Chapter 34 Everything is off
Zara’s POV
“Tristan… wait.”
He was on me before I could breathe, his hands tearing at my dress with desperate precision. It wasn’t unusual. Not before Celine’s shadow crept between us. But this time the heat in his touch felt different. It wasn’t hunger; it was escape.
Something inside me screamed to stop him, to ask what haunted him enough to seek comfort like this. But the more I tried to think, the more his touch erased thought itself.
“You haven’t had dinner,” I said, trying to push his hand away.
His hands were quick, making this feel like those times when we played our little game of domination—I pretended to resist him, and he tried to make me yield.
He ripped my dress apart when he couldn’t get it past my head. “I don’t care to eat. You’re also a meal.”
“But you should tell me about—”
He pinned me tightly against the bed, his legs trapping mine so I couldn’t move. Then he stopped, staring down at me in that familiar way he always did—soft and tender. But this time, there was something else in his eyes, something I couldn’t define. Even so, I still felt that familiar pull toward him.
I doubted any connection could be stronger than this.
I thought about the mate bond. What if this was also a mate bond connection, and I’d completely missed it, hoping for something stronger?
I didn’t think that could happen. But anything could, if the right circumstances aligned. Circumstances like what?
Maybe if I’d misunderstood what the mate bond truly was… or if I wasn’t in the right state of mind to accept it—or worse, if I’d underestimated myself and thought I wasn’t worthy to be his mate.
I’d seen Celine. She wasn’t better than me. At least, I thought so.
Then why was my case different if I felt the same connection with Tristan?
Unless Tristan didn’t feel it… but did Celine?
She didn’t see herself as his mate, yet he’d been all about her.
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He slowly let his body rest on mine, his skin brushing against me as he did. I lost the strength to resist. He stayed like that for a while, only my bra separating us, like he was taking in my scent.
“Your bra is between us,” he whispered, his breath warm against my ear.
His scent surrounded me, sending waves of heat through my body, and his weight felt almost weightless.
“I should take it off,” I murmured.
“No.” His breath caressed my neck, leaving a trail of warmth.
He didn’t want me to move my hands. Not because I’d resist—but because he wanted me still, beneath him. He liked the view of my arms spread apart, his hands tracing every inch of my skin.
His hand slid behind my back, and I shifted slightly to make it easier for him to undo the clasp.
He did, and my chest was his.
I didn’t speak afterward. I didn’t want to spoil this moment—the dim room, the single candle flickering beside the bed. This moment went beyond intimacy. It felt like our souls were intertwining. Something like that.
I thought to ask if, after this, I could finally be his mate… but now wasn’t the time.
“Zara…” he whispered.
I opened my eyes to meet his.
His breath brushed my nose, mine brushing his—like we were breathing each other in.
I was sure he wanted to say something, something that didn’t fit this moment, but he didn’t.
He lowered his head, his lips and tongue finding my nipples. He started with the left, and it wasn’t like the last time—it was gentler, more consuming.
My stomach tightened.
My senses spun.
Nothing else mattered anymore, except him stopping. Thank goodness I hadn’t won our little domination game after all.
He chuckled after what felt like an hour. “My balls are full.”
“Then let it flow in me.”
There was no reason for him to hold back. He had his ways of preventing pregnancy without my effort. I never wanted him to, but he always did.
He lifted himself off me, reached down for my panties, slid them down my thighs and off my feet. The cool air from the open window brushed over me, but his tongue quickly replaced it with warmth.
“Tristan…” My hands tangled in his hair as his tongue worked its magic on my clit.
I was trembling—sweetly, helplessly.
My legs began to shake when he stopped. His precum glistened at the tip of his length. When he pressed into me, there was no need for anything else. Our bodies knew exactly what to do.
“Hmm…” My arms wrapped around his back as our eyes locked.
His amber eyes were always a magnet—keeping me bound, obsessed.
He moved—slow, rough, tender—all at once, until my nails dug into his back.
“Zara…”
“Tristan…”
Then came the release—his warmth meeting mine.
But just after that, he got off the bed, picked up his clothes, and headed for the door.
“Tristan?” I called softly.
He didn’t answer.
I must have slept for more than an hour. I’d been too weak to follow Tristan, and by now, he hadn’t returned. He would’ve told me if he went to another room.
I checked the other chamber—it was empty, as if he’d never gone there at all. Then why did this ominous feeling twist in my chest?
He could’ve gone out, maybe for a walk or to handle pack matters. But ever since the curse began to take hold, he rarely left the palace. If he did, it was rare—I could count the times.
That boy from the council hall… he hadn’t been released. Tristan had ordered him locked in the underground prison. My chest tightened with that familiar feeling—the one that always came before death.
I went to the prison cells. He wasn’t there.
Outside the palace, a few meters away, I caught sight of him standing beside a burning tree—and I rushed toward him.
No gamma was around. He was alone.
“Tristan, I’ve been looking for you,” I said softly.
He didn’t turn, just stood before the burning tree, its flames licking the night sky. When I touched his shoulder, the warmth wasn’t from the fire. It was from blood.
His shirt was soaked, his eyes hollowed red. Death clung to him like a second skin. Whatever part of him I’d been with earlier was gone—this was the beast that haunted his silence.
“Tristan…” My voice cracked. “What did you do?”
He said nothing.
There was no body in sight, yet the smell of smoke and blood told the truth my heart already knew.