Chapter Nine

The boardroom at Blackthorn was all polished wood and steel, its walls lined with windows that framed the dense forest beyond. Julian sat at the head of the long table, shoulders squared, every line of him composed.

The screen at the far end flickered with faces—Alphas and Betas from the summit, patched in for follow-up. Jace sat to his right, silent, a steady presence as always.

“Alpha Julian,” one Alpha drawled, leaning back in his chair on the feed, a crooked grin tugging at his mouth. “Good to see you again. Your Beta said you had to rush off for an emergency.”

Another chuckled, shaking his head. “You didn’t have to play ill, if you had to leave, you had to leave. Happens to the best of us.”

Laughter rippled through the call, easy and unguarded.

Julian didn’t smile. He leaned forward, clasping his hands on the table, his gaze cutting through the screen with cool precision. “Blackthorn doesn’t play ill,” he said flatly. “We take care of business. Which is why I’m here.”

The laughter died, replaced by a hush of respect.

He launched straight into land negotiations, his tone terse and authoritative, steering the conversation like nothing at all had happened.

The call dragged on, all numbers and projections—parcels of land, tax advantages, the highway development that had half the Alphas salivating. Julian gave clipped, precise answers, his disposition never wavering.

Then one of the older Betas spoke, tone smug. “The humans want charm. Sweetness. A good face for negotiations. Sometimes a softer touch works better than power.”

Sweetness. A softer touch.

The words lodged like a blade. Against his will, Julian’s mind slipped. Her legs locked around his waist, her nails raking his back as she cried out beneath him. The wet heat of her tight pussy milking his knot, the tremor that tore through her as he nibbled on her nipples. The way she whispered “no” even as her hips lifted, begging for more.

A throat cleared sharply beside him. Jace.

Julian blinked, eyes snapping back to the screen. Half a dozen faces stared back expectantly at a question he hadn’t answered.

“Alpha Julian?” One prompted.

For the first time in memory, Julian found himself a step behind. He straightened slowly, forcing his expression into carved stone. “Repeat the question,” he said, his voice stern.

But Jace saw it. The fracture. The Alpha who was never distracted, never sidelined—sidelined now by something he dare not speak.

Julian forced his focus back where it belonged, answering the rest of the call with cold efficiency. Every decision was final, every directive absolute. By the time the meeting ended, no one dared question him further.

He rose, sliding his chair back, the wheels against wood loud in the sudden silence. Jace was already watching him, arms braced on the table.

“What?” Julian asked with a bite in his tone.

Jace hesitated, then spoke carefully. “You know you’re like a brother to me, and I want you to know it’s not weakness if you’re… unsettled. It’s only been a week and a rut isn’t just instinct. It’s personal. And your first—”

Julian cut him off, sharp and unyielding. “I said I’m fine. Just a lot of work that stacked up… haven’t slept. That’s all.”

He didn’t give Jace a chance to argue. Turning on his heel, he strode for the door, each step measured, final.

But the truth pressed in all the same. His first rut. At twenty-eight. Late, especially for an Alpha. A rite meant to be sacred—shared only with his mate. Not with some woman he should never have touched.

The door had barely closed behind him when his phone buzzed.

Julian answered, his voice flat. “What is it, Elara?”

“Well, hello to you too.”

“I’m in the middle of something,” he said.

“It’s been weeks, Julian. I miss you. I need you—I need your touch.” Her tone was soft, coaxing.

He stilled in the hallway, his expression unaffected. Slowly, he lifted a hand to his collar, inhaling. Her scent still lingered faintly there—sweet, stubborn. His wolf stirred, restless.

“I’ll send a jet,” he said at last. “In a few days.”

“Why not now?” She pressed, almost pleading.

“Because I said a few days.”

He ended the call without waiting for her reply, sliding the phone back into his pocket. His wolf growled low in his chest, a sound only he could hear.

He strode down the hall toward his chambers, pushing open the heavy door with more force than necessary. Inside, silence pressed in. He stripped off his cufflinks, setting them down with military perfection, and exhaled a sharp breath. What he needed was rest. What he needed was control.

A shower, he told himself. The heat would bleed the tension from his muscles, wash away the scent that clung no matter how hard he willed it gone.

He undressed swiftly, letting each piece of clothing fall where it may. Steam billowed as he stepped beneath the cascade, water pounding his back in relentless sheets.

But the moment he closed his eyes, she was there—straddling his hips, hair clinging damp to her flushed face, lips parted as she sank down onto him inch by inch. His breath caught. He could still feel her—tight, molten—gripping him so fiercely he’d sworn he might lose his mind.

The memory was merciless: the sway of her body as she rode him hard with a desperation that matched his own; the way he stretched her snug, little pussy to its limits when his knot locked them together, her cry breaking as ecstasy consumed her.

Julian’s hands shot out, bracing against the tile, his head dropping forward under the punishing spray. His cock jerked, hard as stone, the ache almost savage. He swore under his breath, dragging a hand down his torso until his palm wrapped around the thick length straining for release. The first touch tore a groan from his chest, deep and guttural.

He tried to fight it, to push the image from his mind, but the harder he pushed, the clearer it came—her moans, the feel of her silk skin, the way she came around his cock until she was a shivering mess.

“Fuck…” His head shot back, water cascading over his face as his strokes grew harder, rougher. His hips snapped forward into his fist, chasing the phantom rhythm of her riding him.

His wolf prowled beneath his skin, snarling approval, urging him to give in. To remember. To claim.

Julian’s breath tore ragged from his chest, muscles taut with the violence of need. Every pump dragged him closer, every glimpse of her flashing in his mind pushing him further off the edge he swore he wouldn’t cross.

And then he came—hot and furious—spilling into his hand as his body shuddered under the onslaught.

He braced against the wall, chest heaving, water washing away every trace except the truth clawing at him from inside.

No amount of control. No amount of denial.

She was still under his skin.

Julian stood there, chest heaving, water beating down as if it could scour away the conflict raging within. He looked down at the evidence swirling down the drain, and his jaw hardened.

Pathetic.

He shut off the water with a snap, dragging a towel across his face and chest. His breathing slowed, steadied, until the ragged edge of what had just happened dulled into silence.

“Jace,” he called through the mind link.

“Yes, Alpha.”

“Arrange a jet for Elara in one week.” His voice was steady, unreadable. “Have the omegas prepare a banquet for their future Luna’s arrival.”

“Understood, Alpha.”

Julian severed the link, leaving only silence in its wake. His reflection stared back from the mirror—expression carved from stone, every trace of weakness buried deep.