Chapter 52

Prue

I reached the first floor, ready to take a stroll around the pack grounds to clear my head – and, naturally, to leave my scent everywhere like the wicked little menace I am. I smirked at the thought. Honestly, being me should be illegal.

As I passed Andrew’s office, I noticed the door was ajar and caught a glimpse of him inside. I took three more steps before halting. A wicked idea curled at the edges of my mind. Why not tug the lion by his whiskers before I went off playing little red riding hood? I grinned to myself, pivoted on my heel, and sauntered straight into his office. What a wicked thing to be me.

The other day, when I played him like a fiddle with that 'After Dark' track and he actually showed up at my doorway in the dead of night, was nothing short of hilarious. I still crack up every single time the memory pops into my head.

Of course, on the outside, I put on my absolute best performance as the annoyed, intensely indifferent Prue, but internally? I was losing my damn mind, cackling like a maniacal hyena. The sheer panic behind his Alpha composure – the way he literally trembled while staring at my lips – was almost ridiculously cute.

Still, I have to hand it to the guy: giving him a point for managing to pull a neutral topic out of thin air seemed fair enough. Turns out he isn't completely brain-dead after all.

I had to cut that little midnight briefing short, though. It was partly because I was genuinely terrified I’d break character and start laughing right in his brooding face until I cried, and partly because the scorching way he looked at my lips was making my stomach do these dangerous, fluttery somersaults. As usually happens once darkness settles in, my mind had started veering off into a whole catalog of wild, passionate scenarios featuring me and... well, anyone who happened to pass by.

Okay, total lie, but whatever.

I reined in my bubbling amusement, smoothed down my posture, and without a single shred of hesitation, plopped down onto the chair directly across from his desk like I owned the damn place.

"Do you know what knocking means?" he asked, voice sharp with annoyance, trying to glare at me like a proper Alpha-in-training.

I chuckled inwardly. So predictable.

"The door was open. That’s practically an engraved invitation. Classic open-door policy. If you didn’t want visitors, you should’ve closed it – and locked it for good measure." I shot him a smug look, my words laced with that I’m-clearly-smarter-than-you tone.

"What do you want now?" he sighed, already exasperated.

"Oh, I was just terribly bored," I said, flicking an imaginary speck off my thigh like this office was a spa lounge.

"So naturally, you came here for entertainment?" he cut in, disbelief thick in his voice.

Entertainment. I let the word echo in my head, my gaze locking on him as silence stretched between us. My lips curved. Oh, the things I could do with him as entertainment…

In my mind, I already had him tied down – wrists and ankles bound with thick leather straps to his office table. I’d be in something scandalous and black, maybe leather too, with a teasing whip dangling from my fingers. I’d trace his skin, find every spot that made him shiver, every place that tickled or stung just right. Tease, lick, deny. Again and again until he begged for something I had no intention of giving. The image bloomed in full-color HD and made a low hum of thrill run down my spine. His voice cut through the heat of my fantasy.

"What is going on in that devious little mind of yours?" he asked, narrowing his eyes with a look that was equal parts suspicion and intrigue. I blinked slowly at him, lips twitching. Was the bond giving away more than it should? Or was this just quantum telepathy and good old-fashioned intuition?

"None of your business," I said with a sugary-sweet smile that didn't reach my eyes.

"So, how am I supposed to get to know you if you won't let me in on anything about yourself?" He raised a brow at me with a small smile playing at his se.xy lip corner.

"I have said and shown plenty. The real question is: do you actually have the ears to listen and eyes to see, or just the arrogance and brainlessness?"

He looked at me, his gaze unusually steady, stripping away the usual layer of mockery.

"True. I know you absolutely hate being forced into anything. You're smart, witty, and dangerously creative, especially when it comes to burning someone alive with your words and punchlines. You think in black and white about those around you, meaning those who are on your 'white' side will see your love, care, and laughter, but those who are on your 'blacklist' will be destroyed by you – like arrogant, bratty, brainless people. You have soft spots that you hide from the world because walking with armor is your natural state. You’re hardworking and helpful, too, and ready to set the past aside if it’s for a greater cause... and you’re fast, no doubt about that." He smiled warmly at me.

I looked at him with a perfect poker face, not moving a single muscle as my eyes locked onto his, before finally looking away and then drifting back to meet his gaze. It was unnerving how much he had gathered, knowing we had barely had two proper conversations. Now that I think about it, no guy had ever truly seen me this much before, and for a split second, my pulse betrayed me with a traitorous leap. Or was I truly that transparent, and did everyone around me see these things but simply choose never to speak of them?

"Well then, it sounds like you’ve figured me out already," I said, keeping my displeased facade firmly in place despite the way his words seemed to echo in the space between us. "No need to ask any more questions." I made an atempt of sarcasm to try to convince him that he knew nothing but shit.

"I'm surprised you've held your raging hormones in check for this long," I said shifting the conversation back to him. I crossed my arms, inspecting my nails like they’re more interesting than this conversation. They're chipped. Great. I need to repaint them red – classic, sharp, powerful. Red always makes a female look like she runs the damn world.

He leaned back, expression unreadable, and replied with a dark edge to his voice.

"Well, I’ve held them in for years now. What’s a few more months?" My eyes snapped to him. That tone – flat, almost bitter. My brows knit. Years? Wait. Years-years? Or does he mean... never?

My curiosity flares and tangles with something unfamiliar – nervousness. Suddenly, I feel awkward. Shy, even. Me? Shy? That’s not in my vocabulary. But here I am, fumbling.

"You haven’t been intimate for years?" I ask, testing the waters. Safer phrasing – neutral.

He lets out a disappointed sigh like I’ve asked the dumbest question on the planet.

"I was waiting for my mate," he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

My jaw drops. It literally falls open. I’m not usually this easy to shock, but this? This blindsided me.

"Like... you haven’t even tried it once?" I press, still trying to wrap my head around it. I mean, how?

He doesn’t answer – just gives me a look that could kill a fly mid-air. It's all glare, no explanation.

"Even I’ve had sex. A lot," I blurt, blinking. “How do you even stop the curiosity? The hormones? The late-night thoughts that won’t let you sleep?” I shake my head. “Is your self-control like... Jedi level or something?” This feels unreal and untrue – I'm inwardly shaking from the possibility of this being true.

Andrew stiffened, his jaw tightening into a line so sharp it could have drawn blood from the very air between us, his gaze narrowing until his eyes were nothing more than two glinting shards of arctic ice. He didn’t just look at me; he dissected me, his nostrils flaring with a disdain so potent it felt like a physical shove against my chest.

"Control is the only thing that separates us from the feral filth that roams the borderlines, Prue," he spat, his voice a low, gravelly rasp that vibrated deep within my own marrow. "Perhaps if you spent less time indulging in base impulses and more time cultivating a spine, you wouldn't find yourself so utterly bewildered by the concept of discipline."

I let out a sharp, jagged laugh, the sound hollow and mocking against the suffocating silence of the room, while my heart hammered a frantic rhythm of betrayal against my ribs – a desperate, aching beat that betrayed the very composure I was trying so hard to feign.