Sparks and venom

POV SIENNA

The silence that fell after that brief touch lasted barely a second, yet it settled heavy as a slab of concrete, pressing the very air from the space between us.

My forearm burned where his skin had met mine. It was not pain, not the hurting kind. It was something alive, electric, warm, thrumming up my arm slow and steady until it reached my throat, turning my knees soft and trembling before I could stop it. Killian stood frozen before me, not shifting an inch. His jaw was clamped so tight the muscles along his cheeks stood out like cords pulled taut to snapping. Those gray eyes, dulled only moments before by disdain, now blazed with a golden, hungry warning — the direct reflection of his wolf rising inside him, staking claim to what it believed was its own.

Accept it, my she-wolf whimpered from somewhere deep beneath my bones, scratching at my chest, shoving me toward him with an urgency that split me open. It is ours. Go to him.

I curled my hands into fists so tight my nails drove into my palms, the sharp sting anchoring me back to myself. Over my dead body.

"Killian?" Marcus’s voice split the trance like a gunshot through the quiet. "Is there some reason you cannot give them a proper welcome?"

Killian blinked, and the golden flecks in his gaze faded as if they had never been there at all. He stepped sharply back, as though my skin had seared him with acid, and in a heartbeat he slipped back behind that mask of icy indifference that hid everything he was.

"No problem at all," he said, dragging the words out with a coldness so deliberate it stung. "Just making sure the stray bitch knows exactly where she belongs before she crosses the threshold."

"Enough!" Marcus roared. His Alpha aura exploded across the porch, heavy and suffocating, so powerful my mother stepped back purely on instinct, bowing to something she could not see. "To your room. We will discuss your conduct later."

Killian did not flinch. He gave his father a nod so slight it was barely there, dripping with cynicism, and walked into the house without looking back once. The black oak door shut behind him with a sharp, final thud that echoed through the hall.

"I am deeply sorry for that, Rory," Marcus said immediately, his expression softening as he took my mother’s hand with a devotion that felt practiced, too perfect. "Killian has always been… fiercely territorial. He lost his mother very young, and he struggles to accept change in his world, in his hierarchy. But he will learn to respect you both. I promise you that."

Rory forced a smile that wavered on her lips.

"I understand, Marcus. Everything is new for all of us."

I said nothing at all. I could not. My throat felt closed, tight, still thick with his scent — burnt cedar and storm — as though it had seeped into my skin and my clothes and would never wash away.

Inside, the house was a monument to Iron Ridge’s power. Polished slate floors that mirrored our shadows, double-height ceilings crisscrossed with black steel beams, and walls lined with hunting trophies and traditional weapons that made one thing unmistakably clear, this pack did not ask permission, it conquered.

Marcus led us upstairs to the east wing.

"Rory, your room connects to mine in the main wing," the Alpha explained, then gestured toward a solid wood door at the end of a quieter corridor. "And this one is yours, Sienna. You will have complete privacy. Should you need anything, staff are available around the clock."

"Thank you," I murmured, barely above a whisper, aching for them to leave me alone.

My mother kissed my cheek quickly, her eyes pleading silently, please do not make trouble, then followed Marcus down the hall. The moment they turned the corner, I pushed inside, slammed the door shut, and leaned back against the wood, breathing out everything I had held in since I first saw him.

The room was vast, elegant, and utterly cold. A king-sized bed, a balcony looking out over thick, dark forest, and a private bathroom lined entirely in marble. A five-star cage, I thought. Nothing more.

I leaned over the sink, turned the cold water on, and splashed it over my face again and again, trying to scrub the ghost of his touch from my skin.

Mate.

The word echoed in my head on a loop, a curse I could not silence. Of every wolf across the continent, the Moon Goddess had chosen to bind me to the one man who saw me as an intruder, a burden, something unclean. Worse still, he was the son of the man my mother was building her future with. If this bond came to light, everything she had gained, everything she was beginning to hope for, would crumble before it had even started.

I needed air. I stepped out onto the small balcony, gripped the wrought-iron rail, and breathed deep the mountain wind, trying to clear my head.

"Do not even bother unpacking."

The voice came from directly behind me, low, rough, so close the hair on the back of my neck stood straight up.

I spun around on my heel, baring my teeth, pure defense, but a large, calloused hand closed around my throat before I could step back. He did not squeeze to hurt me, not quite, but the firm pressure pinned me against the balcony wall with nowhere to go.

Killian.

He had climbed from the roof or leaped from a neighboring balcony without making a single sound. He stood inches away, surrounding me, radiating a heat so thick it felt hard to breathe. Where his fingers touched my skin, the bond flared bright and burning, sending waves of something that felt like pleasure and pain all at once, something I fought with every fiber of my being to keep from showing.

"Let go of me," I hissed, meeting his gaze with all the hatred I could summon, my nails digging at his wrist to pry him off.

Instead of releasing me, Killian stepped closer, crowding me with his broad, solid frame. His chest brushed mine with every ragged breath, and he smelled so intensely of storm it made my head spin.

"I do not know what cheap game you and your mother are playing," he said, dropping his voice to a lethal growl right beside my ear. "You may have fooled my father with this act, two helpless she-wolves in need of shelter. But not me. I am not fooled."

"I never wanted to come to this cursed place," I gritted out, feeling the heat of his touch burning through my skin. "And I certainly never wanted… this."

Killian’s jaw tightened, and for the first time I saw a crack in his armor, raw, unbridled fury. His gaze brushed my lips for a heartbeat that stretched endless, then snapped back to my eyes.

"This does not exist," he snarled, his voice shaking with the effort to hold his wolf back. "The Moon Goddess made a mistake. A damned mistake. I am the future Alpha of Iron Ridge. And I will not take as Luna some stray with no pack, living off my father’s charity."

A sharp, deep pain tore through my chest. Rejection, the sheer force of him denying it, cut deeper than a blade, but pride held me together. I smiled, sharp and cold, giving back every bit of the scorn he showed me.

"Perfect. For once in our lives, we are in complete agreement, stepbrother."

The word landed like an insult. His grip at my throat faltered, his pupils blowing wide in a clear warning.

"You will keep your mouth shut," he threatened, leaning in so close I felt his warm breath against my cheek. "If you speak one word of this to my father or anyone in this pack, I swear I will make your life here such a living hell you will run back to wherever you came from."

I lifted my chin, defying the weight of him pressing in.

"Save your threats, Killian. I do not want your crown or your name. Keep your wolf away from me, and I will pretend you do not exist. Done."

For three heartbeats that stretched forever, neither moved. Our faces were so close our lips nearly touched, and the air between us hummed with tension so thick you could almost cut it. His gaze dropped to my neck, where his hand still rested, and I saw him swallow hard. His wolf wanted to claim me. His pride wanted to destroy me.

Finally he let go, jerking his hand away as though touching me shamed him.

He stepped back onto the balcony ledge, moving with the lethal grace of a predator who knew every inch of the ground beneath him.

"Dinner is at eight sharp," he said, his voice cold and distant, back in full control. "Try not to embarrass the pack with your street manners."

Without waiting for an answer, he leaped easily to the adjoining roof and vanished into the gathering dusk.

I stayed there alone, touching my throat where his touch still burned, his words settling in my mind like poison.

I was not running. If Killian Thorne wanted war, then war was exactly what he would get.