Chapter 62 Slut Shamed By A Geriatric Wolf

Chapter 62 Slut Shamed By A Geriatric Wolf
I wasn't shivering and dripping wet from a capsized boat, nor was I being pressed against the door by a furious Kieran while he demanded I admit I belonged to him. I was dry, fully clothed in my travel dress, and currently dragging a heavy oak vanity across the floor to block the secondary door to the bathing chamber.
I knew the timeline. In the original book, this was the night Rowan was supposed to tap on my window and lure me out to the river for a secret rendezvous. That bad decision would lead to the boat capsizing, Kieran dragging me back here like a sack of potatoes, and a very steamy, semi-abusive make-out session that would only be interrupted by Elder Malrik slut-shaming me from the hallway.
I was not in the mood to be slut-shamed by a geriatric werewolf today.
"Iris," Rowan said, his voice a low vibration in the quiet room. He was leaning against the stone mantle, looking every bit the "Prince Charming" archetype he was written to be. "You’ve been moving furniture for twenty minutes. If you’re trying to build a fortress, I should tell you that Kieran can shift and take that door off its hinges with a single paw."
"It’s not for him," I grunted, shoving the vanity into place with a final, satisfying thud. "It’s for my own peace of mind. I’m not some prize in a raffle draw, Rowan. I’m a human being who would like to sleep without worrying about who's going to try to seduce me into a geopolitical crisis."
Rowan stood up, the firelight catching the gold in his hair. He looked at me with that earnest, "boy scout" intensity that usually made Elowyn swoon. "You're different. The Elowyn I knew... she would have been terrified right now. She wouldn't be barricading doors; she would be asking me to take her away."
"Yeah, well, asking you to take me away usually results in us falling into a lake and Kieran going nuclear," I muttered, referencing a memory he didn't have yet. "I’m staying right here. Dry. And single."
He stopped a few feet away, his amber eyes searching mine. "You keep speaking in riddles. But whoever you are right now... I find I can't look away."
This was it. The "Tender Moment." In the book, this is where he would touch my jaw and tell me he’d wait for me forever.
"Don't," I said, stepping back. "Don't say you'll wait. Don't say my heart belongs to you. I’ve read the script, Rowan. It ends with you almost killing each other in the courtyard while I scream uselessly."
He froze, his hand dropping to his side. "How could you know—"
BAM.
The main door thudded open.
Kieran was back. He didn't look like a king; he looked like a soldier who had just crawled out of a trench. His dark hair was messy, his shirt was unbuttoned to reveal the "sexy v-line glory" referenced in Chapter One, and his eyes were glowing that dangerous, primal red.
In the original story, this was where he was supposed to find me wet and vulnerable, leading to the "You belong to me" speech. Instead, he found me fully dressed, standing behind a barricade of furniture, with his rival standing five feet away.
"The spy took a pill," Kieran growled, his voice raw. He ignored Rowan entirely, stalking straight toward me. "He’s dead. But he had a mark on his shoulder. A brand."
He looked at me, his gaze heavy with a mix of suspicion and overwhelming possession. "The Shadow Mark. Exactly as you described it."
"I told you," I said, my heart starting to race. "I'm not lying about the danger, Kieran."
He leaned over the vanity I’d used as a barricade, his hands gripping the wood until it creaked. "I don't care if you're a prophet or a demon, Iris. You were right. And because you were right, I'm doubling the guard. You aren't leaving this room. And he"—he flicked a murderous glare at Rowan—"is leaving. Now."
"I'm not leaving her unprotected while you're in this state, Kieran," Rowan countered, his voice dropping an octave into his own Alpha growl. "I’ve seen what your temper does. I won’t let you treat her like a prisoner."
"She is my prisoner!" Kieran roared, the sound vibrating through the floorboards. "She is my mate! The bond is screaming, Rowan! Can't you smell it? She belongs to me!".
Here it was. The clash of Alphas. In the book, this was the moment I was supposed to intervene, get dragged into a three-way argument, and eventually end up crying while they measured their testosterone levels.
Instead, I grabbed a decorative silk pillow from the bed and whacked Kieran upside the head with it.
The silence that followed was absolute. Both Alphas stared at me like I’d just grown a second head. Kieran blinked, the red fading from his eyes as he looked at the pillow on the floor.
"First of all," I said, my voice cutting through the tension. "I am not a bone you two get to fight over in the yard. Second, if I hear the phrase 'she belongs to me' one more time, I am going to find Elder Malrik and tell him you both dishonor the pack with your timing."
Kieran stiffened at the mention of the Elder. "How do you know what Malrik would say?"
"Because he’s a predictable old buzzkill," I snapped. "Now, listen to me. There are no lakes tonight. There are no capsized boats. There is no 'wet as a fountain' scene. Kieran, go wash the blood off your hands. Rowan, go check the eastern perimeter, because that’s where the real threat is coming from. And if either of you touches me before I’ve had a sandwich, I’m leaving."
"Iris—" Rowan started, looking bewildered.
"Out!" I pointed to the door. "Both of you. Discuss your custody battle in the hallway. I’m tired, I’m hungry, and I am rewriting this chapter."
Kieran looked at Rowan. Rowan looked at Kieran. For the first time, they weren't looking at me as a prize to be won, but as a terrifying anomaly they didn't know how to handle.
"She’s… lost her mind," Kieran muttered, rubbing the spot where the pillow had hit him.
"She's exhausted," Rowan corrected, though he looked equally wary.
They retreated. The heavy bolt slid home once more. I was alone.
I flopped back onto the silk sheets and let out a long, shaky breath.

A faint, shimmering light began to pulse from the corner of the room.
"You're making this very difficult, Iris," a voice whispered.
It wasn't the warm voice of a friend. It was the voice of the Author. The Moon Goddess was watching. And she did not like it when her characters went off-script.