12: We’ve Already Been Claimed

The fan above Tasha's bed spun in lazy, rhythmic circles. No matter how tightly she squeezed her eyes shut, no sleep came. Something felt...off.

With a soft sigh, she rolled over and reached for her phone on the bedside table, thinking Rupert might have replied to her text message earlier, but to her surprise, her phone was dead. She blinked at the black screen, brows creasing. That was strange. She always charged it overnight. Sliding out of bed, she padded barefoot across the cool tile floor and plugged it in. The screen lit up—2:03 a.m.

Only a few hours left until the wedding. She was going to be Mrs. Rupert Myrie.

The thought made her pause.

It should've brought a smile, a flutter. Instead, a soft pressure tightened around her ribs. Still, she shook the feeling off and wrapped her silk robe tighter around her body. The verandah was calling her. Maybe some fresh air would help. Quietly, she stepped outside.

She wandered toward the side gate, her footsteps soft, almost ghost-like. The Julie mango tree stood proud, leaning toward the moonlight. She moved to it instinctively, pressing her back against the thick bark. The wind teased the hem of her robe and swept her hair across her face.

She closed her eyes, letting herself breathe.

"You always come out at night dressed like that?"

A deep voice cut through the stillness, like smoke curling in her ears.

Tasha's eyes flew open.

He was there.

At first, she thought she was dreaming. But no... he was real. Just a few feet away. Leaning against the gatepost he had his arms crossed, and the shadows were licking the sharp lines of his jaw.

It was him.

The man from the red car five years ago. The man from her dreams. And God, he was even more dangerous now. More devastatingly handsome. More... unholy in the way he carried darkness like a crown.

Mr. Red Bimma.

His presence was wildfire. His body was sculpted from sin, broad shoulders under a tailored black jacket, tattoos etched across his muscular arms and up the side of his neck like black vines. Both sides of his head were shaved, with a sleek ponytail coiled down the back, accentuating the sharp line of his jaw. A silver lip ring glinted under the moonlight. An eyebrow ring sat like a mark of rebellion, making his hooded eyes look even darker.

He smelled like Tom Ford Oud Wood—earthy, addictive, masculine as hell, and super expensive.

Tasha swallowed hard, her mouth suddenly dry. "You..."

He stepped forward slowly, the moon hitting his features. He had pale skin, and eyes like a wild wolf. His voice dropped to a low rumble. "Damn, Tasha... you grew up."

Heat surged in her belly.

His gaze was shameless and hungry, as it devoured every inch of her. Her silk robe did little to hide the curve of her hips and the way her nipples pressed lightly through the fabric.

She flushed deep crimson. "You never came back after that night."

"Did you want me to?" he asked, his voice dipping into something darker. It was dangerous, almost teasing.

She bit her lip. "What's your name?"

His grinned. "You already know."

His steps brought him closer, slow like a predator. She backed into the tree trunk some more.

He stopped just inches from her, towering over her, his scent engulfing her, his body radiating heat and dominance. "Say it," he murmured, eyes fixed on her parted lips.

Tasha's pulse throbbed in her ears.

He raised a hand and traced a single fingertip along her jaw, then down the slope of her neck, resting briefly on her collarbone. She trembled. His touch was fire, electric, and possessive.

“Say whaaattt?” Tasha breathed out.

"My name, sweetheart" he whispered, voice like gravel and silk, "It has already been in your dreams."

She closed her eyes. She had never felt this way before. This was new, the things her nipples and the spot between her legs were doing. They almost seemed sinful.

Joseph’s wolf, Rex, was clawing under his skin, begging to mark her. Begging to taste the sweat in the hollow of her throat. The animal in him recognized her scent, ripe with want, tinged with a sweet innocence that made his blood burn.

"You shouldn't be out here alone, Little Princess," he murmured, his lips nearly brushing her ear.

"And you shouldn't be here," she whispered back.

"I had to see you before you made the biggest mistake of your life."

“What mistake?” she asked, her eyes still closed, but her body suddenly felt lonely, and the goosebumps disappeared as fast as they came.

Her lashes fluttered open, and to her surprise, he was gone.

Her breath hitched. “Did I just imagine that?” she asked herself, but the scent of his cologne still lingered in the air.

Then she saw it—at her feet, a small white box with a pale gold ribbon.

Hands trembling, she bent to pick it up. Nestled inside was a stunning diamond bracelet, delicate and shining like moonlight. Tucked beneath it, a note written in dark, sharp letters.

~Happy Graduation, Little Princess.~

Her breath caught in her throat. "Joseph..." she whispered, voice almost broken. "Who are you?"

The wind rustled the leaves above her, but there was no answer.

She stared out into the shadows where he had stood, where the space still felt electric. Her lips tingled from the nearness of his. Her skin still remembered his touch.

She clutched the box to her chest and turned back toward the house, dazed, pulse still erratic.

When she stepped quietly into the bedroom, Debby stirred in bed but didn't wake. Tasha sat on the edge, heart full of questions, body flushed with heat, mind spinning.

It was almost morning.

She was supposed to be a blushing bride today. But why was she craving someone else, other than her husband-to-be?

‘You shouldn't marry Rupert,’ the strange voice in her head stated. ‘We’ve already been claimed.’