X2

CAIN

I sit gripped by the steering wheel of my SUV, idling outside the estate I call a cage. It’s a three-story fortress of grey stone and iron—Mercer Estate. Wrapped in the jagged treeline of the Northbridge wilderness, it looks like a sanctuary for the elite. To me, it smells like old blood and stagnant power. It makes my wolf claw at the inside of my ribs.

Modified snow-runners and heavy trucks clog the circular drive. The Alpha’s favorite son is hosting a pack rager tonight. Kai didn’t bother asking if I minded the noise, but that’s the hierarchy. It’s his territory. I’m just the stray he keeps on a leash.

The glow from the console washes over me while a heavy, distorted bassline rattles the frame of the car. I find myself staring at the house, ruminating on the concept of "submission."

Do you ever get exhausted by the performance? Don’t you ever wish you could just exist without the constant weight of the collar? In this world, if you’re a lone wolf, you’re a target—too unrefined, too dangerous to leave "untrained." But if you’ve run with too many packs, you’re tainted, a mongrel not worth the silver it takes to put you down.

They tell us to be alphas of our own lives, to be self-sufficient. But nature doesn't care about your independence. Predators need a pack. Everyone needs the heat of another skin, even if it’s a trap.

I understand the hunger. The need to use people just to feel something that resembles a soul. But the statistics of this life are grim. How long does "loyalty" last in a world built on dominance? The person who calls you brother today might be the one baring his fangs at your throat in two years. Who’s to say the partner you mark won't betray the bond the moment a stronger scent catches the wind?

I’d rip his throat out, that’s what. I’d end him and spend my remaining shifts in a silver-lined cell while my lineage rots, and people would just say I was another feral Hayes who finally snapped.

People say: He’s just a man. You’re better than this. Find a new territory. But why should I be the one to retreat? Why should I accept his shadow over my life? I wasn’t sired to accept defeat. My mother raised me to meet ice with fire. Even if it means freezing my own heart to blacken his.

I look through the frosted windshield at the machine parked ahead of me. It’s a custom-built, winter-armored Lamborghini Sian—a 3.6-million-dollar testament to his father’s ego. I think it’s a gaudy piece of shit.

Kai Mercer is the reason I question the moon itself. He’s the reason I’m stuck in this cycle of hatred. We’ve been circling each other for years, a pair of predators waiting for a weakness. I loathe him. He despises me. It’s the only thing that feels real.

But the BDSM play... the way he breaks me... Goddamn, it’s the only time I feel alive. That’s the part that makes me want to scream. Just when I think I’ve found the strength to walk away, he finds a new way to pull the chain. We both know it. If we weren't fucking, we’d be flaying each other alive.

My mother mated with his father back in our academy days. A classic "reclamation" story. She was a struggling pack-healer; he was the Alpha of the most powerful territory in the North. Four months later, they were bonded. My stepfather is decent enough, but Kai? Kai is a goddamn nightmare. He was a year ahead of me, and I thought the ice would melt between us once he left for the pros.

Instead, once his father pulled strings to get me into Northbridge University, Kai "offered" me a suite in the estate he shares with his inner circle. He treated me like a broken-winged bird he wanted to study. My mother thought it was a gesture of brotherhood. She treats him like a saint. She has no idea he spends his nights trying to dismantle my sanity.

The dash clock hits 11:45 PM. The Lupercalia moon is rising.

Now is the time. He’s likely elbow-deep in some submissive right now. I can only hope I’m about to ruin his climax.

I run a hand through my dark hair, then reach into the center console for the thick, hand-rolled joint and the torch. I tuck them into the waistband of my tactical trousers. It’s not about the high; it’s about the fact that this came from his private, high-grade stash.

My phone vibrates incessantly. The video—the one he leaked of me on my knees—hit a million views in five hours. I ignore the pings. Instead, I reach for the black kohl liner in my bag.

I flip down the visor, the harsh LED lights giving me enough clarity to darken my eyes until I look like a wraith. I smirk at my reflection. It’s showtime.

I step out into the biting cold. The sound of "Bad Moon" by Hollywood Undead thumps from the mansion walls. I hear the sharp intake of breath from the pack-kids lingering on the porch.

"Shit," one murmurs.

"Go tell the Alpha," another snaps.

I grin. Let them run. Did they think I’d go into exile because of a sex tape? They don’t know a Hayes. But they’re about to get an education.

I pop the trunk and grab a heavy titanium hockey stick and a pressurized canister of accelerant. I don’t bother closing the lid. I’m not here for a stealth mission.

As I march toward his car, my heavy combat boots crunch on the frozen gravel. You have to maintain an aesthetic when you decide to go scorched earth. Any stray can lose his mind; the goal is to be the monster they can’t help but want.

I reach the Lamborghini. Partygoers are already spilling out of the Obsidian Shrine lounge like rats from a sinking ship. I ignore the audience. I set the five-gallon jug down, grip the hockey stick like a weapon, and swing with everything my wolf has.

CRACK!

The stick vibrates in my grip, the shock singing through my elbows. The reinforced glass didn't even spider-web. "Dammit," I hiss, shaking out my numbing fingers.

"Cain! What the hell are you doing?" It’s Sienna—my only real friend in this pit—running down the stairs in a silk slip and designer heels.

I could ask why she’s drinking with the enemy when we had plans, but I stay focused. I widen my stance, grounding myself in the snow. I tighten my hold on the titanium shaft and swing again. This time, I catch the corner of the driver’s side window. It shatters into a thousand diamonds.

"Finally," I sigh. I toss the stick aside and reach through the jagged hole, unlocking the door from the inside with a jagged laugh. The bastard didn't even have it locked. He’s that arrogant. He thinks no one would dare touch his property.

I like the drama of the break, though. It’s cathartic.

I wrench the door open, the glass grinding under my boots. I unscrew the cap of the canister and start drenching the interior. I don’t have a manual for this; I’m just following my gut. I soak the leather, the carbon fiber, the custom steering wheel. Then, for good measure, I chuck the whole canister into the passenger seat.

I pull the torch from my waistband, click the blue flame to life, and toss it onto the doused leather.

I take three steps back as the interior whooshes into a beautiful, orange-and-blue inferno.

That felt better than sex.

KAI

"DO YOU LIKE THAT?" Lila asks, her hips grinding against mine.

"Yeah," I lie, stifling a yawn. I’m bored out of my mind. I need a hit, a drink, or a fight.

"Mmm," she moans, her head falling back as she tries to find a rhythm.

I look at her, bored. I wasn't even in the mood, but she’s a decent sub and the night was dragging. Suddenly, someone hammers on my door.

"Get lost!" I bark, my hands tight on her waist.

"Kai—"

"I’m occupied!" I sit up, glaring at the heavy oak door. "Leave the fuck—"

The door swings wide. Logan Pierce leans against the frame, his eyes drifting to Lila’s bare back. He smirks. "Cain is here."

I feel a jolt of genuine electricity at that name. Lila stops moving. "He saw the leak?" I ask. I knew the video would bring him home.

Logan laughs, nodding. "Oh, he saw it. He’s currently turning your Sian into a bonfire in the driveway."

"What?" I roar. I shove Lila aside—she hits the rug with a thud—and scramble for my jeans. "Fuck!"

"I’m sure you earned it," Lila mutters, unfazed. She’s too drunk to care.

I don’t bother with a shirt. I sprint down the marble stairs, zipping my jeans as I burst through the front doors. A pillar of fire is roaring out of my car. "Son of a bitch!"

"Impressive," Ryder Quinn chuckles from the porch, leaning back with a beer. "The pup actually did it."

My jaw grinds. I don't give a damn about the car; I have five more. I care that Cain Hayes is standing there, arms crossed, the orange light of the fire dancing in his dark eyes. He’s smiling at me.

He’s such a defiant little bastard.

"Clear the grounds," Logan orders, joining me. "We don't need the whole school recording while we break him."

"No," I snap.

Cain has his head tilted, his dark hair messy. I can already feel my fist wrapping around that hair, dragging him up to my suite, chaining him to the rack until he cries out for the Alpha. I’d leave him marked, used, and utterly humiliated. That would be the lesson. But I know him—he’d probably enjoy the pain too much.

"No?" Logan asks. "He just torched three million dollars, Kai."

I ignore him. My eyes are on Cain’s boots, traveling up his lean, powerful legs. He’s in black cargo shorts and a shredded black shirt. He looks like a disaster and a dream. He’s a vindictive, manipulative nightmare, and I am pathologically obsessed with him.

"The boy is feral," Mason Blake mumbles, stepping out with a cigarette. His jeans are low on his hips, his chest bare.

"Where were you?" Logan asks.

"Getting serviced." Mason exhales a cloud of smoke. "You?"

"What did you expect?" Ryder sighs. "You put that video on the pack-net. We knew he’d come for blood."

I stay rooted to the porch. If I move now, I’ll kill him in front of everyone. No, revenge is a dish best served in private.

Cain starts walking across the driveway. It’s a predator’s gait—slow, deliberate, chin up. He doesn't look at my pack brothers. His eyes are locked on mine as the fire-suppression team starts throwing snow and water on the wreck behind him.

"Gentlemen." He greets my friends, but his eyes never leave my chest. "Hope I didn't ruin your fun." A tiny, mocking smirk plays on his lips. "You shouldn't have posted that clip, Kai."

I lean into his space. He doesn't flinch. I can smell the gasoline and smoke on his skin. "That clip is a trailer," I whisper. "You have no idea what the feature film looks like."

He doesn't retreat. He reaches out, his palms flat against my bare chest. I tense, my heart hammering against his touch. I wanted a fight, but he’s playing a different game.

"I'm not shaking," he says, giving me a lethal smile. He bats his lashes, then pulls the joint from his waistband. He looks at Mason. "Got a light?"

Mason, the traitor, clicks his lighter for him. Cain takes a deep pull, blows the smoke directly into my face, and shoulders past me into my own house.

"Was that your private reserve?" Logan asks, watching Cain’s retreating back. "Kai, he’s been in your room. Who knows what else he took."

I can't speak. My hands are shaking with the urge to grab him. I expected a strike, but he just declared war.

"Put out the fire," Ryder says to the guards. "What's the play, Alpha?"

"I’m going to dismantle him," I growl.

"Tonight?"

I shake my head. Tomorrow is the Lupercalia brunch with our parents. "No. I want him for longer than one night."

"We only need one night," Logan jokes. "Tie him up like last time. Remind him who the Alpha is."

My teeth clench. "Shut up."

A white Lexus LFA drifts into the drive. Ethan Cole. He gets out, his preppy attire—slacks and a button-down—looking entirely out of place in this chaos. "Hey, Kai." He nods. "Guys."

"Ethan," I mutter. We’ve known him for years, but he’s never been pack.

He whistles at the burning car. "What the hell happened?"

"The Alpha released a video," Logan starts.

"Just a typical Mercer party," I cut him off.

"Yeah, well..." Ethan laughs nervously. "This is a bit much, even for you. Have you seen Cain?"

Ryder snorts. "He’s inside, making himself at home."

"How is that going, by the way?" Logan asks. "You two have been 'official' for what, five weeks?"

I hate that I know the exact day they started dating.

Ethan frowns. "It’s good," he says, but his voice lacks conviction. He knows he's just a placeholder. He just doesn't know how dangerous the seat he’s occupying really is.