Chapter 6 Scent of Mate

The pale, silver radiance of the full moon poured through the arched glass windows of the west wing, cutting across the dark marble corridors like a blade.

Inside the private study, Zayden poured three fingers of bourbon into a heavy crystal tumbler, his knuckles turning white against the glass. The air in the room was suffocating. Every breath carried the sharp, electric hum of the lunar cycle—the night when an Alpha King’s primal instincts raged at their peak.

Yet it was not the moon that made his blood boil like liquid fire.

It was the scent drifting down the hallway from the master suite. Wild vanilla, damp moss, and the delicate, intoxicating warmth of living human skin.

Three days had passed since he bought her from that auction stage, yet the craving had only grown more violent, unyielding, and raw. Zayden downed the liquor in a single swallow, the burn doing nothing to quell the dark, heavy ache settling in his groin. He wanted her. He wanted to push past the locked doors, drag her out from under the covers, strip whatever she was wearing, and take her until the furious restlessness inside him went silent.

His jaw clenched until the bone ached.

No.

He closed his eyes, fighting against the brutal rush of lust, the cold realities of his past rising unbidden behind his eyelids.

Love was a myth for weak fools, a pathetic delusion he had never believed in. Over the years, he had used women solely for physical release, treating them as nothing more than disposable bodies to extinguish his burning drive. But mortal flesh was never built to endure the lethal, unrestrained dominance of an Alpha King. The memory of human playthings breaking beneath his brutal weight—fractured bones, torn skin, and frantic medical teams trying to revive fragile mortal women who could not physically survive his carnal, feral intensity—reminded him why he had abandoned them entirely.

To take an ordinary human with the full weight of his desire was a death sentence.

She is too small, Zayden told himself, his fists trembling against the edge of the desk. She is too fragile. If you take her the way you want to, you will break her to pieces.

Inside his chest, Night let out a low, venomous snarl that shook his very bones.

“She will not break for us,” the beast roared, violently pounding against his ribcage. “Let me out. Let me go to her.”

The pull was overwhelming, an ancient gravity dragging him out of the study and down the quiet corridor toward the master bedroom. Zayden moved like a shadow, his dress shoes making no sound against the thick rugs.

He pushed the heavy door open.

The room was bathed in cool, blue moonlight. Serena lay asleep on the massive mattress, curled on her side. The servants had provided her with fresh clothes each day, and tonight she wore a delicate, charcoal-black satin slip. The thin fabric had shifted during her sleep, riding high up her smooth, pale thighs, exposing the soft curve of her hip, the dip of her waist, and the delicate arch of her back. Her breathing was steady, her dark eyelashes resting softly against her porcelain cheeks.

Zayden stood at the edge of the bed, frozen, staring at the sheer perfection of her vulnerable form.

The heat in his veins surged with dark, overwhelming intensity. Moving with quiet, deliberate steps, he closed the distance until he was sitting on the edge of the mattress beside her. The bed dipped slightly under his weight, but she remained asleep, exhausted from the days of terror and confinement.

He reached out, his large, calloused hand hovering over her skin for a single, hesitant second before his fingers made contact with the bare slope of her shoulder.

A sharp, electric jolt shot straight through his palm and raced down his spine.

Her skin was unnervingly soft, warm, and scented with wild vanilla. Zayden let his touch wander, tracing the line of her collarbone down to the swell of her breast beneath the sheer satin. His knuckles brushed against her ribs, feeling the rapid, fragile flutter of her pulse beneath the surface. His thumb traced down the curve of her waist, grazing the bare expanse of her thigh where the slip had bunched up.

The sensation made his breath turn ragged. The heavy, carnal ache between his legs intensified until it was almost agonizing. He wanted to pin her wrists above her head, press his full weight down against her, part her thighs, and lose himself entirely inside her heat. He leaned down, his face hovering bare inches from the hollow of her throat, inhaling the intoxicating, sweet aroma of her skin until his senses spun out of control.

Every rational thought burned away under the sheer force of his lust.

His control shattered completely.

The primal urge to claim her became too vast for a human frame to contain. The heat under his skin flared into a blinding, agonizing blaze. Bones cracked and extended with terrifying speed, muscles tore and rewove, and within seconds, his human silhouette dissolved into the towering, terrifying form of the beast.

Night stood in the center of the room—a massive, pitch-black shadow with shoulders reaching high above the furniture and fur like midnight storm clouds.

The legendary predator of the century, feared across two worlds, lowered his massive head.

With slow, silent steps, huge paws padded across the carpet toward the bed. Night circled the mattress like an ancient phantom, his golden, luminous eyes fixed entirely on the sleeping woman. He inhaled deeply, drawing in the sweet essence of her warmth, his hot breath brushing over the bare curve of her shoulder.

Serena shifted in her sleep, letting out a soft, unconscious sigh, tilting her neck slightly into the cool air—completely unaware that the most dangerous beast alive was hovering inches from her throat.

Night leaned closer, his dark snout resting gently against the delicate crook of her neck, inhaling her pulse, feeling the steady thrum of her fragile mortal heart.

The lunar light struck the center of his chest, and in that single, breathless moment, an ancient, electric shock tore through the beast’s soul. The spiritual bond clicked into place like iron jaws snapping shut.

Night’s golden eyes flared with incandescent, absolute certainty.

Serena Morgan was not just a human captive.

She was his fated mate.