C1

Evelyn Carter POV

"Do I strip naked and ride you on that mattress right now, or do you want me to rip those fucking clothes off your body first?"

I grip the edges of the damp cloth covering my curves, standing right at the edge of the steaming wash area. My chest heaves. I am four-foot-two, plus-size, and my dark skin is glistening from the thick heat of the air.

This is the night of our mating ritual.

The male sitting before me is bound to a wooden chair, a thick strip of midnight-black silk tied tight over his eyes. He is my mate now. My husband.

My eyes track the massive, brutal lines of his body. Alaric Wolfhart is a six-foot-eight monster of pure, thick muscle. He is pale as bone, his jaw sharp enough to cut wood, and his presence chokes the air right out of my lungs. Between his thick fingers, a lit cigarette burns, the heavy gray smoke mixing with the heat of the room. On his left wrist, a single blood-red cufflink catches the light. He is gorgeous. A god. But he is broken, blind, and stuck in that seat.

The entire valley whispers about his bloodline. They call him a cursed beast. His parents, Cedric and Helena Wolfhart, perished in blood when he was just a pup of nine winters. His older sister, Rosalie, met her violent end when he turned thirteen. It does not stop there. Three females were promised to his bed before me—Abigail Stone, Fiona Hayes, and Juliet Mercer. All three ended up cold, dead, and torn to pieces before they could ever wear his mark.

My skin prickles with sudden goosebumps. My uncle, Nathan Carter, swore the Wolfhart Alpha Council would pour endless resources into saving my mother, Margaret Carter, from her failing body if I submitted to this room. For Margaret, I will let this monster tear me apart.

He does not speak. He just breathes, the cigarette smoke curling past his lips.

"Did you hear what I said, Alpha?" I step closer, my bare feet clicking against the stone floor. "Do we bleed each other now or what?"

"You have a loud mouth for a human snack. Do you actually have any fucking clue whose territory you just walked into?"

Alaric reaches up with his gloved hand, snatching the black silk from his face. He glares straight through me. His eyes are dead, frosty, and completely unblinking.

A hard shiver snaps down my spine, but I force my shoulders back. He is blind. He cannot see the way my heavy breasts rise and fall. But the sheer weight of his empty stare feels like a physical hand wrapping around my throat.

"I know exactly who you are," I snap, keeping my voice steady.

Alaric twists his lips, his brow furrowing deep over his nose. "And you are not sweating through your skin waiting for the reaper to take you?"

He looks even more lethal without the cloth covering his face. The raw power rolling off his chest makes my blood boil with a strange, forbidden heat.

"No," I lie, my heart slamming against my ribs like a trapped bird. "My family owes your pack everything. You saved Margaret. I gave my word to Magnus Wolfhart that I would warm your sheets, bear your thick hybrid pups, and serve your body until the moon falls from the sky."

Alaric lets out a dark, wicked bark of laughter. He sucks down the last of his cigarette and drops the hot butt right onto the stone, crushing it beneath his boot. "Is that right? Then get your hands dirty, human. Clean my skin."

My breath hitches. "Fine."

I do not look back. I promised the old wolf Magnus that I would submit to his grandson, and a human's word is the only shield we have left in Moonshadow Valley. It is my duty to wash the dirt and ash from his massive frame.

"I will prepare the water," I muttered, turning into the wash basin area.

Alaric grunts, his head tilting as the sound of my heavy steps fades into the vapor.

Outside these walls, his pack guards, Owen and Bryce, keep watch at the borders of the Silverpine Forest, ensuring no human or stray beast interrupts this night. Alaric thinks I am a mindless pawn. He had his wolves dig into the dirt of Pine Hollow Village to uncover every secret in Carter Cottage. He knows I am just a poor, fat human girl who traded her flesh for her mother's survival.

His previous three high-born mates were pristine she-wolves from dominant packs, yet someone slaughtered them right inside the Moonshadow Valley borders. Yet here I am, an insignificant piece of human meat, standing alive in his private quarters on our wedding night.

Either the killers think I am too pathetic to waste a silver blade on, or I am far sharper than I look.

The wooden door creaks as I push my way back out of the steam. Alaric sits perfectly still, but his nostrils flare, taking in the scent of my wet hair and the musk of my skin.

The damp cloth clings hard to my wide hips and the heavy curve of my belly, soaked through from the boiling mist. My dark skin glows under the low lantern light.

"Don't move," I breathe, kneeling down right between his massive knees to drag my wooden chest from beneath the heavy bedframe.

Inside, my few belongings are stacked neatly. I pull out a thin piece of white lace sleepwear, the fabric sheer enough to show every inch of my flesh. I rip the thread tag away with my teeth and slide the garment over my head, letting the cloth drop to the floor.

I do not hide myself. He is blind. He cannot see the weight of my thighs or the darkness of my skin.

But Alaric’s jaw tightens so hard the bone looks ready to snap. Is this little bitch playing games with me? Is she testing my sight?

"Get up," he growls.

I do not listen. I grab the handles of his chair and push his massive, heavy frame toward the steaming basin. My palms press against his bare shoulders, feeling the blistering heat of his skin as I slide the fabric of his shirt down his arms. The steam is a thick wall around us. Alaric narrows his dead eyes, tracking the shadow of my movements through the white fog.

I keep my gaze locked on his collarbone, refusing to let him see the tremor in my fingers. I am a machine. This is an assignment.

My fingers flick the buckle of his belt. I slide the heavy fabric down his thick, scarred thighs. When he is left in nothing but his dark underwear, my hand freezes in the air.

"Do you... do you want this off too, or are we keeping some rules tonight?"

Alaric leans his head back, a dirty, mocking smirk twisting his lips. "You can't scrub a wolf clean if you're afraid of his fur, girl. Take it off."

"Right." I close my eyes for a fraction of a second, then reach straight into his lap.

Alaric’s breath catches hard in his throat. He stares down at my small, dark hands working against his pale, hard flesh. His mind spins. Is she actually this innocent, or is she a damn demon sent to mock me? She isn't even shaking.

"The water is ready," I say, guiding his massive, heavy body into the deep stone tub. I pretend my chest isn't burning. I pretend the blood isn't rushing straight to my face, turning my dark cheeks hot and tight.

I slap my own thighs to center myself before I look back at his chest. "I use a rough cloth. Can your skin take the friction, Alpha?"

"Try me."

I tuck my long black hair behind my ears, leaning over the stone ledge to grab the rough fiber scrub from the small shelf.

Alaric’s pulse jumps in his neck. He cannot believe this human girl is actually going through with this on a night cursed by three dead spirits.

Without asking for another word of permission, I press the rough cloth against the broad, scarred expanse of his back. "Speak up if I rip the skin. I can soften my stroke."

Alaric clenches his teeth, remaining dead silent as I work the cloth across his muscles.

Back in the village, I spent years washing Margaret’s aching limbs. She always told me my hands were a blessing, that my touch could soothe the deepest sickness. I only hope this giant beast feels the same.

I sink lower on my knees beside the tub, pushing my weight into the cloth to clean every inch of his pale, ink-marked flesh. I am using every bit of strength in my small frame, but to a werewolf of his size, it probably feels like nothing more than a soft feather trailing over his skin. Still, he doesn't move. He feels the rhythm of my breath against his neck.

Within minutes, a thick layer of sweat breaks out across my forehead, mixing with the steam of the room.

Alaric’s eyes darken as he watches my reflection in the wet stone wall. His mind is a chaotic mess of doubt. What kind of killer sends a girl like this? She has no silver, no poison, no malice in her blood.

"Uhm..." My hand stops at the surface of the water. My face burns like wildfire as I point toward the thick shadow between his thighs. "Do I need to clean the rest of you down there too?"

Alaric turns his head slowly, his gaze sinking deep into mine. "What do you think, human?"

I swallow hard, my throat dry as ash. "Fine... I'll do it."

The moment my fingers dip beneath the surface, Alaric's leather-gloved hand shoots out like a striking serpent, wrapping around my wrist with crushing force.

The air in the room turns to pure ice.

I freeze, my small dark hand trapped in his iron grip. I tilt my chin up, staring right into his blind, glaring eyes with total honesty. "I can't finish the job if you're holding me like a prisoner, Alpha."

A flash of pure, murderous fire lights up Alaric’s eyes as he squeezes my wrist until the bone groans. "Get the fuck out of my sight before I paint this floor with your blood."