Chapter 15 Chapter 15
ZANE
Mira didn’t move when the door clicked shut behind us, but I could still feel her scent on my skin, could still feel the heat of her calf against my cheek, the faint tremor of her pulse traveling straight through my bones. It was warm vanilla, fear sharp at the edges, that soft sweetness she tried so damn hard to hide. It sank into my clothes, the crook of my neck, the space behind my ears, clinging like something alive.
We’d covered her in it.
Blended ourselves into her until anyone with half a nose would think we’d spent the whole night tearing into each other.
A perfect lie.
The hallway outside her room was quiet in that early-morning way, shadows dragged long across the floorboards. Jax walked like a ghost—silent, rigid. Luca kept glancing back over his shoulder as if she’d suddenly appear behind us, asking if we really had to do this.
Me? I walked like someone who wasn’t pretending because Mira reacted to us—the little stutters in her breath, the heat rising under her skin, her thighs squeezing like she was fighting herself.
Father’s command still rang sharp through the pack-link.
“My office. Now.”
I blew out a breath through my nose, a humorless huff slipping through my lips. “He sounds real excited to see us.”
Luca stumbled a little at the tone. He turned his face toward me, worry written everywhere, drawn eyebrows, tight mouth. “Zane… what if he knows? What if he can tell we didn’t actually—”
“He won’t.”
I lifted my wrist between us, letting the thick, tangled scent rise into the air. “We smell like a pack of wolves rolled in her sheets. He’ll swallow it whole.”
Luca flinched while Jax didn’t even blink. His jaw was clenched so tight I could hear the faint crack of teeth grinding.
We reached Father’s office door. It was wide, heavy, carved with our family sigil like we needed reminding who controlled what around here.
Jax opened it first.
Father didn’t look up immediately. He stood by the window, hands behind his back, sunlight drawing a sharp gold line across his cheekbone. He inhaled once, slow and deliberate.
The change was instant.
“That,” he said, turning toward us with a predatory curl of satisfaction, “is the smell of rut.”
Luca’s heartbeat spiked so hard I could feel it, even without mind-linking. Jax stood in perfect stillness, a statue carved of obedience.
I just smiled with all my teeth.
Father stepped forward, letting our scents wash over him, eyes half-lidded like he was savoring a fine wine. “Well?” His voice dropped low with expectation. “Did you take her?”
Silence stretched. Thick. Suffocating. A noose around all three of our throats.
Luca swallowed hard and Jax stared straight ahead, stone cold and unreadable.
And Father’s gaze finally landed where we both knew it would.
On me.
His favorite annoying child. His most predictable liar.
I held his stare, let a lazy smile curl the corner of my mouth, and dropped the lie like honey-coated venom.
“Yes.”
It slid out smooth and believable, exactly what he wanted. Father’s grin was sharp enough to cut. “Good,” he breathed. “Very good.”
He began pacing, each step measured and controlled, the way he liked everything—including us.
“This will strengthen our bloodline. Restore the balance. The other Alphas will know their place once this child is born.”
My stomach twisted, but I kept my face still. I’d learned how to balance rage and obedience long before I knew how to ride a bike.
He kept talking—words like lineage, dominance, legacy—but the only thing I saw was Luca’s hands shaking at his sides.
“And in two weeks,” Father continued, “there is a meeting on neutral grounds. You three will accompany me.”
Luca blinked, confusion slicing through his fear. “Two weeks? That’s—”
His voice thinned. “—graduation.”
Father paused mid-step. “Graduation?” he repeated, turning slowly, eyes like cold steel. “You care about that?”
“We worked for it,” Luca said quietly, not meeting his gaze. “We thought—”
“You thought,” Father cut in, “that you are like the others. You are not. You are Alpha sons. You never needed school. You never will.”
Luca’s shoulders collapsed an inch while Jax didn’t react at all. I stared at Father and imagined punching a hole through the wall behind him.
He dismissed us with a flick of his hand, like we were soldiers instead of his sons.
Outside, the door thudded shut behind us.
Jax exhaled once—just once—before saying, “I’m going to the training grounds.” He walked off without waiting for an answer.
Luca pushed a hand through his hair, voice thin. “I’ll go to the library. I just… need to think.”
“Go,” I said, clapping him on the shoulder. “Before he calls us back to polish his shoes too.”
He huffed out something like a laugh and left, then the hallway fell quiet.
My phone buzzed and I didn’t need to check to know who it was.
Sofia.
I groaned and dragged a hand over my face. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
But I opened the text anyway.
~Where are you?
Woods. Now.~
Of course.
Because she always picked the most inconvenient moment to demand attention.
I shoved the phone into my back pocket and headed out the side door toward the treeline. The forest air was cooler, the scent of pine sharp enough to settle the mess swirling in my head.
But not enough to prepare me for her.
She stood in a clearing, arms crossed, expression furious, golden hair catching the light like she styled herself for the confrontation.
And before I could even open my mouth, she grabbed me.
Sofia’s hands were already on me before my brain finished cursing. Her fingers dug into my jaw, dragging my mouth to hers like she wanted to bite pieces off me. Her perfume hit first—sweet, choking, familiar—and then her lips crashed against mine.
Angry. Desperate. A challenge more than a kiss.
I didn’t move. Didn’t kiss her back. I let her mouth press, push and take until she realized she was getting nothing.
She pulled back with a wet gasp, mascara smudged beneath her eyes, chest heaving as she searched my face for something that simply wasn’t there.
“What is wrong with you?” she demanded, voice jagged. “Why are you acting like… like I’m some stranger?”
I dragged my thumb across my lips, wiping her off. “Maybe because you are.”
Her breath stuttered, disbelief flaring into something feral. “Don’t you dare.”
“Sofia,” I said, letting her name fall flat and cold between us, “we were never—”
“We were!” she cut in, voive loud, eyes shining with the kind of emotion she only felt when she wasn’t getting her way. “We always spend your rut together. You come to me. Every time. Every damn time, Zane.”
“And?” I asked, arching a brow. “That wasn’t a pact. It wasn’t a promise.”
“It was something!” she snapped, stepping closer like she wanted to hit me with her words. “Don’t stand there pretending it meant nothing.”
“It didn’t.”
Her breath hitched. For a moment, she looked like she might break. But then something sharper slid over her face like jealousy blooming like a bruise.
“I can smell her on you,” she whispered. “All over you.”
She said it like an accusation. Like a wound. And I turned to walk away from her.
And then: “I’ll tell her.”
I stopped walking completely.
She must’ve seen the shift, because her lips curled in a triumphant little smirk.
“I’ll tell Mira everything,” she continued, stepping into my space like she suddenly felt brave. “That we used to fuck and still fucked after she became your mate. That you never wanted her. That you only touched her because I wasn’t there.”
Her chin lifted.
Satisfied.
Vindictive.
So, so stupid.
That was all it took.
The part of me Father shaped—sharp edges, quiet rage, the instinct to break before being broken—rose to the surface like a shadow slipping over my skin.
She didn’t even have time to gasp.
One second she was smirking, and the next her back slammed into the nearest tree, leaves trembling from the impact.
My hand wrapped around her throat, not tight, not dangerous, just precise. Enough to hold her there. Enough to make her feel how entirely I could end this conversation if I wanted to.
Her fingers flew to my wrist. “Z-Zane—”
“Don’t say her name again.” I didn’t raise my voice. I didn’t need to. The trees carried it like a warning.
Her pulse fluttered against my palm, frantic and shallow. I leaned in until her breath stuttered against my cheek.
“You don’t talk about her,” I murmured. “Not to me. Not to anyone.”
A shiver ran through her.
“You think I won’t shut you up?” I asked softly, brushing the edge of my canine against her jaw. Her knees wobbled. “After everything you’ve already dragged your claws through?”
“I didn’t ruin—”
“Don’t lie.”
My thumb slid to the dip beneath her chin, tilting her head up. She froze like prey caught staring into a predator’s eyes. Her heartbeat thumped wildly against my skin, betraying her fear, her anger, her everything.
“If you go near Mira again,” I said, letting each word settle like a weight, “if you talk to her, whisper to her, even look at her with that mouth of yours—”
Her breath snagged.
“—I’ll take your voice.”
Not a scream.
Not a threat.
A promise.
Her lips parted, trembling, and she finally realized I wasn’t bluffing, no… not out of rage, but out of something far quieter and far darker.
I pulled back just enough for her to see my eyes clearly. “Now,” I said with a slow, dangerous tilt of my head, “go on.”
I loosened my grip just enough for her to speak, though she barely could.
“Try that threat again, I dare you.”