His Bed

His room smelled like him.

Smoke. Leather. Pine. Blood. It was everywhere — in the sheets, the walls, the air. I couldn't escape it. Didn't try. I just sat on the edge of his bed with my back straight and my hands in my lap like my mother taught me.

One chair by the window. One dresser. One bed big enough for four people. No rug. No pictures. No warmth.

This wasn't a room. It was a cage with better furniture.

The door had no handle on the inside.

I counted my breaths. One. Two. Three. My wolf paced under my skin. She should have been mourning the rejection. Instead she kept pushing toward the door. Toward him.

"Traitor," I whispered.

The lock turned at 1:17 AM.

Kael walked in alone. His men stayed outside.

He didn't look at me. Went to the chair by the window, sat down, and started pulling off his boots. Slow. Deliberate. Like I wasn't even there.

I watched him. The way his shoulders moved under his black shirt. The way his jaw tightened when he pulled off the second boot. The way his eyes kept flicking to the window — watching the dark, not me. His hair was damp, like he'd washed his face. The whiskey smell from earlier was gone. Now he just smelled like himself.

"You're not going to hurt me tonight," I said.

His hands stopped.

He looked up.

"No," he said. "Not tonight."

"Then when?"

He stood up. Walked toward me. Didn't stop until his knees hit the edge of the bed. I had to crane my neck to look at his face.

"When you ask for it," he said.

I laughed. It came out ugly. Bitter.

"I'll never ask for anything from you."

Kael crouched down. Put his face level with mine. Close. Too close. I could see the exhaustion under his eyes now. Dark circles. Red veins. He hadn't slept properly in days. Maybe weeks.

"Every woman says that," he said. "Then they spend the night crying and the morning begging."

"I'm not every woman."

"No. You're the daughter of the man who killed my father."

My blood went cold.

"You think I bought you for your body?" Kael's voice dropped lower. Almost soft. Almost kind. Almost. "I bought you because your father owes me a death. And he's already dead. So you'll pay."

"My father died ten years ago," I said. "I was eight. I didn't kill anyone."

Kael reached out. Touched my chin. Lifted my face so I had to look at him.

"It doesn't matter," he said. "Blood pays for blood."

He let go. Stood up. Walked to the other side of the bed.

"You sleep on the left," he said. "I don't like the window."

"What?"

"You heard me."

"You expect me to share your bed?"

"I expect you to do what I say. This is my house. My pack. My rules. You want to eat? You follow them. You want to live? You follow them."

He pulled off his shirt.

I looked away. Not fast enough. I saw his chest — the scars crossing his ribs like white rivers, the muscles shifting under his skin, the dark line of hair disappearing into his pants. His body was a map of violence. Every scar told a story I didn't want to know.

"Don't be shy," Kael said. "You'll see it all eventually."

I turned my back to him. Heard him unbuckle his belt. Heard his pants hit the floor. Heard the mattress dip under his weight.

The lamp went out.

Darkness.

His voice came out of the black.

"Aria."

"What?"

"Thank you for not crying. It's boring when they cry."

I lay down on the very edge of the bed. My back still to him. My eyes open in the dark. My body was a straight line of tension. Every muscle locked. Every breath careful.

I waited for him to touch me.

He didn't.

But I felt him move closer. Just inches. Just enough that his body heat reached me through the space between us.

"Go to sleep," he said.

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm afraid of what I'll dream about."

Silence. Then —

"So am I."

His hand landed on my waist.

I froze.

Not grabbing. Not hurting. Just resting there. Heavy. Warm. Impossible to ignore. His thumb pressed against my hip bone through the thin fabric of my dress.

"One minute," Kael said. "Then I'll move it."

I counted to sixty.

He didn't move his hand.

I didn't tell him to.

---

I woke up to pain.

Not screaming pain. Not breaking pain. Something deeper. Something that lived under my skin and pulsed with my heartbeat.

My neck burned.

I touched it. Felt raised skin. Raw. Tender. My fingers came away clean — no blood — but the ache was real. The ache was fresh.

I ran to the mirror on the back of the door.

A bite mark.

Right where my neck met my shoulder. Dark red circle. Two perfect punctures. The skin around it was swollen, bruised purple and black, like he'd held his teeth there for minutes instead of seconds.

He marked me while I slept.

The door opened.

Kael leaned against the frame. Already dressed in black. Already clean. Already watching me with those black eyes. His arms were crossed over his chest. His expression gave nothing away.

"You bit me," I said.

"I did."

"You said you wouldn't touch me."

"I said I wouldn't hurt you. I didn't say I wouldn't touch you."

"That's the same thing."

Kael pushed off the doorframe. Walked toward me. I backed up until my spine hit the wall.

"No," he said. "It's not the same. Hurt would be breaking your bones. Hurt would be forcing your legs apart while you screamed. I didn't do that."

"You bit me without my permission."

"You're mine now. I don't need permission."

My hand was still on my neck. Covering the mark. Covering the proof that he'd been inside my space while I was helpless.

"Why?" I asked.

Kael stopped inches from me. Reached up. Moved my hand away from the bite. His fingers traced the edge of the wound. Gentle. Too gentle.

"Because every wolf in my territory needs to see it," he said. "They need to know you're claimed. That touching you means touching me."

"I don't want to be claimed by you."

"I don't care what you want."

His thumb brushed over the bite. I hissed. The pain was sharp. Electric. But underneath the pain — something else. Something warm. Something that made my knees weak.

My wolf stirred.

She liked it.

"You felt that," Kael said. It wasn't a question.

"I felt pain."

"No. You felt the bond."

"There's no bond. You rejected mate bonds when you bought me like livestock."

Kael's hand dropped. He stepped back. His face changed. The amusement faded. Something harder took its place.

"You think this is about mate bonds?" he said. "You think I want to be your fated anything?"

"Then what is this about?"

Kael walked to the window. Stared out at the dark forest beyond. His back was to me. His voice came out quiet.

"My father was murdered in this house. In the room next door. I found him. I was twelve years old. He was still warm."

I said nothing.

"Your father did it. Stabbed him in the throat with a silver blade and left him to bleed out on the floor. Then your father ran. Ran back to Silver Crescent. Ran to Marcus. Marcus gave him protection. Gave him a job. Gave him a family."

Kael turned around.

"I've been waiting ten years for someone to pay."

"Kill me then," I said.

His eyebrows rose.

"What?"

"Kill me. If blood pays for blood — kill me. Get it over with."

"You think I want you dead?"

"I think you want revenge."

Kael walked back to me. Slowly. Each step deliberate. Each step eating up the space between us until his chest was almost touching mine.

"I want you to suffer," he said. "Dying is easy. Living is hard. I want you to wake up every morning in my house, in my bed, knowing that everything you had is gone. Your pack. Your name. Your future. Gone."

"My future was gone the moment Dane opened his mouth."

"No. Your future was gone the moment your father picked up that knife."

He reached out. Touched my chin again. Lifted my face.

"But here's the thing, Aria. I don't actually know if your father did it."

My heart stopped.

"What?"

"I have proof. Old proof. Letters. Witness statements. They say your father was hired. They say Marcus paid him."

"Marcus," I whispered. "Dane's father."

"The same."

"Then why aren't you going after Marcus?"

"Because Marcus is protected. Because Marcus has alliances I can't break. Because Marcus would start a war that would kill hundreds of my wolves."

"So you're going after me instead."

Kael's thumb traced my lower lip.

"I'm going after everyone," he said. "Starting with you."

I should have been afraid. I should have begged. I should have cried.

I didn't.

I grabbed his wrist. Held his hand against my face.

"Then you picked the wrong girl," I said.

"Why?"

"Because I'm not going to break. I'm not going to cry. I'm not going to beg. You want to watch me suffer? You're going to be disappointed."

Kael stared at me.

Then he smiled.

Not the amused smile from the ceremony. Something real. Something almost impressed.

"We'll see," he said.

He pulled his hand away. Walked to the door.

"Get dressed. There's food downstairs. My pack will stare at you. Don't let them see you flinch."

"Where are you going?"

"To handle the mess your former pack left behind."

He walked out. The door didn't close all the way. A sliver of light fell across the floor.

I stood there in the middle of his room with his bite on my neck and his scent in my lungs and his words spinning in my head.

Marcus paid my father.

Marcus started this.

Marcus was the reason I was standing here.

And Marcus's son was the one who rejected me.

I walked to the window. Looked out at the dark forest. Somewhere beyond those trees was Silver Crescent. My old room. My mother's grave. Dane's bed.

I touched the bite on my neck.

"Marcus," I whispered.

The name tasted like poison.

I smiled.