Chapter 85
Lenora
Clearly, my worries were unfounded.
I sit by and watch as Caron is on a video call with Adrian, while I peel apples and cut them into fancy little shapes for him. It feels oddly dostic, and at the sa ti, like watching a new side of him unfold before .
"...It’s not like I can just go there," Caron says, his voice carrying that clipped, businesslike tone he always uses when he’s serious. "He’s got all these wolves, and all my resources are human. I can’t exactly drag them into this."
Adrian’s voice cos through the speakers, low and persuasive, though I can’t make out every word. If I wanted to, I could listen in with ease.
"No, no. I can’t do that," Caron replies firmly.
I tilt my head, curiosity pricking sharper now. Adrian says sothing else, and this ti I catch it.
"Are we not friends? Besides, think of it as an investnt in the relationship between our packs."
My jaw tightens. I want to interject, to tell Caron that accepting such a favor would bind him to Adrian in ways he may not fully understand. Among wolves, debts are chains—chains that can be yanked at the worst possible ti. You don’t trust another pack so easily.
But I bite my tongue. I’m afraid that if I say sothing now, Caron might take it as jealousy or paranoia. And I don’t want him to doubt when he’s already balancing so much.
"Nice try. You won’t get so easily." Caron’s voice is sharp, edged with amusent, but underneath it I hear sothing new: authority.
Adrian chuckles. "What, it’s an honest offer."
"Ha. Honest, my ass." Caron leans back in his chair, eyes narrowing slightly at the screen. "You forget we’re the sa. And I don’t like the attachnts your help will co with. You’ll be my last resort."
I freeze. Surprise blooms in my chest, then pride. My mate just turned down Adrian Neta—the sa man I’ve heard entire packs fear to cross. Not with arrogance, but with clear-eyed understanding of the strings behind every deal.
Maybe I underestimated Caron.
I stand and set the plate of apples next to him. He glances up, catches my eye, and mouths a soft thank you. That tiny gesture warms more than it should, and I find myself smiling despite the tension.
I leave him to it, quietly stepping away so he can finish the conversation. But as I go, one thought anchors itself in my mind:
He’s learning. Faster than I thought possible.
And goddess help us all, Caron is starting to sound like an alpha.
Which is a good thing. The pack needs it, I need it—hell, he needs it.
Except.
It also makes so horny.
Wrong ti to be feeling that way, I know. My pack is starving, wolves are dying, and the whole world feels like it’s teetering on the edge of a knife.
But I can’t help it.
I bite the inside of my cheek, hard. Focus, Lenora. There’s more at stake than your libido.
"Lenora, get back here."
The command rolls through like a physical touch, deep and steady, wrapped in authority I didn’t know he had. My hand stills on the doorknob, pulse stuttering, and I glance back at him.
He’s not smiling. He’s not joking. His eyes are locked on , sharp and knowing, like he’s caught red-handed.
Guilty. Startled. That’s exactly how I feel, and the worst part? He knows.
I’m starting to suspect Caron can feel my emotions through the bond. Not all of them, maybe.But this heat pooling low in my belly, the sexual kind he definitely can.
***
Caron
"I’ll call you back." I cut Adrian off mid-sentence and end the call without waiting for a response. This isn’t a business matter anymore—this is personal.
I swivel my chair slowly, leveling my gaze on the white-haired woman standing guilty as sin at the door. My mate. My snowstorm. My trouble.
"Co."
One word. A command.
She hesitates—just for a second—but then her feet carry her toward , soft steps on the polished floor. Her gray eyes dart everywhere but , like she’s hoping the ground will open up and swallow her whole before she reaches my desk.
By the ti she stops in front of , I can feel it. That spark in the bond. The heat. Her lust, rolling through like a current she doesn’t know how to hide.
"Do you think I don’t know?" I murmur, my voice low, almost a growl.
Her lips part. She blinks, caught off guard. "Know what?" she tries, but her voice is thin, weak.
"Playing dumb, are we?" I murmur, pulling her tighter onto my lap.
"I don’t know what you’re talking about." She gasps when my hand slides lower, my palm pressing against her waistband before slipping inside. Predictably, she’s soaked.
I pull my hand back and hold it up, glistening. "Really? Then what’s this?"
Her eyes flash, and she deadpans, "The vagina is a self-lubricating organ. Did you not learn that in biology?"
For a beat, I can only stare at her, mouth opening then snapping shut again.
And then I laugh. Hard. The sound bursts out of , raw and unfiltered, because only Lenora would have the audacity to throw science class at when she’s literally lting in my hands.
"Fine then." I lean back in my chair, deliberately casual, though my pulse is anything but.
"Jog my mory about biology class."
Her gray eyes narrow with mischief. "Which part?"
"The reproductive part," I say smoothly.
Lenora doesn’t miss a beat. She slips off my lap, standing just far enough away to make ache with the loss of her warmth. Then, without breaking eye contact, she hooks her thumbs into her waistband and slides her shorts down, letting them pool at her ankles.
My grip tightens on the armrest of my chair.
"Looking forward to the lesson, TeacherMaen," I murmur, the title thick with sarcasm and hunger.
She takes one step closer, then another, until she’s standing between my knees. "Lesson one: external stimulation." Her fingers trail down her own thigh, slow, taunting. "Do you rember this part, Caron?"
I growl low in my chest, hands already moving to grab her hips, but she bats away with a laugh.
"Nuh-uh. Students aren’t supposed to touch the teacher without permission."
"Teacher, is it?" I rasp, my voice rough with want.
She leans down, her lips grazing my ear. "Shh. Class is in session."
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