ZAIN
She slled like the wind before a storm. Sharp, electric. A scent I’d known long before she ever stepped into my domain.
Violet Hawthorne.
She stood before , her chin lifted in defiance, her silver eyes brimming with a fire that made my wolf lurch forward—snarling, restless. Mine.
The word burned through like a curse.
It had always been a curse.
I had watched her for years, lurking in the shadows like so wretched ghost. Not because I wanted to, but because I ha* to. Because the bond—this damn, twisted thing—wouldn’t let forget her. Wouldn’t let rest.
A human.
A weak, fragile, breakable human.
A descendant of killers.
Her family had slaughtered my kind for centuries, wearing our deaths like a badge of honor. And yet, the fates, in all their cruelty, had bound to her.
I should have torn her apart the second she entered my land.
I still might.
Yet standing this close, with her scent threading through my lungs, with the warmth of her skin seeping into the inches of space between us—I felt the pull, the ache, the need that made my blood boil.
I hated it.
Hated her.
My wolf, the traitorous bastard, wanted to close the gap. Wanted to drag her to , bare his throat, show her what she was—who she belonged to.
No.
I tightened my jaw, forcing steel into my spine. I would not bend to instinct.
She was nothing.
Just a prisoner in silk. A blade waiting to be sharpened against my throat.
And if she thought she could stand here, eting my gaze like she wasn’t already drowning—then I would enjoy watching her break.
Because she would break.
And when she did, I’d make damn sure she rembered exactly who she belonged to.
A Hawthorne.
Her family had slaughtered wolves for centuries. Her ancestors had led the charge against us, painting the snow red with our blood. They were hunters, killers. And yet, when I looked at her, I saw none of that savagery.
I saw defiance. Fire.
But not the kind that would make her a worthy Alpha’s mate.
Not the kind that could ever stand beside .
And yet...
A growl rumbled in my chest, low and threatening, but there was no one here to hear it. No one to bear witness to the war raging inside .
Damn her.
Damn the pull.
Damn the way her scent was still in my lungs, making my wolf restless, making my control slip just by the mory of her standing before .
She had looked at like she knew.
Like she felt it too.
That thought made my jaw tighten.
No.
I wouldn’t allow this.
Violet Hawthorne would break before I ever let fate claim her as mine.
And if she tried to fight it?
Then I would make her regret stepping into my world.
The walls were closing in.
The room, though vast and lined with centuries of history, felt too small. The scent of her clung to the air, burning through my lungs, making my wolf restless. The beast paced inside , snarling, growling, demanding release.
I needed to get out.
Without another thought, I strode toward the balcony doors, pushing them open. The night greeted with crisp, biting air, but even the cold did little to silence the fire crawling under my skin. The moon hung high, watching, judging.
Shifting had always been effortless—natural. It was instinct. The mont my boots hit the damp earth outside, I let go, bones snapping, muscles tearing, the shift taking over in one smooth, violent motion.
Then I ran.
The night blurred around as my paws struck the ground, fast and unforgiving. Trees bowed under the force of the wind I cut through, the stars above nothing but silver sars in the darkness. The scents of the land, of my territory, wrapped around .
This was ho.
This was control.
I ran until the frustration turned into sothing bearable. Until the aching in my chest dulled to sothing manageable. Until the mory of her silver-gray eyes wasn’t the only thing pounding inside my skull.
But even then, it wasn’t enough.
The beast inside still craved sothing else. Sothing I refused to acknowledge.
And that’s when I saw her.
I slowed, my paws digging into the earth as I approached the clearing near the courtyard. She was there—sitting near the fountain, her knees pulled to her chest, lost in thought.
Violet.
The moon bathed her in pale light, turning her white hair to liquid silver. She wasn’t looking at . Didn’t even sense . A human in the middle of a den of wolves—completely unaware of the danger lurking in the shadows.
My wolf bristled, but not in warning.
Sothing about the sight of her, so small against the night, made my chest tighten in a way I despised.
She shouldn’t be here.
She should have been locked away in her room, kept out of sight. Away from .
But instead, she was here, and my body had led straight to her.
I should have left.
I should have turned around and vanished into the night before she could notice .
But I didn’t.
I took a step forward, the soft crunch of earth beneath my paw breaking the silence.
And that was when she finally looked up.
My wolf form was massive, a towering beast of muscle and shadows, and I expected her to cower. Most did. But Violet stood her ground, her silver-gray eyes locked onto mine.
For a fleeting second, I caught it—fear. It flashed across her face, quick as a breath, before vanishing just as swiftly, buried beneath sothing else. Defiance. Stubbornness. That sa reckless courage that had drawn to her in the first place.
Foolish little human.
Did she not understand what stood before her?
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