Black Leather and Rare Steak

POV SIENNA

At four fifty‑eight in the afternoon, the faculty bell rang like the start of a countdown toward something inevitable.

Liam finished tucking his camera into its padded case, but before he stood up he looked at me with a deep frown.

"Are you really sure you do not want me to walk you to the bus stop or wherever you are being picked up?" he asked quietly, adjusting the strap on his shoulder. "You have seemed on edge all morning."

"Do not worry, Liam, truly," I said, forcing a light smile while shoving my notebooks into my bag as quickly as I could. "My stepbrother is as punctual as a Swiss clock. If he sees you with me he will just make another ridiculous scene and we have had enough drama for one week."

Liam sighed, clearly unhappy, but he nodded.

"Alright. I sent you the shooting schedule by email. Tomorrow we will go over the production breakdown. Take care, Sienna."

"You too."

I practically ran out of the building. The cold evening wind stung my face as I hurried down the stone steps, reminding me of the faint, persistent throb in my lower lip. The moment I stepped onto the pavement, the low, heavy rumble of an engine told me there was no turning back.

The matte‑black Porsche Panamera sat exactly at the drop‑off zone, lights off and idling smoothly. I did not even reach for the handle, the lock clicked open on its own. I took a deep breath, pulled the door shut behind me and dropped my bag at my feet.

"Right on five," Killian said without looking at me, pulling away with smooth, powerful acceleration that pressed me back into the leather seat. "You learn fast, Hayes."

I said nothing. I folded my arms and stared out the window, determined not to give him the satisfaction of seeing how much he affected me. The air inside felt thick with him, bergamot, expensive leather, and that electric charge my she‑wolf recognised instantly as his claim. He wore the same navy suit from that morning, but the tie was gone and the top two buttons of his white shirt were undone, showing the line of his throat and the skin that had burned against mine only hours before.

We drove several blocks in silence, but when he turned toward the financial district instead of heading north toward Iron Ridge, I frowned.

"You took the wrong turn," I said, pointing back toward the green highway sign we had just passed. "The manor is north on the interstate."

"I did not take a wrong turn," he said evenly, changing lanes with a steady hand on the wheel. "We are not going to the manor."

A tight knot of alarm formed in my stomach.

"Marcus said you were to bring me straight home after class. If we are late my mother will worry."

"Marcus is at a meeting with the pack elders on the eastern territory and your mother went with him," Killian glanced at me quickly, sharp and assessing, before returning his eyes to the road. "They will not be back until midnight. And I have no intention of eating cold leftovers from the staff kitchen."

"Then drop me at the house and go wherever you want," I replied, my pulse racing at the thought of being alone with him somewhere outside familiar ground.

Killian let out a short, sarcastic breath.

"I am not your personal driver running back and forth. We are having dinner."

"I am not hungry."

At that exact moment my stomach gave a loud, hollow growl that filled the quiet cabin. I had not eaten anything all day beyond a few sips of the oat milk coffee Liam had given me.

The corner of Killian’s mouth lifted into a slow, arrogant, infuriating smile.

"Your pride always lies louder than your body, stepsister."

Fifteen minutes later the Porsche glided down the ramp beneath a striking building of dark brick and glass in the city’s most exclusive quarter. The valet, a beta who recognised the family crest immediately, bowed almost formally as he opened the driver’s door.

"Good evening, Mr Thorne. Your private table in the inner terrace is ready."

Killian tossed him the keys without pausing.

"Make certain no one approaches the vehicle," he said with icy authority that brooked no argument. Then he turned to me and gestured toward the marble entrance. "Walk, Hayes."

The restaurant was called Obsidian. There was no loud music, only the low murmur of conversation and warm amber lighting. The maître d’ led us straight to a secluded booth at the back, surrounded by tinted glass panels that separated us from the main room. A table for two stood before a gas fire that cast long, shifting shadows across the walls. I sat opposite him, painfully aware of my worn jeans and simple sweater against a man who looked as though he owned half the city’s stock market.

The waiter poured sparkling water and left two black leather menus before stepping away quietly. Killian did not even open his. He rested his forearms on the table, lacing his fingers together and fixing me with that steady grey gaze that made my skin prickle beneath my clothes.

"Order whatever you want," he said. "Just no rabbit salads or anything else that barely counts as food. Your she‑wolf has sounded undernourished since you got in the car."

"My wolf is perfectly fine without your comments about my diet," I snapped, opening the menu to put something between his eyes and mine. "And you did not need to bring me somewhere this fancy. A burger at a drive‑through would have been enough."

"I do not eat processed garbage in a car," he said with clear disdain. "And if you are sitting across from me you eat real food."

I closed the menu with a sharp snap.

"T‑bone, medium, with rustic potatoes," I told the waiter when he returned.

Killian lifted an eyebrow, clearly surprised, then looked at the waiter.

"The same for me. But hers should be rare, almost bloody. And a bottle of the house reserve Cabernet Sauvignon."

As soon as we were alone I leaned forward, keeping my voice low and sharp.

"I did not ask for wine. And I know exactly how I like my steak."

Killian sat back, crossing one leg over the other with easy, absolute confidence. A tiny, dangerous golden spark glowed in his eyes and he made no effort to hide it.

"I know you like it rare, Sienna. Your wolf was scratching at your ribs for it the moment she smelled the kitchen," his voice dropped to that rough, deep tone that had made my legs shake the night before. "And the wine is so you stop looking at me as if I am about to drive a fork into your hand."

"I look at you like this because I do not trust you for a single second," I said, holding his gaze without blinking. "What are we doing, Killian? This morning you ignored me like a stranger on the street and now you bring me somewhere private to tell me what to eat."

Killian did not blink. Firelight played across the hard line of his jaw, making him look wild despite the tailored suit.

"This morning there were fifty humans with cameras standing right outside your building," he said slowly, every word deliberate. "I do not discuss pack business in front of strangers. But there is no one here, Hayes. Only you and me."

The air felt suddenly heavy.

"What exactly are 'you and me'?" I asked, the question slipping out before I could stop it, carrying all the confusion and hurt I had held inside all day.

Killian leaned forward again, closing the space between us until there was barely anything left. I could feel the warmth of his chest through his thin shirt and his scent wrapped around me like a cage. His grey eyes dropped slowly, deliberately, fixing on my mouth. They lingered on the mark he had left, the swelling that had not yet faded, for three long, aching heartbeats.

"We are two wolves bound by a tie neither of us chose," he whispered, so low and rough the words seemed to vibrate straight through me. "But last night you bit my mouth with the same fury you use to try to hate me, Sienna. And we both know neither of us is walking away from this unhurt."