Chapter 11
The silence in Julian’s apartment was not the peaceful silence of a sanctuary; it was the suffocating silence of a tomb.
For three days, Julian had been a ghost in his own home.
He had sent the housekeeper away, diverted his calls, and locked the penthouse down as if it were a fortress under siege.
The blinds were drawn tight, casting the sprawling modern space into a perpetual, depressing twilight.
He sat in the dark, surrounded by the sterile minimalism he had once prized as a shield against the world, staring at a television screen he refused to turn on.
He knew what was out there. The whispers. The condemnation. The stock prices plummeting. The board’s vote of no confidence scheduled for the following morning.
He had done the only thing he could do to protect the empire he had built: he had severed the infection. He had cut Damien Wolfe out of his life with the precision of a surgeon removing a tumor.
It had been a calculated surgical strike. A text message sent at 3:00 AM, cold and final: It’s over. Don’t contact me again. I won’t let you destroy everything I’ve worked for.
He hadn’t waited for a reply. He had blocked the number. He had blocked the email. He had retreated into the dark, alone, trying to convince himself that the agonizing ache in his chest was just stress, and not the bond snapping under the weight of his own self-loathing.
His body was rebelling against him. Without the Alpha’s proximity, his hormones were chaotic.
He felt cold all the time, a deep, shivering chill that no amount of clothing could fix.
His skin felt too tight, hypersensitive to the brush of silk sheets or the terrycloth of the robe he currently wore.
He was achy, nauseous, and violently, debilitatingly aroused, his body screaming for the mate it had been denied.
He was nursing a glass of scotch—his third of the evening, though it tasted like ash—when the sound of splintering wood shattered the quiet.
Julian jumped, the glass slipping from his fingers and shattering on the hardwood floor. The sound was like a gunshot in the stillness. He spun around, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs, just as the heavy front door, reinforced steel and titanium, was kicked open.
The frame didn't just break; it exploded inward. Splinters of wood and twisted metal flew across the entryway like shrapnel.
Standing in the breach, framed by the harsh fluorescent light of the corridor, was Damien.
He looked like a god of war descending from Valhalla.
His suit jacket was gone, his white shirt unbuttoned at the collar, the sleeves rolled up to expose the corded muscle of his forearms. His chest heaved with the force of his breathing, his eyes glowing a feral, molten gold in the dim light of the apartment.
He radiated an aura of pure, unadulterated Alpha rage so potent it made the air pressure in the room drop, making Julian’s ears pop.
The scent of him hit Julian a second later—cedar and ozone, yes, but underlaid with something dark and spicy, the smell of a Alpha pushed to the brink of violence. It was terrifying. It was intoxicating.
Julian’s throat went dry. His Omega instincts screamed at him to drop to his knees, to bare his neck, to submit and soothe the raging beast. But Julian Mercer had built a career on defying his instincts. He straightened his spine, lifting his chin, forcing his trembling legs to lock in place.
"Get out," Julian said. His voice was hoarse, wrecked from days of disuse and suppressed tears.
Damien stepped over the threshold, kicking the broken door shut behind him with a heel. The slam echoed like a thunderclap. He didn't look at the door; his eyes were fixed on Julian, unblinking, predatory.
"You blocked me," Damien said. His voice was terrifyingly quiet, a low rumble that vibrated in Julian’s bones. "You sent a text message like a coward, and then you hid. You locked yourself in this tomb."
"I'm not hiding," Julian shot back, his voice shaking slightly. "I'm mitigating damage. You shouldn't be here. If the press sees your car—"
"I don't give a damn about the press!" Damien roared. He moved then, no longer a statue but a blur of motion. He crossed the distance between them in two long strides, invading Julian’s personal space until they were toe-to-toe.
The heat radiating from his body was scorching.
"You think you can just end this? You think you can just walk away from what we have? From what you owe me?"
"There is no 'we'!" Julian shouted, stepping forward to meet him, refusing to be cowed even though every nerve in his body was sparking with fear and need.
"There is only a scandal! A CEO who can't keep his legs closed and a predator who thinks a merger is a mating ritual!
I am radioactive, Damien! Every minute you spend near me, you lose value! Your board is threatening to oust you!"
"Value?" Damien grabbed Julian by the lapels of his robe, yanking him close. Their faces were inches apart. Julian could smell the scotch on Damien’s breath, the anger, the desperation.
"You think I measure my life in stock options?
You think I care about a board seat when my mate is dying in a dark room? "
"I am not your mate!" Julian screamed, the lie tasting like poison on his tongue. "I am a liability! Look at the news! They are tearing me apart! They are tearing us apart! I can't let you drown with me!"
"I'm not drowning!" Damien’s grip tightened, his knuckles white. "I'm anchoring you, you stubborn, infuriating man!"
"I don't need an anchor! I need to survive!"
Julian’s control snapped. The fear, the shame, the heartbreak of the last three days coalesced into a white-hot ball of rage. He felt cornered, hunted, and he lashed out. He drew his arm back and swung with every ounce of strength he possessed.
His fist connected with Damien’s jaw with a satisfying, meaty crack.
It wasn't a pulled punch. It was fueled by months of rivalry and days of despair. Damien’s head snapped to the side, the force of the blow whipping his neck around.
A split second later, he turned back. There was no bruise yet, but the skin was red.
He licked the corner of his mouth, tasting blood from a split lip.
He didn't look angry. He looked... hungry.
He caught Julian’s wrist before he could pull away. His grip was iron, unbreakable. Julian struggled, trying to twist free, but it was useless.
"Hit me again," Damien challenged, his voice dropping to a growl that was pure sex and danger. "Come on, Julian. Show me that fire. Show me the Shark. Don't cower in the dark. Fight me."
Julian’s breath hitched. He stared into Damien’s eyes and saw the reflection of his own desperation. "Let go of me."
"No," Damien said. He twisted Julian’s arm, spinning him around and slamming him back against the wall of the entryway. The impact knocked the breath out of Julian, the plaster cold against his shoulder blades. "You want to fight? Fine. We’ll fight. But you are not running away from me."
"I hate you," Julian hissed, even as his body arched toward the Alpha’s heat, traitorously seeking the source of its comfort. "I hate what you’ve done to me. You ruined me."
"Liar," Damien murmured. He pressed his body against Julian’s, pinning him completely. He was hard, his erection a thick, insistent ridge against Julian’s hip.
The feel of it made Julian’s mouth water and his hole clench around nothing, a spike of pure need shooting through him.
"You love it. You love being mine. You love the way I fill you up. You love the way I make you scream."
"Shut up," Julian whispered, his resolve crumbling into dust.
"Make me," Damien dared.
Julian acted on instinct. He grabbed the back of Damien’s neck and pulled him into a brutal kiss.
It was a clash of teeth and tongues. There was no tenderness, only desperation.
Julian bit down on Damien’s lower lip, hard enough to draw blood, tasting the copper tang.
Damien groaned, a guttural sound of approval, and deepened the kiss, licking into Julian’s mouth, claiming him, swallowing the whimpers that escaped the Omega’s throat.
The fight transformed instantly. The struggle for dominance morphed into a frantic need to consume.
Damien’s hands were rough, tearing at Julian’s robe.
The silk belt snapped, and the fabric fell open, leaving Julian bare underneath.
The cool air hit his heated skin, but Damien’s hands were there immediately, hot and possessive.
He ran his palms over Julian’s chest, pinching a nipple hard enough to make Julian gasp into the kiss.
"You think you can leave me?" Damien growled against Julian’s mouth. He ground his hips forward, the rough fabric of his trousers rubbing against Julian’s exposed, leaking cock. "You think I’d let you go?"
"I thought..." Julian gasped, throwing his head back as Damien moved his mouth to bite the curve of his neck, right over the mating gland. The sensation was electric, a direct line to his groin. "I thought you’d be better off."
"Never," Damien swore. He dropped to his knees.
The sight of the powerful Alpha kneeling before him made Julian dizzy.
Damien didn't hesitate. He grabbed Julian’s hips, digging his fingers into the flesh, and leaned in.
He nuzzled at the crease of Julian’s thigh, inhaling deeply, growling at the scent of slick that was already leaking from Julian’s body.
"You smell like mine," Damien muttered. "You smell like you need to be fucked."
He turned Julian around, pressing him face-first against the wall. Julian braced his hands on the plaster, his breath coming in short, panicked pants.
"Spread your legs," Damien ordered.
Julian obeyed, shifting his feet apart. He felt exposed, vulnerable, his ass presented to the Alpha.