A ruse

EMMALINE

I try not to let it show. The way his gaze burns into me. The way my knees feel weak and my chest suddenly feels too tight. Alexander stands like a statue, tall and unmoving, but the look in his dark blue eyes is anything but still.

It’s pure hunger. Undiluted desire. Wild and raw.

My skin prickles under the weight of it. Part of me wants to turn away, to cover myself, to retreat and give up– but I don’t. I can’t. There’s too much at stake here. I swallow hard and lift my chin, straightening my shoulders like armor. This isn’t just about me. This is about control. Power. Revenge.

If I let him see how much he affects me, I lose.

No. Not tonight.

So I stalk toward him.

One step. Two.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. His jaw is tight, his fists clenched at his sides like he’s trying to hold himself together. Like he’s afraid if he lets go, he’ll shatter.

Good. I want him to shatter.

My bare feet make no sound on the warm wooden floor. The room is quiet except for the soft hum of the fireplace and the rapid beat of my heart. I stop just a breath away from him. Close enough to feel the heat of his body. Close enough that if I leaned forward, my chest would brush his.

His nostrils flare.

“Emmaline,” he says again, his voice hoarse, almost broken. “Don’t do this.”

I smile slowly. Not a happy smile. A smile full of fire and venom and pride.

“Why not?” I whisper. “You already marked me. Already married me. Might as well get what you paid for.”

His eyes flicker. His jaw tenses harder.

I reach up, sliding my fingers across his chest. Over his shirt. He’s warm. Solid. Alive. Everything about him calls to something deep inside me, something I hate. Something that remembers his touch, his scent, his name spoken like a prayer on my lips.

He grabs my wrist, but doesn’t pull me away.

“I’m warning you,” he says, voice low.

“I’m not scared of you,” I whisper.

Liar.

I lean in, brushing my lips over his jaw. His breath catches. His grip tightens for a moment before he lets go.

I press a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

Then another.

He still doesn’t move.

But I can feel the tension in him—he’s about to break. And goddess help me, I want him to. I want him to lose all that control. I want him to fall apart because of me.

Because if he breaks first, I win.

I kiss him. Soft at first. Testing. Teasing. His lips are warm, firm, still hesitant. But when I deepen it, he responds.

His hands find my waist. His mouth moves against mine, hungry and fierce. His kiss is fire. Every touch, every brush of his lips makes my skin burn. He’s trying to hold back—I can feel it. But he’s losing.

And I love it.

He groans low in his throat when I tangle my fingers in his hair and pull him closer. His hands slide up my back, splay against my bare skin, and I arch into him, desperate for more. I kiss him harder, more desperately than I mean to, like I can’t breathe without him. Like I need this.

Need him.

I don’t know when that changed. Or maybe it didn’t. Maybe hate and desire have always lived side by side inside me.

He breaks the kiss suddenly, pulling back. His chest is rising and falling fast. His lips are red, swollen from mine. He looks wrecked. Tortured.

“Stop,” he breathes, taking a step back like he’s trying to get away from me.

“No,” I whisper, grabbing his shirt and pulling him back. “You don’t get to stop now.”

His mouth crashes into mine again and I gasp against him. He kisses me like he’s drowning and I’m the only air left. We stumble back toward the bed, his hands gripping my waist like he’s scared I’ll disappear if he lets go.

My fingers fumble at the buttons of his shirt, sliding down to his belt, to the button of his pants. My hands are shaking, but I don’t stop. I won’t stop.

But then—he does.

He catches my wrist before I can undo his pants.

“Don’t,” he says, voice rough and tortured.

“Why?” I breathe, staring at him. My voice is barely above a whisper now. My heart is thundering so loud I can barely hear myself. “Why are you stopping?”

His eyes meet mine—and what I see in them steals the breath from my lungs.

Pain.

Not anger. Not lust.

Pain.

He lets go of my wrist slowly. His chest rises and falls with each shallow breath. He steps back again, running a hand through his hair like he’s unraveling. Then he looks at me.

Really looks.

“Amidst all the anger and hate, did you ever stop to think about why I married you?”

I shake my head, my brows furrowing in confusion.

His next words nearly knock the floor out from under me.

“There’s a curse,” he says quietly. “A strong one. It’s been eating away at me for years. Weakening my wolf. Killing him slowly.”

My stomach turns cold.

I open my mouth, but no sound comes out.

“You’re the only one who can break it,” he says. “The only one who ever could.”

I step back like he’s hit me. My brain is spinning, trying to make sense of the words.

A curse? Me?

“What… what are you talking about?” I manage, my voice barely there.

“I didn’t marry you because I wanted to trap you,” he says, voice raw. “I did it because I’m dying, Emmaline. And you’re the only person who can save me.”