Chapter 2

(Samara Pov)

The house was quiet, oppressively so. I had returned only a few minutes ago, yet the quiet felt choking, wrapping itself around me like an unsolicited embrace. Having taken a quick bath, I stood before the mirror, my hair damp and clinging to my shoulders. The reflection staring back at me seemed foreign, a stranger inhabiting my skin.

My gaze fell to my neck. The scars had long since faded, but my skin there was smooth and unblemished now. Still, I could feel the ghost of his bite, the burning pain that had sent me screaming, the savage sink of his teeth with feral hunger.

My fingers stroked the skin there, and a shiver danced down my spine. My eyes closed as memory came with an immediacy that belied months.

His lips.

Almost unconsciously, my fingers worked their way to my mouth to trace the seam of my bottom lip. His kiss had come out of nowhere, scorching, and yet on my soul it left a stain. In my chest, at the memory of it, heat flowered, and I knew my cheeks colored. What kind of woman was I, to recall with relish a kiss from the man—no, the beast—who had attacked her?

But it hadn't been just a kiss. It had been more.

After the attack, When I opened my eyes that day, the room was dim, the scent of antiseptic thick in the air. My body felt heavy, my limbs weak. I blinked, trying to make sense of my surroundings, when I saw him.

Alpha Michael.

Panic swirled in my veins. His silver eyes pierced into mine, unblinking and intense. The memory of his attack was fresh, the pain still vivid in my mind. I opened my mouth to scream, but before a sound could escape, he moved.

His lips crashed against mine.

Time seemed to stop. His hands cupped my face firmly and at the same time soft, as if he was afraid I would break. Fire erupted between us, racing in my veins with a ferocity I could not understand. My initial urge to push him away melted at the birth of this all-consuming need, one which I couldn't explain and one I couldn't fight.

Passion and need churned, and filled the air between us, and I leaned into him. His mouth was hot, kissing desperately but tenderly in some mute whatever the message, neither of us understood it. My heart raced, and my body stirred in his direction in ways it never had.

And then, a soft sound dissolved the spell.

We broke apart, panting and staring into each other. My gaze dropped to the floor, where a little puppy had wandered in, innocently wagging his tail. The absurdity of it all slapped me across the face, and I jerked my face away, my cheeks on fire.

Michael didn't move. His hands still framed my face, his thumbs stroking my skin with soft light strokes. His eyes probed mine, heavy, with something that made my heart stutter.

“Who am you?" he growled low and gravelly. "Why do I feel this way?"

His words mirrored my confusion. I shook my head, finding my voice. "I. I don't know."

His gaze darkened, frustration and something else flickering in his eyes. "What's your name?" he asked again, softer now.

"Samara," I whispered.

"Samara," he repeated, and the way he said it sent a shiver through me. His voice wrapped around my name like a caress, deep and rich, leaving me breathless. For one wild moment, I considered asking him to say it again and kept saying it until the sound got etched into my very being.

He ran his finger down the curve of my jaw, to my neck. Right to that place he'd bit me. My breath hung in my throat as his finger only grazed hypersensitive flesh and an unintentional moan leaked out from between my lips.

We went statue still.

I was sure my face burned a brilliant shade of scarlet, which only fueled my humiliation and had me staring anywhere other than at him. "Sorry," I stammered.

Michael's eyes flickered with something that looked suspiciously like amusement. He chuckled softly, the sound low and warm. "You're. Unusual," he said, his lips twitching in what might have been a smile.

Before I could reply, he straightened, his face sobering. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice tight. "For everything."

And then he vanished, leaving me to my own devices in the infirmary, my heart thumping against my ribcage.

Then I stood up and got dressed in a daze, my head racing. It all felt surreal, like some kind of dream related to a fever from which one couldn't wake up. When I finally got home to my flower shop, it was late, but I was wide awake.

Michael.

I had tried, and tried hard, to keep away from him, but I couldn't. It was his voice, his touch, the mere fact that he had spoken my name; it consumed me, and that wasn't right. He was the Supreme Alpha, such a powerful, dangerous creature. Yet—

A soft knock on the door pulled me from my reverie, and I turned to find Lucian standing in the frame, his familiar, kind face a reassuring presence.

"Hey," he said, coming inside. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

I managed a weak smile. "Something like that."

He was an old friend, one of the few constants in my life. I implicitly trusted him, and I found myself telling him everything: about the attack, the kiss, the strange pull that drew me toward Michael.

His face had darkened with each word. "Samara, this is dangerous," he said. "You shouldn't be anywhere near him."

"I know," I whispered. "But it's just not that simple."

Lucian exhaled, running his hand through his hair. "Just promise me you'll be careful."

"I promise," I said, though we both knew well enough it wasn't a promise I could necessarily keep.

The days went in front of my eyes. Constantly, Michael was right in my head, and everything flowers and petals reminded me of him. My shop used to be my retreat, but now it become a cell transporting haunting memories everywhere inside it, and couldn't take my eyes or heart away from it. A day in that situation marked it.

I didn't hear them coming. One minute I was arranging a bouquet, the next a rough hand clamped over my mouth, a bag pulled over my head.

Panic surged through me, struggling against my captor while my muffled screams filled the small space. "What the hell?" I managed to shout, voice shaking with fear and anger.

I strove and struggled, my every instinct screaming at me to get out of there, yet it was a hold that was hard as steel, and, in those innermost recesses of my brain, knew this was serious trouble.

And in the very next instant, just like it had started, everything went black.