Close enough to burn

He dragged me out of the car—gently, yet so rough.

The house was magnificently breathtaking, well-lit.

The car collection was the definition of I am rich, even though he wore humble clothes.

I couldn't tell whether it was his, or if he had just brought me here to make money out of me again.

We entered inside. His house looked more like a museum than a home.

The housemaids were all over, running up and down to clean the artifacts.

He walked away, and I took the chance to look around.

The wolf skulls. The swords and arrows planted around the house.

Some old paintings that I feasted my eyes upon.

“Papa!” I exclaimed, seeing the pictures of my pregnant mother, my father, and a random family I didn’t know.

My hands reached for it, but I was too short.

“You do not touch anything,” Rage’s voice echoed, returning to the parlour.

“How did you get that?” I asked, pointing at the image, my eyes visibly in shock.

“What, this? My parents’ picture?” he responded.

“Parents?” I whispered.

“Yes. And another ungrateful family,” he replied, flicking his fingers.

The maids rushed in, forming a line.

“What did you mean by ‘ungrateful family’?” I asked, holding back my rage.

“Yeah, my parents sacrificed their lives for them. But they banished me instead,” he said, reaching out to the white apron one of the maids held and handing it over to me.

“Until I can understand you, you'll be working here for me,” he said, his eyes tired.

“They’ll put you up on the rules of the house,” he added, going back to his phone.

There’s no way a wolfless family would be protecting my family.

From the little I heard about my dad, he died protecting his men in battle.

But Rage’s story was different.

One thing I was sure of: he was a wolf—and he brought something out of me.

“Why do you kill your kind?” I asked.

The maids looked scared on my behalf, but Rage just chuckled.

“I don’t kill. I administer justice,” he replied, walking away.

“Can I at least rest first?” I asked, my injuries shooting up in pain.

“You should run,” he said.

“Huh?”

“Go and run.”

He spoke again.

I saw it as an insult—both my legs and arms were broken.

I couldn’t disobey, nor risk him knowing who I fully was, so I limped outside.

The ranch in the backyard was massive, full of grass.

“Trust me, just run,” he said behind me.

He acted like he didn’t care—but watched every move I made.

I obeyed.

At first, it was painful. But the more I walked, the more my bones fell back into place.

I felt much better by the time I got a quarter way across the field.

My injuries healed faster than usual.

Running back was easy. I was faster and swifter, leaving Rage watching in awe.

“Who are you?” he asked, grabbing a cup of tea.

I could tell he felt the pull.

I wanted to reach out to him—hug him deeply and make him fulfill my darkest desires.

But he held back, like he didn’t feel the flame between us.

If he finds out my identity, he might use that to his advantage—and I couldn’t risk facing Lucious or his father again. So I had to lie.

“Never in my wolfish years have I seen a regular she-wolf regenerate that fast. So who are you?” he asked again, his patience breaking.

“My village was raided,” I lied again.

“The men from yesterday night—who were they?” he asked.

But I pretended not to understand anything.

I could feel his fury.

“They were the men at the bar,” I said, trying to lie again. But he scoffed.

“Those men at the bar are my men. I’m the Alpha of this pack. None of them would dare try me. And the scent of those wolves was different,” he said.

“Like I said, my village was raided. I ran when they were after me,” I lied again, hoping to hide my identity.

“Which pack did that?” he asked.

“Bloodfang Pack,” I responded.

The words triggered him.

His fangs came out. His claws appeared.

Lucious’s father was furious. But I had never felt an aura so dark—yet so safe—in my life.

“What do you owe them?” he asked, his wolf struggling to break free.

And there it was again—the pull.

The flame ignited.

It burned me, but didn’t seem to affect him.

“The Alpha was trying to mate with me,” I spoke. He was amused.

“So you’re a runaway bride?” he asked, shifting back into his human form.

I nodded, and he laughed out loud.

“I suggest you go back. I don’t want any trouble with the Bloodfang Pack,” he said.

My heart dropped.

How could he let his mate go back to the people trying to kill her?

If he knew my identity… would he spare me? Or hunt me down for revenge?

“I’ll make you a deal,” I said, and his eyebrows rose.

“You want revenge for the death of your parents—and so do I.

What if we join forces and take him down?” I asked.

But he laughed again.

“Join forces? What do I have to gain from joining forces with you?” he asked.

“You have no idea,” I responded with a hidden smirk.

He saw it.

Then he looked deeper into me.

I could feel his loneliness.

His wolf was struggling, and he was shutting it out.

“The only reason I’ll help you is because of my vendetta.

But if things get worse, I will personally hand you over to them,” he said.

“Don’t just stand there. Make yourself useful.

I need some payment for my services—don’t you think?” he added.

Payment?

Is it by my body?

I was willing to mate with him for free.

Then, before I could second-guess it, I stepped forward.

And to my surprise… he didn’t stop me.

I moved closer, slowly — half afraid he’d push me away, half hoping he wouldn’t. His breath hitched just slightly, his hands twitching at his sides like they didn’t know what to do.

Then he reached out.

His arms wrapped around my waist, steady and uncertain all at once, pulling me into his chest. I pressed into him, and for the first time, he didn’t feel like a stranger or a threat. He felt… safe. Like someone I didn’t have to fight. Like someone who could break me without even trying — and I’d let him.

That’s when I felt it.

The flame.

It started as a flicker at the base of my spine, then surged through me like a storm wrapped in warmth. My whole body went still. His breath faltered. For a heartbeat, we were both frozen — caught in something neither of us could control.

His chest was rising too fast now. He held me tighter. His hand slid up my back, fingers curling into my hair like he was afraid I’d disappear.

And for a second… just a second, I swore he’d kiss me.

So I tilted my head up, lips parting slightly, waiting.

He leaned in.

His eyes dropped to my mouth.

The space between us shrank.

My heart thudded against my ribs, the flame burning brighter, almost unbearable—

“I meant go and clear the bushes,” he whispered, his lips barely brushing mine.

I froze. Blinked.

Then slowly stepped back, clearing my throat.

“S…s-sorry,” I stammered, suddenly very aware of how my palms were sweating.

He smirked like he’d seen this happen before. “It’s okay. I get that a lot.”

He turned, heading back inside casually — like he hadn’t just lit me on fire.

“Oh,” he added over his shoulder, “I sent my men to bring back the bike.”

Right. The bike. War. Packs. Chaos.

My brain scrambled to catch up.

“Get ready,” he said. “We’re expecting war any time.”

And just like that, he was gone — leaving me standing there, heart racing, the flame still burning beneath my skin.

I didn’t understand why he kept fighting this. I was beautiful, desirable — and the flame was undeniable.

So why was he rejecting it?

Rejecting me?

Rejecting us?