Chapter 10 BLOOD & DESIRE.
ASHER’S POV:
Clara Bennett.
She was never supposed to make me feel anything. She was meant to be a pawn - a tool I could use to finish what I started.
A Bennett. The bloodline that took everything from me.
But watching her falter, realizing she isn’t who I thought she was… that unsettled me.
The anger I showed in class wasn’t about discipline - it was me lashing out at my own loss of control.
I wasn’t angry at her - I was angry at myself for feeling something when I should’ve been calculating.
I dragged a hand down my face, the roughness of my stubble catching against my palm. The pen in my other hand creaked under the pressure of my grip, and a muscle ticks in my jaw.
The office feels smaller tonight - the hum of the air conditioner too loud, the silence too sharp.
Jake’s words echoed in my head, over and over
“I didn't see her after you told her to wait behind...”
The thought of her with him - another man’s voice close to hers, another man’s eyes on her - made something dark twist inside me. Jealousy. A word that had no place in my world.
It wasn’t supposed to matter. She wasn’t supposed to matter.
And yet, the image burned.
My fingers drummed lightly against the desk, restless. The faint scent of her perfume still lingers on my clothes - faint but persistent, as though the air itself refused to forget her.
And it wasn’t just the scent - it was the way the memory of her had settled into everything.
Even here. My home. My room.
The sheets, the faint crease in the pillow beside mine, the silence that should’ve been easy to live with but wasn’t anymore - all of it carried her.
That one night should have meant nothing; I told myself it was only instinct, the body’s weakness. But somehow, the ghost of her touch has rooted itself too deep to shake off.
I still see her - the quiet rise of her chest, the tremor in her voice when she moaned my name, the way her eyes searched mine as though she was trying to understand something even I couldn’t name.
There had been no pretense, no manipulation. Just two broken edges meeting in the dark.
And before I walked out of that classroom today, I saw that same truth again - the sadness in her eyes. A look she tried to hide but couldn’t.
She hadn’t wanted Jake’s touch; anyone could see she wasn’t that kind of girl. She doesn’t throw herself at attention. She doesn’t play the game.
Maybe that’s what made me lash out - because somewhere inside me, I knew she was real.
And real is dangerous.
So, I hurt her. I humiliated her. Because I didn’t know what else to do with the part of me that wanted to protect what I was meant to destroy.
For the first time, I’d never wanted to ruin something I cared for - a woman my entire being responds and craves for… but can’t have.
I pushed my chair back, running both hands through my hair, the tension knotting across my shoulders like wire.
When I looked at her - that trembling voice, the refusal to cry - I saw someone else.
A ghost from a past I’ve tried to bury under a thousand scars.
For a heartbeat, she wasn’t Clara Bennett. She was the shadow of the girl whose blood stains my memory.
And maybe that’s why I lost it.
Because the Alpha in me - the part that remembers my father’s fall, the fire, the screams - doesn’t forgive or forget.
My chest tightens, and I clench my fists until my knuckles ache, trying to steady the storm rising beneath my skin.
The reflection in the dark glass of my office window stares back - eyes too sharp, too wild - a reminder of what still lives inside me.
I exhale slowly, my breath fogging the glass before me. Somewhere deep beneath the surface of my calmness, I still see it - the night everything ended.
My father’s body on the ground, the fire spreading through our lands, the scent of blood thick in the air. I was just a boy then, but the sound of his last command still echoes - “Survive Asher.”
The Bennetts made sure I did more than that. They made sure I remembered.
And now, after all these years, all that’s left of them… is her.
Clara Bennett. The last scion of the Bennetts. The daughter of the man who destroyed mine.
I should feel satisfaction knowing the circle has finally closed. I should feel the fire of vengeance burning bright again. But all I feel is the faint, disorienting ache of something I don’t understand.
I pressed a hand against my chest, feeling the thud of my own heartbeat - steady, yet heavy with confusion.
She’s not supposed to remind me of everything I lost.
She’s supposed to pay for it.
But tonight, all I can see is her face - frightened, defiant, human.
The Alpha in me wants blood.
The man I’ve become… isn’t so sure anymore.
I lean back in my chair, the leather creaking beneath me, eyes fixed on the dark glass. The city lights flickering through it, faint and distorted, like ghosts I can’t outrun.
My mind drifted again - uninvited, relentless - to that night. The night loyalty turned to betrayal, and a name that once carried honor was drowned in blood.
Caesar Bennett.
Even thinking about it makes my jaw tighten. He wasn’t just my father’s ally. He was his brother in arms, the one who stood beside him when the packs were united - before greed split everything open.
I remember pieces - flashes really - the scent of iron, the chaos, the low growl that tore through the silence before the fire began.
And my father’s voice... calm, steady, even as everything burned.
He trusted the wrong man.
My throat tightens, and I find myself reaching for the drawer. My hand hesitates halfway, fingers curling and uncurling before I finally pull it open.
Inside lies a single object wrapped in worn black leather. I pick it up carefully, my fingers tracing the old crest embossed in silver - The Blackwood Sigil, still faintly marked with dried blood.
My father’s blood.
The weight of it grounds me. Heavy. Cold. Familiar.
I remember the moment I found it - buried under ash and bone when I returned to what was left of our home.
Everything else was gone, but this… this survived. Like it refused to die with him.
I turned it over in my hand, thumb brushing across the edge. The air feels heavier now. My heart pounds slow and deliberate, every heart beat echoing through the room.
“You’ll get justice, father,” I muttered, voice low, roughened by something close to rage. “I swear by it.”
The words hung there, filling the silence like a vow too old to break.
My reflection stared back at me - part man, part beast. My eyes darker, almost glowing beneath the faint office light.
The Alpha in me stirs, whispering the promise of blood and retribution. But the man sitting here… the one who’s supposed to be in control… hesitates.
Because somewhere inside, beneath the anger and memory, there’s a different ache.
My grip on the crest tightens until my knuckles whiten. The metal bites into my palm, a reminder of everything I’ve lost - and everything I’m still bound to do.
Outside, thunder rolls faintly in the distance. Fitting. The storm has always known my name.
I close the drawer, my jaw set, the decision heavy in my chest.
Soon.
Justice will be served.
Even if it destroys what's left of me.
And for the first time, I wasn’t sure who I wanted to destroy.
Her... or Myself.