Chapter 16 Darren's POV

Every time I got close to Heather, my wolf screamed in my head, demanding answers, desiring her. It was maddening. Every inch of me pulled toward her, and every time I caught a glimpse of her, it was like something inside me cracked open.

Mate.

Mate? But she wasn't my mate. Why did she smell so familiar? Like she was from my pack. Was she a werewolf? No, she was just a stripper. A random sex doll.

I tried to convince myself she was nothing but just a tool for mutual sexual pleasure, but the words felt hollow and bitter on my tongue.

My wolf clawed beneath my skin, threatening to overwhelm me each time I got close to her.

“Damn it, my mate was dead,” I muttered to myself. There was no way she could have survived that night. She was weak and wolfless, and I was sure she was murdered by rogue wolves immediately after she came across them.

Hell, she couldn't have survived that night.

My fingers gripped the steering wheel, my eyes focused on the road ahead. The late-night drive through the city was supposed to calm me, but it didn’t. My thoughts swirled, bouncing from one scene to another. Was she the girl I was supposed to hate or the one I couldn’t get enough of? I needed answers. And I was going to get those answers.

I couldn't help but wonder why she was so protective of her past. She didn't want to speak about it. She seemed like she was hiding something.

I pulled into the parking lot of the bar, my mind restless. The lights flickered overhead as I walked through the glass door. The stench of whiskey mingling with sweat hung heavy in the air. 

The bar Carol and Phil were seated at a corner booth, talking in hushed tones.

“She calls herself Sabrina,” I heard Carol  mutter beneath her breath. 

As soon as I stepped through the door, they fell silent, their eyes flicking toward me. I felt the tension rise in the air, and the hairs on the back of my neck stood up. I wasn't here to have a casual chat. I was here for answers, and I wasn't leaving without them.

"Carol," I called out, my voice steady, a twinge of urgency in it. "I need to speak with you. Now."

She raised an eyebrow, but she knew better than to question me. Phil muttered something under his breath, and I ignored it. I wasn't here for him. I was here for Carol.

I led her to a secluded area in the back of the bar, away from prying eyes and ears. She folded her arms, giving me a look that said she was not pleased to be dragged into this. But she was smart enough to know when I was serious.

"So, what’s going on with Heather?" she asked, her tone calm, curiosity edged on it. "Has she been misbehaving? I swear, that girl—"

"No," I cut her off, my voice colder than I intended it to be. "Heather has been fine. No issues. But I need to know something. Where did you pick her up from? What’s her background?"

Carol blinked, clearly surprised by the question. She leaned back, her gaze narrowing.

"Why do you need to know that?"

I leaned closer to her.

"I need to know everything, Carol. Who was she really?" My voice was low.

She exhaled, running a hand through her hair before ordering tequila. 

"You shouldn’t bother," she said, her voice calm. "Some things are better left unsaid."

I scoffed, feeling the anger rise in me. 

"No. I want the truth. Now."

She raised an eyebrow, but there was nothing in her gaze that suggested she was going to give me any more than she already had. I could see it in her eyes. She was holding back. Why? What the hell was she hiding from me?

But Carol was no fool. She was too smart to just spill it all. I tried again, pushing her, but she answered with a calm I couldn’t break. She gave me just enough, enough to keep me questioning but not enough to give me what I wanted. It was frustrating as hell.

With a growl of frustration, I leaned in close, my lips brushing against her cheek as I kissed her lightly before pulling away.

“I’ll figure it out myself,” I muttered under my breath, turning on my heel and storming out of the bar.

The night felt colder now, my thoughts still swirling, unanswered.

When I got home, I felt it again—the pull. Heather’s presence, even if she wasn’t around. My wolf screamed mate again, louder this time, like a constant hum in my head. 

 But I couldn’t let myself focus on it. I needed answers. I needed to know what the hell was going on inside her head.

I opened the door to Heather’s room. The bathroom door was shut, steam wafting out. She was bathing. I yanked open the bathroom door, my gaze falling on her chest. 

"Get dressed and come downstairs," I ordered, my voice cold. I turned to leave, but something stopped me. I felt her eyes on my back, and even though I didn’t see her, I knew she was glaring at me.

Downstairs, I sat at the table, my feet tapping restlessly on the floor. I poured myself a generous amount of whiskey, gulping it down. 

A few minutes passed, and then Heather walked in, dressed in a simple robe, her nipples pointy. She stood by the door, eyes drawn. She knew something was off. Good. She should. She was playing games with me, and I wasn’t having it anymore.

"Drink this," I ordered, slamming the bottle of whiskey onto the table. I didn’t care if she protested. I didn’t care about the consequences. I wanted her drunk, I wanted her to spill everything. I wanted her to tell me if she was a werewolf, what the hell her background was, and why I couldn’t stop thinking about her.

She hesitated, then tried to protest,

“I…I don't want to drink it,” she stammered. I shut her a glare, and she swallowed the lump in her throat. 

She gulped down the whiskey, and I watched her, not daring to shift  my gaze from her pathetic body. 

The bottle was almost empty by the time she finished it. She swayed slightly, her eyes glassy, her movements sluggish. Good. She was drunk now, and she couldn’t hide behind that wall of hers anymore.

Kyle, ever the curious one, looked at me with raised eyebrows.  He had been silent all these while, watching Heather gulp down the liquid.

"What’s going on?" he asked, glancing between me and Heather.

I smirked, leaning back in my chair.

“A wise man once told me, trust the drunk, because they speak the truth. Shall we put that adage to the test?”

I turned to Heather, my voice low and dangerous,

“Tell me about your past. Who are you, Heather?” I leaned forward, my eyes narrowing. "What are you hiding?"

She started to talk, her words slurring together, but all she said was that she loved me. Over and over. She kept confessing it, like it was the only thing she could say. It drove me mad. It made my blood boil.

“You look c…cute,” she whispered sluggishly, bursting into laughter. 

I slammed my fist down on the table, the sound loud, shattering the silence which hung heavy in the air. 

“Enough!” I roared, frustration clawing in my chest.

I stormed out of the room, my hands trembling with anger. It was pointless. She wasn’t telling me anything. She wasn’t giving me the answers I needed.

I slammed the door to my room shut, pacing back and forth like a caged animal. It was useless. I’d tried everything, and still, she wouldn’t talk. She wouldn’t open up.

Kyle followed me in, his  gaze resting on my shoulder . He stood in the doorway, watching me for a moment before speaking. 

"You’re frustrated," he said, his voice calm. "You’re not getting the truth because she doesn’t trust you yet. Maybe it’s time to tell her the truth about you. Let her know you’re an Alpha. Maybe that’ll make her speak."

I paused, considering his words. It didn't sit well with me. She might reject me, or she might finally give me what I’d been asking for. Either way, I was running out of options.

I sighed, rubbing my temples, my shoulders shrugged. 

"Fine," I muttered. "I’ll do it. Tomorrow."

The rays of the sun filtered through the window resting on my eyelids. I had tossed and turned on the soft mattress through out the night, my whole night oblivious of sleep. 

I walked into the shower, taking a hot bath before walking into the sitting room. 

Heather walked down the stairs, her eyes locking with me. 

The question was; was she ready to see the other side of me?