Davian.
The mont she stepped into my room behind , I knew control would be an issue.
Not because she spoke, not because she moved, but because the air shifted, because her scent followed her in, soft at first, then fuller, warr, settling into the space like sothing alive. It slid beneath my skin before I could brace myself. It wasn’t overpowering. It wasn’t deliberate.
It was simply her.
And that was the problem.
It wrapped around my senses, familiar and dangerous, stirring instincts I had spent years mastering. My wolf shifted restlessly beneath my skin, brushing against my restraint, testing it.
"Oh, Moon Goddess," I muttered under my breath, barely above a whisper, my jaw tightening as I stared down at the desk instead of at her. "Why put my brothers and I in this type of torture?"
It was absurd. I was an Alpha. I had stood in the middle of battlefields without flinching. I had negotiated treaties with n who would slit my throat if I blinked at the wrong ti.
And yet, one woman standing quietly behind could unravel the discipline I prided myself on.
The way Maria carried herself recently only made it worse.
There had been a shift in her, subtle. She moved with a composure that bordered on unsettling. Her shoulders were no longer hunched in defense. Her chin no longer tilted in challenge. Instead, she stood straight—too straight—like soone who had learned the art of stillness and decided to weaponize it.
I wondered who she thought she was fooling.
Who she was putting up this act for.
It certainly wasn’t .
If she imagined this new obedience would soften , she was mistaken. If she thought lowering her voice and stilling her temper would make forget everything that had happened, she underestimated .
It wouldn’t work.
It would never work.
And yet... it got under my skin.
She had stopped defending herself, to top it all, she stopped explaining, she stopped arguing.
Now she simply stood there, silent, composed and unmoving.
Defiant in the quietest way possible.
And that irritated more than open rebellion ever could.
At least when she fought back, I knew where we stood. At least when she glared, when she snapped, when she dared to raise her voice, there was honesty in it.
This silence?
This restraint?
It felt like distance.
I walked straight to my desk, needing the physical space between us before my wolf betrayed with another surge of awareness. I pulled out the authorization file, the parchnt smooth beneath my fingers, and focused on sothing tangible. Sothing controllable.
Ink. Paper. Signatures.
Not scent. Not tension. Not the way the air seed too thick to breathe properly.
I signed the docunt without hesitation.
The silver-thread ceremonial shawl wasn’t impossible to retrieve, but it was difficult enough to test her limits. Access to the eastern trade vault required clearance and approval. Layers of security. Guard rotations. Formal docuntation.
Most rogues wouldn’t even dare approach it. They would calculate the risk and step back.
They would know when sothing was beyond their reach.
She would not.
Because she had to.
Because if she failed, it would confirm everything the pack whispered about her.
Because if she succeeded... it would prove sothing else entirely.
I placed my signature carefully at the bottom of the parchnt, pressing just enough to leave an unmistakable mark. My na. My authority. My decision.
I let the ink dry slowly, deliberately.
All the while, I felt her presence behind .
Calm.
Too calm.
No shuffling of feet. No uneven breathing. No sign that she was affected by being alone in my chambers.
I could hear my own pulse more clearly than hers.
That annoyed .
I turned at last, holding the docunt between my fingers.
For a second, I ant to simply hand it to her and dismiss her. End it. Remove her from my space before the scent, the tension, the awareness beca sothing harder to contain.
But then I rembered Damien’s lip.
The faint swelling.
The slight discoloration he had tried to hide.
The unmistakable sign that sothing had happened, the thought hardened sothing inside .
So instead of handing the parchnt over, I held it back slightly, just out of reach.
"Tell , Maria," I said evenly, keeping my tone asured, controlled, even as my eyes searched her face. "Who are you working for? Darren or Daniel?"
Her eyes flickered.
It was brief. Barely noticeable.
But I saw it.
There it was.
Reaction.
The nas were not chosen carelessly. Darren and Daniel had both been circling lately, their ambitions stretching beyond their assigned roles. Their smiles had grown sharper. Their loyalty, thinner.
If there was a leak in this pack, if information was slipping past our walls, it would not co from soone obvious. It would co through soone underestimated.
Soone dismissed, soone people assud too insignificant to matter, soone like her.
I was giving her a chance.
The last one.
A single opportunity to deny it. To explain. To argue. To show anger at the accusation.
Anything.
But she didn’t answer.
She didn’t flinch.
She didn’t defend herself.
Instead, she stood there, spine straight, hands clasped neatly in front of her, her expression composed as though I had asked her about the weather.
Not about betrayal, not about treachery, not about choosing sides in a ga that could cost lives.
Her silence stretched between us, steady and unbroken.
It wasn’t the fragile kind of silence that trembled under pressure. It didn’t crack. It didn’t waver. It settled between us like a deliberate wall, firm, asured, intentional.
She was testing now.
I could see it.
Not in anything obvious. Not in so reckless display of temper. Maria was smarter than that. But her jaw tightened, just slightly, enough for soone watching closely to notice. Enough for to notice. The subtle flex of muscle beneath smooth skin. The quiet grind of restraint.
"I need to leave," she said calmly. Her voice was even, smooth, almost polite. "I’m going to retrieve the shawl for Luna Vanessa."
She didn’t answer my question.
She didn’t acknowledge it.
She stepped around it as though it had never been asked.
Luna Vanessa.
She chose her words carefully.
Not "the Luna."
Not "her."
But Luna Vanessa.
A deliberate reminder.
And in doing so, she chose to ignore my authority at that mont.
The realization hit not like an explosion, but like a snap, clean.
Sothing inside tightened.
Her stubbornness shouldn’t have mattered.
She was a rogue.
An outsider.
Soone whose place in this pack existed only because I allowed it.
And yet, the way she stood there, unyielding, composed, eyes steady on mine, made it feel like she was the one dictating the pace of this exchange.
Like she was the one choosing what to answer and what to withhold.
Like she held power.
I didn’t like that.
I didn’t like the way my wolf stirred in response to her defiance.
I didn’t like the way the air seed to shift around her stillness.
Before I could overthink it, before logic could intervene, I stepped forward.
Closing the distance.
She didn’t move.
That irritated even more.
My hand caught her wrist, not harshly, but firmly enough to stop her from turning away. I pulled her closer, closing the distance she pretended didn’t affect her.
Her breathing shifted slightly.
If she wouldn’t respond to authority, I would remind her who held it. My other hand slid to her waist, steadying her as I leaned down and captured her lips.
The kiss wasn’t hesitant, It wasn’t gentle, It was controlled dominance.
A statent.
A reminder.
She stiffened at first, shock flashing through her body.
"You..." She tried to say.
But I held her there, firm and unyielding, not cruel, not reckless... just enough to assert control.
You don’t ignore .
You don’t dismiss my question.
Her hands pressed lightly against my chest, not pushing fully, not surrendering either.
And that tension...that thin line between resistance and reaction...It fueled the kiss further.
I deepened it slightly, angling my head, claiming the silence she had used against .
She had failed the test.
Not because she was guilty.
But because she refused to defend herself.
After a mont, I pulled back just enough to look at her.
Her lips were flushed, her breathing uneven, but her eyes...Still defiant.
I released her slowly, though my fingers lingered at her waist for half a second longer than necessary.
"Go," I said finally, my voice calm again. Controlled. "Retrieve it."
She didn’t say anything, she simply adjusted the docunt in her hand and walked toward the door.
And I watched her leave, my jaw tight.
I had kissed her to show who was in charge, to remind her, to remind myself.
But as the door closed behind her, one thought lingered...If she was truly just a rogue,
Why did controlling her feel nothing like controlling anyone else?
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