Chapter Eighteen – The Rose Hall
The rose hall was nothing like Eira remembered.
It was grand, yes—arched ceilings dripping with vines and candlelight, polished stone floors and crimson petals scattered like offerings—but it felt suffocating now. The air was too sweet, too still, as if the entire room held its breath.
Two guards escorted her in, flanking her like she might flee again. Her steps were slow, each one deliberate, her pulse roaring beneath her skin.
He was already there.
Her so-called fiancé.
Tall, striking, his dark hair slicked back and clothes tailored to perfection. He wore the uniform of power, of control. The Alpha-in-waiting. And when he turned to her, his expression was a mask of charm.
"Eira," he said, his voice smooth as silk. "You look radiant. They’ve done a wonderful job preparing you."
She stopped several feet away, spine straight, chin lifted. "Let’s not pretend we’re pleased to see each other."
He chuckled, stepping closer. "I heard you were confused. That you’ve been through… quite the ordeal."
Her eyes narrowed. "I remember everything. Including what it felt like to be free."
He raised a brow, unbothered. "Freedom is overrated. You were always meant to return. To me."
“You’re not my mate.”
“Fated mates are a myth, Eira. Romantic drivel for wolves who can’t control themselves. You don’t want that kind of chaos, do you?”
Her breath caught. He sounded so confident, so rational—like she was the one imagining things.
“Stop trying to make me doubt myself,” she said, her voice low. "I know what I felt."
He took her hand without asking, his grip firm.
“I’m what’s best for you. What’s safe. And I’ve been very patient—waiting for you to stop acting like some feral little—”
Crack.
Her palm connected with his face.
The sound echoed in the stillness.
His head turned with the force of it, and for one suspended moment, time held its breath.
Then he looked back at her.
And the mask fell.
His eyes darkened. His jaw clenched. “You stupid little bitch.”
He grabbed her by the upper arm, his fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. “I’ve been lenient. Because your parents begged. Because the pack still pities you. But if you think that means you can humiliate me—”
“Let go of me!” she hissed, struggling.
“You think anyone’s coming to save you?” he growled. “You’re mine. And after the ceremony, I’ll make sure you never forget it.”
Eira twisted in his grip, heart thundering. But he was too strong. Too calm in his violence.
“You’re not my mate,” she whispered again, more to herself now. “You’ll never be.”
His smile returned—cold, tight, unamused. “That won’t matter when you’re marked. You’ll belong to me either way.”
And in that moment, she knew: if Caius didn’t come for her soon, she’d have to find a way to save herself—or lose everything she was.
Alder released her with a final shove and turned on his heel.
"Stay presentable," he snapped without looking back. "You’ll be summoned again soon."
He stormed out of the rose hall, his boots echoing off stone. Rage coiled beneath his skin, but it wasn’t just fury—it was arousal. His jaw clenched as he stalked toward his chambers, trying to will it down. But it only worsened.
Why does she still get to me?
The slap still burned across his cheek, but it was her defiance, her fire—that untouched, infuriating purity—that made his blood burn. He hated her. And yet he wanted her in the way a predator wants a creature that dares to bare its teeth.
He shoved his bedroom door open.
Clara lay naked on his bed, posed and waiting.
He said nothing.
Just stared at her with unseeing eyes.
In his mind, it was Eira.
He crossed the room in two strides, stripping off his jacket, his belt, his control.
Clara didn’t ask questions. She never did. That’s why he kept her around.
He grabbed her roughly, pushing her down into the mattress. She moaned his name, but he didn’t hear it.
Because it wasn’t her voice he imagined—it was Eira’s.
He flipped Clara onto her stomach and yanked her hips up, his belt hitting the floor with a thud. Her breath hitched as he drove into her, no warning, no words—just fury and heat and the unrelenting rhythm of a man who couldn’t control the thing clawing under his skin.
Clara cried out, clutching the sheets, but Alder didn’t slow. His hands gripped her hips hard enough to bruise. He fucked her like a weapon—driven, rough, primal. His nails dug into her flesh. His growl vibrated against her spine as he pounded into her, sweat rolling down his back, vision gone red.
He didn’t look at her. He couldn’t. Not when the phantom of Eira was still burned behind his eyes. The shape of her lips when she slapped him. The flash of defiance in her gaze. Her innocence, her fire—it lit something in him, something dark and rabid.
“Say my name,” Clara begged.
He leaned down, teeth grazing her shoulder. “Say hers.”
She whimpered, confused, but he didn’t care. He thrust harder, chasing a high that wasn’t meant for the body beneath him.
In his mind, it was Eira breaking beneath him. Eira whimpering. Eira clenching around him as he took what she refused to give.
When he came, it was with a vicious snarl. He stayed inside her, panting against her back, teeth bared, pulse thundering in his ears.
But he felt nothing.
Because it wasn’t Clara he’d used—it was the idea of her.
It was the ghost of the girl who wouldn’t yield.
The one who made him hard with rage.
The one he couldn’t have.
Yet.
Clara remained on the bed, her body marked by him, her breath still shallow. She turned her head slightly, watching Alder as he stood and pulled on his trousers, his movements stiff with lingering frustration.
"That was... different," she said softly. "You could have me all the time. You don’t need to chase her. You need a Luna who understands you. Someone who’s already here."
Alder froze.
She pushed herself up on her elbows, letting the sheet fall to her waist. "Make me your Luna. I could be everything you need. Loyal. Obedient. Yours."
He turned slowly. Calmly.
Then his hand shot out and tangled in her hair, yanking her head back until her throat was exposed and her gasp turned sharp.
His voice was ice. "You? Luna?"
His grip tightened.
"You're not Luna material, Clara. You're just a warm body. A stress release. Something I fuck when I’m too angry to think."
Her eyes widened, lips parting in stunned silence.
He leaned in close, his mouth brushing her ear. "Don’t confuse being convenient with being wanted."
Then he released her.
She collapsed back onto the bed, eyes shining with something dangerously close to humiliation.
Alder didn’t spare her another glance as he walked out of the room.