Chapter Twelve

The rest of the meal dragged, filled with Elara’s endless chatter about florists and ceremonial colors, her voice rising above the hum of conversation. Julian offered little more than nods or clipped replies, his gaze wandering as if he had no interest in the current setting.

When at last the final course was cleared and the table began to disperse, Julian rose. His chair scraped softly against the polished floor.

“You go on up to your room,” he told Elara, his tone low. “I have business calls to make.”

Her smile faltered for half a breath before she forced it back into place, eyes searching his face for something—anything. But Julian gave her nothing.

She leaned close enough for her perfume to sting his nose. “Don’t be long,” she whispered, trying for sultry.

Julian didn’t answer. He only turned, striding from the hall without looking back.

Outside, the night air hit cool against his skin. The gardens stretched quiet and endless, moonlight cutting silver lines across the paths. His wolf paced, agitated, disgruntled, rejecting what had once been easy.

Julian exhaled hard, running a hand down his jaw. “Get your shit together,” he told the beast within. But the wolf only snarled in reply, prowling, refusing to be soothed.

The garden paths were quiet as Julian made his way back through the packhouse, moonlight slipping in through tall windows and casting pale bands across the floor.

By the time he reached his chambers, the corridors were empty, the weight of silence pressing heavier than before. He pushed the door open, shutting it behind him with deliberate care. At last—solitude.

He stripped off his jacket, laying it neatly across the chair by the wall, then unfastened his cuffs one by one. The ritual steadied him—order, precision, control.

But when he turned, he froze.

Elara sat perched on the edge of his bed, silk robe tied in a careless knot at her waist. When his eyes landed on her, she loosened the belt with deliberate slowness, letting the fabric slip down her shoulders. Then, with a practiced flick, she shrugged it off entirely.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” she purred, her bare skin catching the light. She leaned back on her hands, legs parting in invitation, a smile curving her lips. “I need you inside of me, Julian,” she pleaded. “It’s been far too long.”

She was beautiful. She knew it. She presented herself like a painting designed to be admired, and in the past, Julian’s body would have answered on instinct.

But nothing stirred. Not in him and certainly not in his wolf. In fact, his wolf continued to snarl in her presence, making its disgust clear.

He moved anyway, crossing the room with measured strides, hands settling on her thighs. She shivered under his touch, eager, pulling him closer as if his silence only heightened the game. He bent to her throat, mouth brushing her skin, willing desire to spark where none existed.

Still nothing.

Elara’s hand slid down, bold and searching, closing around him with expert handling. She paused. Her brows flickered as she gave a testing stroke, then another. Confusion darkened her features when he didn’t respond as he should have.

Her eyes darted up to his, questioning. “Julian…” She pressed against him harder, almost coaxing. “What’s wrong?”

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t let the hesitation show. His lips brushed hers once, then he pulled back, his tone flat, “It’s nothing. Stress. Pack matters—you wouldn’t understand.”

Her eyes narrowed, doubt creeping in, but he gave her no room to press further. For a moment, silence hung between them. Her lips parted like she might argue, but no words came. She shifted back on the bed, robe pooled uselessly around her, frustration evident in her eyes.

“Get some rest,” he said, his voice final. “You’ve got a ceremony to plan. Tomorrow will be a long day.”

Just like every night in the last couple of weeks, Julian’s sleep was restless. The weight of Elara’s perfume clung faintly in his chamber, sharp and cloying, and yet it wasn’t her face he saw when sleep finally came to claim him.

It was hers.

The dream pulled him without warning, dropping him into the cool hush of night. Moonlight pooled across grass, shimmering the edges of a small, familiar garden enclosed by weathered fences. And there—in a short, thin nighty, long dark hair tumbling loose over her shoulders—the woman. The one who lingered in his thoughts no matter how violently he tried to excise her.

She froze when she saw him, her eyes wide, as though she hadn’t expected him either.

For a moment neither of them moved, silence stretching taut between them.

Julian’s breath rumbled low in his chest, his wolf pacing just beneath the surface. His hand flexed at his side, aching to touch, to prove she was more than a dream.

“What are you doing here?” She whispered.

Her voice cut straight through him, too soft, too knowing. He prowled forward, closing the space, and she backed away until her spine met the fence.

Her chest rose and fell in sharp little breaths as he braced an arm above her head, caging her in. Her hands lifted against his chest as if to stop him—but they lingered, trembling, not pushing him away.

In a single motion, he hauled her up, her legs locking around his waist instinctively. “Julian—no.” Her words broke on a gasp.

The sound of his name on her tongue slammed through him like lightning. Heat knifed down his spine, his wolf howling in raw hunger. He hadn’t realized how much he craved hearing it, how deeply it struck when she said it—even like that.

Julian’s lips brushed the curve of her jaw, his control fraying with every heartbeat. “I can’t fight it.”

He thrust into her, the sensation so sharp, so perfect, it stole the breath from his lungs. Her body arched against him as he plunged deep, the feel of her heat, her tightness. Real. It felt real—so real his teeth clenched and his vision blurred.

His hips drove harder, his pace ruthless, unrestrained. Here, there was no need for control, no need for masks. Here, in this dream, he was not the reserved Alpha. He was only a man undone by the woman in his arms.

Her voice broke around his name again—half protest, half something else—as he drilled her over and over. The sound tore through him, shattering the last of his composure.

“Say it again,” he growled against her skin, his thrusts slamming home with brutal precision. “Say my name.”

Her nails sank into his shoulders, her pussy spasming around his cock. Her head tipped back, mouth open on a broken cry that sent fire ripping through his blood. Julian’s grip tightened, holding her through it as he thrust deeper, harder, desperate to follow her over the edge.

But then the world around him fractured.

Heat still clenched around him, a body still moving above him. But when his eyes blinked open, it wasn’t her.

It was Elara.

She rode him, robe long gone, hair tumbling wild, her moans pitched just so. “Yes, Julian… come inside me.”

For a split second, half-anchored in the dream, his body decided to obey, release coiling sharp and merciless in his gut. His head tipped back, a guttural groan ripping loose as he teetered on the brink.

But the scent was wrong. The rhythm was wrong. The grip was wrong.

And the wolf knew.

A savage growl tore through him as his wolf surged, seizing control. In a violent burst, Julian’s hands shot to Elara’s waist. Just as his climax threatened to break, the wolf wrenched her off him, hurling her aside.

The very second they separated, his body convulsed, spilling hot release across his stomach and thighs, each pulse more explosive than the last.

Across the bed, Elara stared at him, wide-eyed and breathless, the satin sheets clutched to her chest. Her expression shifted—shock giving way to indignation, her lips parting like she might demand an explanation.

Julian didn’t give her the chance. He swung his legs off the bed, muscles taut, and stormed across the room. The bathroom door slammed shut behind him, the echo cracking through the chamber like a final word.