Falling For The Demon Wolf Chapter 46: Brewing Frustration

VIOLET

"I didn’t love him. Roman... hell, I didn’t even fucking like him."

The words echoed off the stone walls of my room, sharp and breathless, a confession I didn’t even an to say out loud. But they were true. Every damn syllable.

I just tolerated him. That’s all it ever was.

Tolerated him because he is Roman, son of my fathers best friend also second best hunters that we have, and is my father’s choice. We’ve been friends since we were kids.

Roman was safe. Predictable. Human.

But Zain...

Zain was a fucking storm.

And I burned for him.

Every ti he touched , looked at , even breathed near —I unraveled. My body ca alive in ways I’d never known were possible. That kiss in the dungeon hadn’t been about Roman. It wasn’t even about proving a point.

It was about us. About the fire that refused to die, no matter how hard I tried to suffocate it.

And Zain—he was too damn blind to see it. Too trapped in whatever war he was fighting in his own head to realize that I chose him.

I didn’t want Roman. I never did.

My body knew who it belonged to.

And my soul...

God, it scread for Zain.

I sat on the edge of the bed, gripping the sheets so tight my knuckles turned white, teeth clenched against the tremble threatening to take over. My heart was still racing from the way he touched . From the way he looked at like I was his entire world and he was seconds from destroying it just to claim .

His lips still lingered on mine. The taste of him. The need in him.

And the pain when he walked away.

I hated how much I wanted him to stay. How much it broke sothing in every ti he shut the door behind him like he didn’t care.

But he did.

I saw it.

Felt it.

That kiss wasn’t just possessive—it was desperate. Hungry. A silent plea I didn’t fully understand.

I exhaled shakily, my hands still trembling. "You think I want him?" I whispered to the empty room. "I fucking want you, Zain. You idiot."

I stood and paced, trying to work off the tension. But it clung to , a second skin. I could still feel his breath on my neck, his growl in my ears, the way my body had responded to every rough, hungry touch like it was ant to be his.

And maybe it was.

Because this thing between us—it wasn’t normal. It was magnetic. Irresistible.

And terrifying.

I stopped in front of the mirror, staring at my reflection. My lips were still a little swollen, my eyes darker than usual, shadowed by want and sothing deeper.

I looked like soone who was falling.

No.

I looked like soone who had already fallen.

And maybe that was the scariest part.

Because if he broke , there’d be nothing left.

Not even ashes.

Just the ghost of the girl who once believed she could survive a man like Zain.

And maybe I couldn’t.

But dammit, I wanted to try.

I didn’t move for a long ti. The sun was beginning to set over the hills, casting a golden light into my room.

I Just stood there, hands braced on the edge of the vanity, my hair pinned to the top of my head with small tendrils dancing over my face, watching my reflection like maybe—just maybe—it would show sothing I hadn’t seen before. Sothing that explained why I couldn’t breathe without thinking about him. Why I still felt his hands on my skin, like a brand. Why his voice lived in the space between my ribs.

I didn’t love Roman. Never did, never will. Even if the heavens fell today.

That was the truth.

But Zain...?

I didn’t know if it was love.

Maybe it was sothing worse. Sothing deeper. Sothing that crawled under my skin and dug its claws in and refused to let go. Sothing that made ache.

I turned from the mirror, swallowing hard, and crossed the room to the window. The air outside was cold, but I shoved the window open anyway and leaned into it, hoping the bite of wind would clear my head.

It didn’t.

Not when the scent of the woods below still carried him in it.

The scent of rain and forest and wild things that had no business feeling like ho.

God.

What the hell was happening to ?

I curled my fingers into the windowsill, heart thudding. I hated the silence. Hated the way the walls seed to hum with the mory of his voice.

I should hate him.

But I didn’t.

Even when he was being an arrogant, possessive, infuriating bastard—I felt him. Felt sothing in reach out every ti he was near. It didn’t make sense. It didn’t need to make sense.

It just was.

And the worst part?

I knew he felt it too.

That kiss wasn’t a slip. It wasn’t an accident. It was a claim. A raw, unfiltered need that tangled with my own and exploded between us.

And then he walked away.

Like he hadn’t just lit my entire world on fire.

My fingers itched to throw sothing. To scream. To demand that he stop playing these gas and just admit it—whatever this thing was between us, it was real.

But instead, I sank to the floor, my back against the cold stone wall beneath the window, and pulled my knees to my chest.

I was exhausted.

Confused.

Angry.

And still... the place between my thighs throbbed with need, my body rembering the way his hips pressed into mine, the way his mouth devoured every sound I made.

He had no right to touch like that and then leave burning.

That should be illegal.

No right to make crave him, then act like I was the one who didn’t know what she wanted.

Because I did.

I wanted him.

Even if it scared . Even if it ruined .

I wanted him.

And the next ti he touched ...

I wasn’t going to let him walk away.

I don’t know how long I sat there—long enough for the light to change, for the sky to dip into a deep, dusky blue. Long enough for the ache between my legs to dull into sothing more emotional, more unbearable. It wasn’t just lust anymore.

It was need.

For answers. For him. For the truth neither of us was willing to say aloud.

And I was done waiting.

I stood, shaky but determined, brushing off the dust from the floor and pacing across the room. My hands curled into fists at my sides. I didn’t know where he was, but that wasn’t going to stop .

He said it wasn’t over.

Well, he was right.

I stord out of the room, not even bothering to hide the fury building behind my ribs. Every guard I passed flinched or looked away. Good. Let them. Let them see the storm they were too afraid to na.

When I reached the end of the hall, I paused.

The war room.

I heard voices behind the door—Cian’s, low and tense, and Zain’s... his voice like velvet dragged over steel, dangerous and deep.

My heart slamd once against my ribs before I pushed the door open.

Both n looked up.

Zain’s expression hardened the mont he saw , like he’d slipped his mask back on. But I could see it—barely. The fire still simring behind his eyes. The tension in his shoulders. The way his fingers curled, like he was holding himself back.

I held his gaze, jaw tight.

"Release Roman."

His expression didn’t change. Not a twitch. Not a flinch.

"No."

I folded my arms. "He’s not your prisoner."

Zain stepped forward, slow and deliberate. "He is while he’s in my territory."

"He’s not a threat to you."

"He’s breathing," he snapped, eyes flashing. "That’s threat enough."

Cian cleared his throat. "Maybe we should—"

"Don’t," Zain growled, never looking away from . "Stay."

"I’m not here to argue," I bit out, lifting my chin. "I just want him gone. Out of that cell. He doesn’t deserve to be treated like so criminal."

Zain’s laugh was low and humorless. "And what exactly do you think he deserves, Violet? A dal? You think I don’t know what kind of man he is?"

"I don’t care what you think you know," I said, stepping closer. "I just want him released."

He moved toward now, closing the distance until the heat of his body soaked into mine. "You want him so bad?" he whispered, voice rough. "Why don’t you go crawl back into that cell and keep him company?"

I shoved him.

Stupid. Pointless. Like trying to move a brick wall with my bare hands.

"Don’t play gas with , Zain."

His eyes darkened. "I’m not playing anything."

"Then stop acting like you have any say over my life."

His hand snapped out, curling around my wrist. Not rough, not bruising—possessive. "I don’t act, Violet. I feel. And right now, I feel like throwing you over my shoulder and reminding you exactly why you stopped saying his na the second I touched you."

My breath hitched. My skin burned beneath his fingers. But I locked my jaw and glared at him like I wasn’t seconds away from combusting.

"You’re so full of yourself."

He leaned in, mouth brushing the shell of my ear. "No. I’m full of you. Your scent. Your taste. Your sounds. They haunt , Violet."

My legs nearly buckled.

I yanked my arm back and took a step away, needing air between us before I lost what little control I had left.

"You’re not getting it," I muttered.

"No," he said, voice dropping. "You’re not."

Cian shifted awkwardly in the background, pretending to study sothing deeply important on a scroll.

Zain stepped back, face unreadable now. "He stays where he is. Until I say otherwise."

I clenched my fists at my sides. "This isn’t over."

"It never was," he said, and the weight of those words made my heart skip a beat.

I turned and stord out again before I did sothing stupid—like drag him into the nearest shadow and let him ruin all over again.

Because I wouldn’t give him that power.