 I ignored it like I always did when he got possessive but this time it didn't fade. 

She turned away quickly, mumbling something about unpacking, and I couldn’t help the grin tugging at my lips.

Cute.

Later that night, I found her in the kitchen. She was standing by the counter, half-asleep, filling a glass with water. Her shirt hung off one shoulder, hair a little messy, scent flooding the room like a damn spell.

I leaned against the doorway, watching her.

“Hasn’t anyone told you it’s rude to stare?” she said without turning around.

I smirked.

“I don’t think staring at my mate is a problem.”

She froze. Turned slowly, eyes wide. Her lips parted, like she wanted to speak but couldn’t decide if she’d heard me right.

Then her mum’s voice broke the silence, saving her. Or maybe saving me.

But the moment she left the room, I followed Gianna out to the pool. She sat there, legs in the water, moonlight on her skin. I didn’t even try to stay away.

“Why don’t you want your mum to know ginger?” I asked, stepping closer.

She ignored me, staring ahead. I pulled out a cigarette.

“Can you not?” she muttered, voice sharp, irritated.

But when was I ever one to listen?

So I lit it. Took a long drag. Let the smoke curl into the air — and maybe a little too close to her face.

Her expression darkened instantly. I saw the flicker in her eyes — something deeper than just disgust. Pain.

She hates it, Kyle murmured, quieter now. It hurts her.

I should’ve cared. Instead, I pushed, just to see how far she’d go before snapping.

She stood abruptly, muttering a sharp “fuck you,” and started to walk off.

I caught her wrist.

She yanked free, glaring. The contact was electric, her scent hitting me again, dizzying.

“If you don’t want your mum to find out,” I said, low enough for only her to hear, “I can just reject you.”

She laughed, cold and brittle. “Does it look like I care? I’d have preferred not finding out about you at all.”

Ouch.

That one stung more than it should’ve.

I smirked anyway, leaning closer just to see her flinch. “Careful. You talk to me like that again, and you might not like what happens next.”

“You're really nailing the whole step-brother charm” 

She glared back, fire in her hazel eyes. Then she turned and left, and for the first time, I realized how much trouble I was really in.

Because Kyle wasn’t whispering anymore.

He was claiming.