CHAPTER 4
Zarkhan's POV
I pressed myself against the wall, listening to her footsteps fade down the hallway. Giselle's scent lingered in the air—honeysuckle and something uniquely her—making my wolf pace restlessly inside me. Three days of this torment, of ducking into rooms and around corners whenever I sensed her approach. Three days of fighting every primal instinct I possessed.
When her footsteps disappeared completely, I emerged from the study, cursing under my breath. This was getting ridiculous. I couldn't keep hiding in my own home.
"Still avoiding her, brother?" Hakkan appeared at the end of the hallway, amusement dancing in his eyes.
"I'm not avoiding anyone," I muttered, brushing past him.
"Sure." He fell into step beside me. "And I'm not a werewolf. Your behavior is pathetic, Zarkhan. Either claim her or don't, but stop skulking around like a pup."
I stopped abruptly, turning to face him. "You have no idea what you're talking about."
"Don't I?" His voice dropped, suddenly serious. "I felt it too, that night in the kitchen. The pull. The recognition. We all did."
The memory crashed over me—the moment my brothers and I had cornered Giselle in the kitchen. The instant her scent hit me, my wolf had howled in recognition. Mate. The word had echoed through my mind, a certainty as solid as gravity.
"It doesn't matter," I said firmly. "She's trouble. An unwanted complication."
Hakkan's laugh was bitter. "Tell that to your wolf. Or to Khuraan, who's been a mess since he cornered her yesterday."
I'd seen it—the way Khuraan had inhaled her scent, called her "mine," then fled like a coward. Similar to what I was doing now. The difference was, I had better control. Or at least, I told myself I did.
"She's just a human," I said, more to convince myself than Hakkan. "A human with ties to our family through marriage, making this whole situation even more inappropriate."
"Mate bonds don't care about human conventions of propriety," Hakkan replied. "You know that."
I did know. Which was exactly why I'd been avoiding her. Giselle didn't deserve to be saddled with me—with my history, with the darkness that followed me. She was better off without a mate bond to a wolf who couldn't control his own nature.
"Just leave it alone," I growled, walking away.
I retreated to the home gym, hoping the physical exertion would quiet my mind. I stripped off my shirt, cranked up the music, and attacked the punching bag with every ounce of frustration I'd been harboring.
Each punch was an attempt to drive her from my thoughts. Each kick, a denial of the bond that tugged at my soul. I was so consumed by my workout that I didn't notice her presence until her scent hit me like a physical blow.
"There you are," Giselle said from the doorway. "I've been looking all over for you."
I froze mid-punch, not turning to face her. Sweat trickled down my back as I struggled to regulate my breathing, to keep my wolf from lunging toward the voice that called to every primal instinct I possessed.
"You shouldn't be here," I said, my voice rougher than intended.
"Why?" She stepped into the room, her footsteps soft on the padded floor. "Because you'll have to stop pretending I don't exist?"
I grabbed a towel, wiping my face before finally turning to look at her. Mistake. She was wearing a simple tank top and yoga pants, her hair pulled back in a ponytail. Nothing provocative, yet my wolf howled at the sight.
"I'm busy," I said curtly. "And you're interrupting."
She crossed her arms, tilting her chin defiantly. "You've been avoiding me since the night we met. What's your problem with me?"
"I don't have a problem with you." The lie tasted bitter on my tongue.
"Really?" She stepped closer, and it took every ounce of my control not to back away. "Because it feels like you do. At least your brothers acknowledge my existence, even if it's just to torment me with childish pranks."
I turned back to the punching bag, needing something—anything—to focus on besides her. "Maybe I just don't have anything to say to you."
"That's bullshit." Her voice rose with frustration. "You literally run away when I enter a room. You won't even look at me when we pass in the hallway. What did I ever do to you?"
I struck the bag hard enough that the chain rattled. "Nothing. You did nothing."
"Then why?" She moved to stand between me and the punching bag, forcing me to either acknowledge her or physically move her aside. "Is it because I'm human? Because I'm not part of your precious werewolf royalty?"
The accusation hit too close to the truth I wasn't telling her—that she was more important to my wolf than she could possibly understand. That every moment in her presence was a battle between instinct and reason.
"You don't know what you're talking about," I growled.
"Then explain it to me!" She stepped closer, her eyes flashing with challenge. "Because I'm tired of feeling like an outcast in my own mother's home. At least tell me why you hate me so much."
"I don't hate you," I said, fists clenching at my sides. "That's the problem."
Confusion crossed her face. "What's that supposed to mean?"
My control was slipping, the wolf clawing to the surface. "It means you should leave. Now."
"No." She stood her ground, either brave or foolish—I couldn't decide which. "I'm not going anywhere until you explain why you've been treating me like I'm invisible."
"Because looking at you hurts!" The words tore from my throat before I could stop them. "Because every time I'm near you, I—"
I cut myself off, but it was too late. I'd said too much. Her eyes widened, realization dawning slowly.
"You what?" she whispered.
Something snapped inside me. Three days of restraint, of fighting the inevitable, crumbled in an instant. I closed the distance between us in one step, gripping her upper arms as I crashed my lips against hers.
She made a muffled sound of surprise against my mouth, her hands pressing against my chest in resistance. I knew I should stop—knew this was wrong on so many levels—but the wolf had taken over, desperate to claim what was his.
"Stop," she gasped, turning her face away. "Zarkhan, what are you doing?"
But I couldn't stop. My hands slid to her waist, pulling her against me as I kissed her neck, inhaling her intoxicating scent. "Mine," I growled against her skin. "You're mine, Giselle. My mate. Do you understand? There's no escaping this—no escaping me."
Her body trembled against mine, a mixture of fear and something else—something that made my wolf howl in triumph. My hand found the hem of her tank top, fingers skimming the warm skin beneath.
"Please," she whispered, but whether she was pleading for me to stop or continue, I couldn't tell through the haze of desire.
Part of me—the small, rational human part that still remained—observed with disgust how easily she'd fallen into my arms. How little resistance she'd truly offered. It confirmed what I'd thought from the beginning—she was trouble, a complication I didn't need. Too easy to seduce, too dangerous to my carefully controlled existence.
I backed her against the wall, one hand tangling in her hair as I reclaimed her mouth. She whimpered, her resistance weakening as her body responded to mine. The mate bond worked both ways—she might not understand it, but her body recognized its other half.
"Tell me you want this," I demanded against her lips, needing to hear her surrender.
When she didn't immediately respond, I pulled back slightly, finally registering the tears in her eyes. The sight doused my desire like ice water, clarity returning in a sickening rush.
"Zarkhan?" Her voice was small, uncertain.