chapter 4

Eleanor… Eleanor…

A soft voice kept calling my name as I found myself running through a dense forest. Branches whipped past my face. The ground was uneven beneath my bare feet. I didn’t know what I was running from—only that something deep inside me urged me to keep moving.

“Stop running from yourself, Eleanor.”

I spun in a circle, heart slamming against my ribs. “Who’s there? Who are you?” My voice came out raw and broken. I turned again, searching the darkness between the trees, but nothing moved. Only the wind answered, carrying the distant howl of something I couldn’t name.

“It’s me. Miya. Your wolf.”

I froze. “What? What do you mean, my wolf? I don’t understand.”

“You know deep inside that we are bound together as one.”

The words settled deep into my bones, as though they had been waiting there all along.

I shook my head, trying to make sense of what I was hearing. “What… bound together? Then how is this the first time you’ve ever spoken to me? Why now?”

“Because I have been hidden deep within you,” Miya replied. “I could only reach you now because you are unconscious. I tried to speak to you so many times before, but the walls around your heart were too strong. I couldn’t break through them.”

Her voice softened.

“You need to awaken me, Eleanor. Only then will you unlock your full strength… and experience the true power of being a werewolf.”

My stomach twisted. “But… what if I don’t want to be a werewolf?”

Silence stretched for a moment. Then the voice came softer, almost sad.

“You have no choice. You will understand when your enemy arrives.”

The words began to fade, dissolving into the trees like mist.

“No—come back! I need answers!” I stumbled forward, reaching for something that wasn’t there. “Please don’t go. Wait—how am I supposed to awaken something I know nothing about? Please, come back!”

The forest swallowed the last echo of her voice.

And then I woke up.

I gasped, chest heaving, the dream still clinging to my skin like cold sweat. “Oh my God,” I whispered into the dark. “What was that all about?”

I am actually a werewolf… like Lucian.

“No. It can’t be.”

I quickly looked around and realized I was in a strange room. The space was dim, lit only by the faint golden glow of a lamp on the bedside table. A cool breeze rushed through the open windows, making the curtains sway gently. The French doors stood wide, revealing part of a balcony bathed in pale moonlight.

I tried to sit up—then felt the sharp pull against my wrists.

My eyes widened.

My hands were tied to opposite sides of the bed.

“This is insane,” I thought, my heart pounding so hard it hurt.

Then the realization hit me like a blow.

Lucian had actually kidnapped me.

But why?

What could he possibly gain by forcing me to become his wife? I had nothing special to offer him. So why would a powerful man like Lucian go this far just to make me his?

Did he want to make my life even worse than it already was? Did he want to turn whatever was left of it into a living hell?

Tears burned in my eyes. After everything he had already taken from me, he still wanted to take my freedom too.

I started crying. Soft, broken sobs that I couldn’t stop.

And then I saw a shadow move on the balcony.

For a split second I wondered who was there—then I saw him.

Lucian stood in the open French doors, shirtless, the waistband of his shorts hanging low on his hips. Even in the dim light I could see him clearly. His body was all hard muscle and lethal lines—broad shoulders, a sculpted chest that tapered into a narrow waist, every ridge and plane of him looking like it had been carved for power and danger. Moonlight traced the sharp edges of his jaw and the dark intensity in his eyes, making him look both devastatingly handsome and something far more terrifying.

The way he looked at me like he was telling me he was the kind of man who didn’t just take what he wanted.

He claimed it.

He began walking closer to the bed, that same wicked smile curving his lips.

“What’s the matter?” he asked softly, almost gently. “Crying again?”

“What do you want from me?” I managed between broken sobs.

“Easy there.” His voice dropped lower. “I don’t bite.”

The lie hung in the air between us as he climbed onto the mattress. The bed dipped under his weight. I couldn’t move—my wrists still bound tightly to the posts—so all I could do was stare up at him as he knelt between my legs. Even through the fear and terror clawing at my chest, he looked devastatingly sexy.

Sharp jaw, shadowed with stubble, his blue eyes locked on mine with predatory focus, the faint scent of his skin—warm, clean, and something wilder—filling the space between us.

“You don’t know how long I’ve waited for this day,” he murmured.

He lowered his head and pressed a slow, deliberate kiss to the soft skin of my exposed thigh. Then another. And another, each one higher than the last, lips lingering just long enough to leave heat behind.

“What are you doing?” I whispered. My voice trembled. “Please… stop.”

“You want me just as much as I want you.” His breath ghosted over my skin. “Don’t you?”

His tongue slid upward along the curve of my thick thigh, warm and deliberate. A shameful shiver raced through me before I could stop it.

Eleanor, what’s wrong with you?

What’s happening right now?

Push him away. Scream.

But my body betrayed me. Heat bloomed low in my stomach, spreading outward like liquid fire. When his hands slid beneath my thighs and gently spread my legs wider, I melted instead of fighting. In the next breath he was over me, the solid, heavy weight of him pressing me into the mattress. Every hard line of his bare chest met my body, trapping me completely.

I swallowed hard. The heat radiating from my own skin felt almost unbearable. I couldn’t believe it—Lucian, of all people. The man I hated with every part of my soul had his hands on me… and I was melting under them.

His palms found my breasts, cupping them through the thin fabric of my nightgown. His thumbs brushed slowly, deliberately, over the sensitive peaks until they hardened beneath his touch. He bit his lower lip as a low, rough moan slipped from his throat. A matching sound escaped me before I could stop it—soft, helpless, humiliating.

“No… this isn’t right,” I breathed, turning my face away toward the pillow. “Why can’t I push you away? Why can’t I scream for you to let go of me? Why do I feel like I’m enjoying this?” I whispered.

He leaned down until his mouth brushed the shell of my ear, his voice rough with dark satisfaction.

“Because I’m your mate,” he said. “And you can’t resist me.”

Then his teeth sank into the soft skin of my neck.