Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Sixteen
STILL TWO YEARS AGO

Sleep had come in waves, never fully reaching shore, not with everything that happened last night. I drifted through fragments of memory… flashes of Angelica’s smirk, the sting of old eyes, Théo’s bid echoing through the ballroom like an insult masquerading as charity. But then I remembered Niklath’s voice, unwavering and low…Ten million euros. For me. The crowd fell silent, whispers ceased. I didn’t sleep because I felt everything and sensed the shift beneath the surface of our bond, the deep connection that went beyond marriage and money.

I must have drifted because I felt Niklath’s movement before anything else. The gentle dip of the mattress, the faint whisper of skin brushing skin. Then came the touch…the unhurried drag of fingertips along my spine, tracing each vertebra as if reading an ancient runic script. I stirred, slowly, like a wolf scenting the dawn, and turned toward him without opening my eyes.

He still naked, the morning light catching the ink of his wolf tattoo on his right pectoral, the fine silver lines flickering with an almost living shimmer. His height, his Alpha presence, made the sheets seem small beneath us. He watched me with that intense, unreadable gaze he often wore, but this time, there was no mask. Just raw desire, heat, ancient hunger tied to his lupine slumbering just beneath the surface.

I reached for him without thinking, fingertips gliding across his chest, circling through the dark hair scattered there, dipping lower. I felt his breath hitch…alpha in suspense as I dragged my nails down to the place where he pulsed with want. My touch was gentle, deliberate, enough to remind him of our bond.

A low rumble vibrated through his chest, half growl, half sigh. In one fluid motion he sat up and pulled me into his lap. I straddled him instinctively, legs leaning against his strong hips, and his hands roamed with reverence, cupping, kneading, as though he was tasting me with his fingers. His thumbs brushed the peaks of my breasts until I moaned softly, the sound soothing him, grounding him.

My hair tumbled forward, kissing his chest as I leaned in and brushed a kiss along his neck, the scent of pine and winter wind deepening as his wolf awakened. My body reacted before my mind could register, aching to sink closer to him.

He touched me there, low and slow, coaxing my body to wake. His fingers moved with patience, with purpose. I closed my eyes and pressed into him…my body asking, craving, waiting.

He guided me upward, his arms steady and commanding, until I lowered myself on his thick cock with one slow, sorrowful descent like a mate claiming territory. When I took him in, the world stopped. I placed my hands on his chest, watching the tension gather in his jaw, in his eyes that flickered between bright blue and cerulean blue, the signs of the wolf stirring inside.

My pace was deliberate at first, a ceremony of trust. Then he took over flipping us so I faced down, his hands on my hips, his voice a muted growl. He kissed me fiercely, reclaiming control. The rhythm he set was demanding, primal and exacting. Every thrust spoke of claim, of Alpha dominance, of ancient pack mating rituals.

“Come for me,” he growled, deep and possessive, his wolf self barely contained by his human form.

I did.

My climax tore through me like lightning, my body convulsing around him as I cried out his name, a sound that belonged to two worlds…human and lupine. He moved with me, growling in rhythm, and followed less than half a heartbeat later. His release shook the bed, echoing my own.

When it ended, he stayed inside me, still and breathing heavy. I lay with my head on his chest, listening to the thrum of his heartbeat and the wolf that still stirred beneath…his breath soft though still ragged from our shared storm.

The sunrise peeked through our curtains, and I pressed my cheek closer to him. He stroked my back in slow, deep circles…his Alpha grounding, then tangled his fingers in my hair and kissed my forehead.

“I didn’t expect last night,” I murmured, voice soft.

“Neither did I,” he said, voice lower than normal. The timbre reminded me of the wild echo I’ve heard when his wolf ruled him…an understanding that he and I were bound by something ancient.

“But you still bid for me.”

His thumb brushed my cheek. “You were already mine. No loser stood a chance.”

Those words reverberated inside me, stamped with the authority of a pack leader claiming his mate. I returned to the office the next morning wearing a dress that demanded attention and heels that said “I will not be trifled with.” The building felt as still as an unbreathing wolf at rest…everyone wary after the gala. I am sure social media had had a field weekend. I did not indulge their speculation.

My door was closed, Zoom active and muted, investor pages scrolling across the screen, when a knock interrupted the quiet.

Marianne slipped in, all polished efficiency but tighter than usual. “Someone’s here to see you. Théo Duchamp.”

I lifted my gaze. “What in the world~”

“Over the weekend wasn’t enough?” she asked quietly. “He’s waiting in the lounge.”

My pulse tightened…a shadow crossing my heart. “Angelica’s games. He’s part of the act.”

“I told him you’re~” Marianne paused.

I do not let her finish. “Tell Niklath he’s here. But tell him I am okay. I will handle it.”

Her eyes held concern sharpened by loyalty. The moment Marianne closes the door behind her, the stillness in the room thickens. I remain seated, one leg crossed over the other, my posture a study in composure. I end the zoom call and rest my hands lightly on the armrests, but my nails press faint half-moons into the leather. I focus on the muted skyline beyond the window, watching the grey light fall over the lake in soft, silken folds.

It takes less than two minutes. The door opens without a knock. Théo Duchamp walks in with arrogance stitched into every step. His suit is tailored, his cologne heavy, and his smile so smooth it might slip off his face if he grins any wider. The smugness rolls off him in waves.

“Ah, ma chérie,” he says, drawing out each syllable like a wine he thinks you should be grateful to taste. His accent is still sharp and performative. 

I do not rise. I tilt my head just slightly, eyes on him. “Cut the theatrics, Théo. Tell me why you’re here and what you really want.”

He places a hand over his chest in mock offense. “Always so sharp with your words, Miara. I come to see how you are after such an… eventful evening.”

My gaze hardens. “Eventful. Is that what you call it?”

He smiles, strolling closer, but I remain exactly where I am.

“You were radiant,” he says. “That dress, that spotlight. Ten million euros. I would have gone higher, you know, but your husband… well, he is quite the Alpha.”

He says it like a joke.

But the moment the word leaves his mouth, the atmosphere in the room tightens. I sense the shift before I hear it. The low hum in the walls. The way the light dims slightly behind the clouds. I hear the quietest sound of footsteps outside. I feel it. I feel him.

Niklath is near.