Hana

Hana’s POV

The vision of him stirs in my mind, louder than the warning bells clanging in my head. Every instinct screams move, but my body refuses.

Instead, I sip my coffee, acting as if I'm unbothered. Not distracted by his godlike face or the faint glow of his eyes in the café light. His white, moonlit hair makes his tan skin look even sharper.

My gaze slips lower. Leather jacket, black shirt stretched tight across his chest. I really should stop looking.

When I drag my eyes back up, he’s already watching me. Mischief in his gaze.

“Like what you see, little witch?” His voice drops, smooth and low.

Damn it. Time to move.

“Stop calling me witch. It’s Hana.” My voice is sharper than intended. “I need to go.”

I stand, but before I can take a step, his hand catches my wrist. That grin was still painted on his lips.

“Hana.” My name rolls off his tongue like a secret, and something clenches low in my belly. My breath betrays me, hitching.

How can I be so careless, letting him touch me and know my name?

I try to pull away, but he moves faster, standing and tugging me closer. Heat radiates off him, surrounding me.

“Hana,” he murmurs, his mouth grazing the shell of my ear. “You’ve been on my mind. More than once. I can’t stop wondering what was in that bag of yours. I felt the magic. And now, finding you here, of all places?” His lips brush lightly against my ear. “That doesn’t feel like a coincidence.”

My pulse betrays me.

I’m screwed.

Twice now, I’ve run into this man, too close, both times.

Sure, he smells incredible and looks like sin draped in leather.

But he’s an alpha. A wolf. Trouble with a capital T. And the same wolf I saw in my vision, standing in fire and ruin.

“Want to know what was in the bag? Follow me.” My voice is pure steel.

I yank my hand free, satisfaction sparking when surprise flickers across his face. Tossing my coffee, I stride into the alley beside the café. The air is cooler here, shadows pressing close. I lean against the brick wall, arms crossed, daring him to follow.

He does. Of course he does. His expression was darker now, eyes glowing faintly, like stars in the night.

“Listen.” I keep my tone casual, almost bored. “I went to Duskreach because of my grandma. She’s training me, sending me out for experience. That’s it.” Not heir or future ruler.

He studies me, too quiet.

I sigh, digging into my purse. From a pouch, I pour a few small beans into my hand, holding them out.

He stares. “What the fuck are those?”

“Beans,” I say, deadpan. “Magical beans. Stupid magical beans.”

His brows knit, and I push on.

“They soaked up too many potions, so they reek of power. My grandma thought it’d be funny to send me out with them. So there, mystery solved. Happy?”

For a heartbeat, silence stretches. Then, slowly, that infuriating grin returns.

“Beans,” he echoes, voice rich with doubt. “That’s your story?”

I glare. “It’s the truth.”

His head tilts, studying me like he’s peeling back my skin, searching for what I’m hiding. The amusement never leaves his eyes, but underneath, something sharper glints.

“Maybe it is.” He steps closer, close enough that my breath tangles with his. “But I think you’re lying. And I think I’m going to enjoy finding out why.”

Heat flushes up my neck. Anger mixed with fear. Something else I refuse to name.

“Why do you care?” I snap, stepping in. “You don’t know me. My business isn’t yours. You shouldn’t have been in Duskreach. I can go wherever I want.”

Annoyance crawls up my spine. Who is this stalking weirdo with the audacity to interrogate me?

He lets out a low, amused chuckle. “Listen, Hana. Name’s Cael. So now we aren’t strangers.” He leans in, and danger lingers in the air. “Thing is, little witch, I’m an alpha. A rogue. I don’t trust witches. To be frank, I hate them. I have my reasons.” He moves in until the brick digs into my back and panic flares.

“If you interfere with my plans or stand in my way, I’ll find out why.” His eyes flicker between icy blue and dark ocean blue, shifting too quickly to be a trick of the light.

I should be terrified. He could rip my throat out, and no one would blink.

Why is my body responding like this? Why does my mouth go dry?

Gods, Bella was right. I probably do need to get laid. I mutter it under my breath.

“I heard that, Hana.” His grin sharpens into something predatory, voice dropping low. “What, haven’t had a good time in a while? Or don’t tell me, you’re a virgin?”

“So what? Maybe I am meeting a Fae lord tonight. Maybe I will get laid. Maybe that's why I'm in DesWillow. It's none of your damn business.”

The sound he makes isn’t laughter. It’s a low, guttural growl that vibrates through the air and raises the fine hairs at the back of my neck. For one terrifying second, it doesn’t feel like a man standing in front of me, but something bigger. His pupils blow wide, his chest rising and falling like he’s holding himself back from lunging.

He steps in, close enough that the wall at my back suddenly feels like a trap. His gaze rakes over me, sharp and unyielding, as if daring me to repeat the words. “Say that again,” he mutters, voice rough, threaded with something feral.

I swallow, glare steadily. “It’s none of your concern.”

His jaw flexes, his teeth bared, not in a smile, but in something dangerously close to a snarl. “You think it doesn’t matter?” His voice is low, but it rumbles, his control slipping at the edges. “You throw yourself to some Fae lord, and you’ll find out just how fast the wrong male will break you.”

I blink, shock cutting through my body He doesn’t know me. He doesn’t even like me. Why the hell does he care?

“Last I checked,” I bite out, “my choices are mine. Not yours.”

His hand shoots out, not touching me, but braced against the wall beside my head, his body caging me in. The move is sudden and aggressive. His shadow falls over me, and his scent, wraps around me. His chest vibrates with the growl he’s holding back.

“You don’t get it, Hana.” His voice is low and ragged, his control barely holding on. “I don’t care if you think I’m a stranger. What you do is my business.”

My pulse races. He’s too close, too intense. Part of me wonders what it would feel like to let him.

I shove at his chest, desperate to break the spell. “You’re insane.”

For a second, I think he’ll snap, his eyes blaze, nostrils flaring, his jaw straining like he’s holding back a beast. Then he rips himself away, putting distance between us with a sound that’s half growl, half frustrated snarl.

“You don’t have a damn clue what you’re playing with,” he mutters, voice thick, dangerous, before he turns his back on me.