Last night…was just the beginning.

Clara’s POV

The first thing I felt was the pounding in my head. Not a small headache—a relentless, bruising ache that throbbed behind my eyes, rooting itself deep in my skull as if the memories of last night refused to let go. Each pulse sent another jolt racing along my temples, dragging me into waking misery. My mouth was dry; my throat burned raw from screaming. It wasn’t just the pain, though. It was the aftertaste of fear and humiliation and the sense that, no matter how much I blinked, I’d never be clean again.

Somewhere in the oily black beyond my lashes, broad warmth pressed against my back. I stilled—each breath shallow, my body tensed like a starved animal waiting to be caught. His arm was still latched across my ribs. Heavy. Possessive. Even in sleep, his hold refused to relinquish its grip. If anything, his fingers curled closer, stifling, trapping me against the hard wall of his chest.

His scent washed over me and I tried, uselessly, not to breathe. Whiskey—sharp and bitter; smoke—faint but clinging; and something else, potent and male and so unmistakably Taehyung it made my skin crawl. This fragrance had once made my pulse stutter, back when I was foolish enough to love him. The ache of all that used to be, the memory of late-night laughter and gentle hands, clawed at my insides.

Back then…when I would have given anything to wake in these arms.

Back before I realized that love wasn’t enough to stop a monster from becoming Alpha—and me, from becoming his captive.

Now, each part of me screamed to get away.

I tried to ease my body forward, slow and careful, but his arm only tightened, dragging me closer. The intent was thoughtless—a predator moving in sleep, sun-drunk but never defenseless. I went rigid. Heat radiated off him, smothering my skin. Every inch of his body pressed its claim, from his thigh pinning my legs down to the splay of his hand, which trapped me in place—more a collar than an embrace.

I listened—counted his heartbeats, slow and steady, as if my panic was a storm he could weather without a second thought.

Then I heard his voice. Still thick with sleep, but already edged in iron. “Where do you think you’re going, little wolf?”

I swallowed. He hadn’t even opened his eyes, yet he felt my every twitch.

“I need to get up,” I whispered. My shame crept into my voice, betraying the tremor I tried to hide.

His lips curled, pressing against my hair. “You don’t need to do anything unless I say so.” His fingers flexed, sliding possessively along my hip, burning my skin through the nightshirt I barely remembered putting on.

I shivered and tried to twist away, fighting the urge to invoke my wolf. Every instinct shrieked that if he broke my control now, it would end badly. “Don’t touch me.” It came out sharp, desperate, pathetic.

That, at last, made him crack one eye and look at me—dark as pitch, unreadable. He examined my face with leisurely cruelty, as if reading all the thoughts I couldn’t hide. “Don’t touch you?” His voice dropped, low, almost soft. His lips twisted into something between a sneer and a wolfish grin. “What on earth makes you think that I need your fucking permission?”

Something inside me snapped, and I forced myself to meet his gaze even though my heart skittered in my chest. “B-because,” I breathed, my jaw set. “Because you do.”

His hand stilled. For a second, his face was unreadable—a dangerous kind of stillness, like the moment before thunder cracks the sky. Then his smile stretched, colder, harder. “I don’t ask, Clara. I take.”

Rage trembled at the edges of my fear, but I swallowed it. The morning air pressing in through the window felt thick and sour—everything heavy, choking.

Silence coiled between us—thick, predatory. My wolf pressed at the inside of my skin, restless and ready, but I shoved her down. Not yet. Not now. Not trapped here, in the bed where escape was a dream.

You need to get out of here, my wolf snarled. Away from him before he breaks us completely.

You think I don’t know that? I shot back, barely above a breath. But every bone ached as I remembered last night. If I made one wrong move—

Suddenly, his lips grazed my ear. His breath was scalding, his words soft and dangerous. “Last night…was just the beginning.”

A full-body shudder wrenched through me. I dug my nails into my palm until I felt skin split, refusing to let him see the fear—refusing to give him that power.

“You’re a devil,” I choked, voice breaking on the shame and the truth. “You’re heartless. I don’t believe you’ve ever known what love is. Your heart can’t beat for anyone. Not for me, and not for the pack.”

He chuckled—low, amused, utterly without kindness. His fingers tilted my chin until I was forced to meet those raven-black eyes. “Good. Then I’ll never waste it on you.”

The words burned. But they also made something inside me harden—a small, hot core of defiance.

I shoved at his arm, sharper this time, hating that I had to use all the strength I had just to move him an inch. His hand clamped down, bruising my hip, making me gasp.

“Let go of me.” I heard the steel in my own voice, even though every part of me ached and quaked.

Taehyung’s gaze was a blade sliding lazily down my face, evaluating every weakness for amusement. “You’re restless this morning, little Luna. Maybe what you need is a lesson. Maybe I should keep you here all day until you finally learn.”

“You can’t keep me,” I spat out, my voice sharper now, tinged with a desperation I hated. Even now—my pulse thrummed in my throat, wild and frantic.

His smile deepened. “Can’t I?” He traced one fingertip up my side, slow and deliberate, watching me flinch. "You’re in my house, Clara. My bed. My power is law here. And you—" he leaned in, voice velvet, “are nothing but a lesson I plan on repeating until it finally sticks.”

I wrenched my body, thighs burning as I twisted away, but letting go was like trying to break stone with my bare hands. Fear mixed with fury. My wolf thrashed, begged me to shift, but I clamped down on her—no. Shifting gave him another weapon, another way to shame me in front of the pack.

He watched me with detached fascination, as if waiting to see if I would finally snap. His hand wandered up, toying with the hem of my nightshirt, his other arm still locked around my torso.

“I can hear your heart, Clara. It pounds like prey, but it doesn’t smell only of fear—does it?” His gaze searched me, cutting, clinical.

I glared, all my certainty gone to shards. "You’re delusional," I bit out, shoving at his chest.

Without warning, he rolled on top of me, easily pinning me beneath the weight of his body. One knee caged my hips, an arm braced alongside my head. He loomed so close that all I could see was his face—set in lines of stone, unreadable, ruthless.

“Stop fighting me," he murmured, voice silk over steel. "You’re only making me want to keep you here longer. Maybe I’ll have breakfast brought right to this bed—make you eat from my hand.”

I snarled, hating how my eyes stung. Before, some twisted part of me would have melted into this heat; now, every second was a lesson in endurance.

“You want a pet, not a mate.”

He only smiled, lips brushing my ear. “Why waste time pretending it’s more, Clara? Love is for the weak. You’ll understand soon enough.”

Bile rose in my throat. I wanted to scratch, to bite, to scream. Instead, I managed a strangled but fierce: “I hate you. Nothing about this is love. Nothing.”

The coldness in his eyes didn’t flicker. “Good. Because I stopped believing in fairy tales a long time ago.” He finally lifted himself off me, slow and sure, as if to remind me he left because he chose to.

He sat back, the sheet tangled around his waist, and looked down at me. "Go clean yourself up," he said, dismissive. "You’re a mess."

There was no warmth—no invitation. He looked at me as if I were only blood on his hands, a job half-finished.

Stiffly, I slipped from bed, my bare feet hitting the cold stone floor. I snatched the thin robe from the bedpost, pulling it tight as if it might protect me. My skin prickled everywhere his gaze landed.

I paused at the door, and only then did I look back.

Taehyung was watching, predatory patience in his eyes—the slow, gleaming smile of a wolf who likes to hunt for sport as much as for hunger.

“Run if you want, Clara,” he said, his tone amused, deliberate. “I like the chase. Gives me an appetite.”

I shut the door behind me, closing out his voice but not the fear tangled in my chest.