Chapter 9 Raphael
RAPHAEL
She’d signed.
I’d known she would. There was never any other option, not with the debt I’d orchestrated, the pressure I’d applied, the careful web I’d spent years spinning.
But knowing and experiencing were different things, and the savage satisfaction that had roared through me when Parsons texted the confirmation was something I hadn’t anticipated.
Mine. The word pulsed through me, and I didn’t know if it came from the wolf or the man. Perhaps both.
I stood at my office window, watching the afternoon light slant across the gardens without seeing any of it. Tonight she would come to me. Tonight the arrangement would begin. Tonight I would have her in my house, in my space, surrounded by my scent with nowhere to run.
The wolf stirred, pleased. Mate. Ours. Finally.
I ignored him. She wasn’t my mate. She was revenge made flesh, a pawn in the game I’d been playing since I was old enough to understand what my grandfather had done.
What Richard Hughes had helped him do. The daughter was simply the most effective pressure point, and if I happened to enjoy breaking her, that was a bonus.
My cock twitched at the thought of her on her knees. Those soft lips parted. Those defiant eyes forced to look up at me while I fed my cock between them.
I let myself imagine it. The way she’d tremble when I ordered her to strip.
The way her pulse would jump when I touched her for the first time.
I’d start slow. Make her kneel. Make her crawl.
Teach her that her body belonged to me now, every inch of it, and I could look at it whenever I pleased.
I’d spread her open and inspect every pink fold of her cunt, learn what made her wet, what made her gasp.
And when she was finally ready, when she was desperate and aching and begging me to take her…
Would she cry? Would she beg? Would she fight?
I hoped she’d fight. Just a little. Just enough to make the surrender sweeter.
A knock at the door interrupted my fantasies.
“Come.”
Parsons entered, his face carefully blank. I knew that expression. It meant news I wouldn’t like.
“There’s been an incident at the hotel.” He handed me a tablet with security footage queued up. “Someone left a package for Miss Hughes this morning. She opened it in the lobby.”
I watched the video. Watched her face shift from confusion to recognition to horror. Watched her scream, the sound silent on the footage but visible in every line of her body. Watched the small broken thing roll out of the box and the note flutter to the ground.
I’M WATCHING.
The wolf surged up so fast I nearly shifted right there in my office. Red hazed the edges of my vision. My hands shook with the effort of keeping my claws from emerging. I could feel my bones wanting to crack and reform, my teeth wanting to lengthen into fangs.
Kill. Protect. Someone touched what is ours. Find them. Rip their throat out.
“Who.” The word came out barely human, more growl than speech.
“We’re investigating. No cameras caught the delivery. Whoever did this knew the building layout. Knew the blind spots.”
Someone had terrorized her. Someone had made her scream in fear. Someone had touched what belonged to me.
I forced myself to breathe. To think. To be the calculating predator I’d made myself into, not the rabid beast I’d been born.
I hadn’t ordered this. I wasn’t behind it.
But someone had done me a favor. Fear was useful. Fear made people dependent. Fear pushed them toward the only safety available.
And tonight, I would be her only safety.
“Keep investigating,” I said, my voice steadier now. “Find who’s moving on my territory.”
“And Miss Hughes?”
“She comes tonight as planned.” I turned back to the window. “No one terrorizes her but me.”
Parsons withdrew without another word. He knew better than to question me when the wolf was this close to the surface.
But the wolf wasn’t satisfied with orders and investigations. He wanted blood. Wanted to tear something apart with his teeth and claws until the rage burning in my chest found an outlet.
I checked the time. Four hours until she arrived. Four hours to get this beast under control before I did something I couldn’t take back.
I left through the back of the manor, striding across the manicured lawns toward the tree line where the forest began. My property extended for miles into the wilderness, bought specifically for moments like this. No neighbors. No witnesses. No one to see the monster emerge.
The clothes came off the moment I reached the pines. I didn’t bother folding them this time. Just tore them off and let them fall where they landed. The wolf was already pushing at my skin, demanding release.
I let him have it.
The shift ripped through me faster than usual, fueled by fury. Bones snapped and reformed. Muscles tore and rebuilt. The pain was secondary to the rage, barely registering as my body twisted into something that wasn’t human.
Then I was on four legs, and the world became simple.
Hunt. Kill. Destroy.
I ran.
Not for pleasure this time. Not for the joy of movement or the freedom of the wild.
I ran because if I didn’t burn off this fury, I would do something irreversible.
Would track down whoever had sent that package and tear their throat out in broad daylight.
Would destroy months of careful planning because someone had dared to frighten what was mine.
The forest blurred around me. I tore through underbrush, leaped over fallen logs, sent a family of deer scattering in terror. My massive black form was a shadow moving through shadows, a predator without prey, all that murderous energy with nowhere to go.
Someone hurt her. The wolf’s thoughts were simple, primal, utterly focused. Someone made her scream. Find them. End them.
I couldn’t. Not yet. Not until I knew who.
I ran until my lungs burned and my legs ached. Ran until the red haze receded from my vision and I could think again. Ran until the wolf finally, reluctantly, agreed that hunting blind would accomplish nothing.
A stream cut through the forest at the edge of my property. I stopped there, chest heaving, tongue lolling. Drank deep from the cold water. Let it cool the fire still smoldering in my gut.
She comes tonight, the wolf reminded me. She’ll be in our den. Safe. Protected. Ours to guard.
Yes. Tonight she would be under my roof, where I could keep her safe from whoever had sent that dead animal. Where I could watch over her, protect her, make sure no one touched her again.
The thought settled the last of the rage into something colder. More patient.
I would find who did this. And when I did, they would beg for death long before I granted it.
The shift back was slower, more controlled. I stood naked by the stream for a long moment, letting the cold air dry the sweat from my skin. Then I made my way back through the forest, following my own scent trail to where my clothes lay scattered among the pine needles.
The sun was lower when I returned to the manor, the shadows lengthening across the gardens. I showered, changed into fresh clothes, and stood at the window watching the light shift toward evening.
The afternoon crawled past. I tried to work, but the words on my screen blurred into meaningless shapes. I showered, changed into fresh clothes, poured myself a whisky I didn’t drink. The wolf paced inside my skull, restless and eager.
And then, finally, the sun sank below the treeline and the car appeared at the end of the drive.
She arrived at eight.
I watched from the upstairs window as Parsons pulled the car around the circular drive. The headlights swept across the manicured hedges, the stone fountain, the rose garden my mother would have loved if she were alive. Then the car stopped, and she emerged.
Small. Pale. Alone.
She stood on the stone drive, looking up at the manor with an expression I couldn’t read from this distance. Fear, maybe. Or resignation. The evening light caught her hair, turned it to honey and gold.
Good.
I didn’t go down to greet her. I wasn’t her suitor, wasn’t some nervous bachelor hoping to make a good impression. I was her owner. Let her come to me.
Alice met her at the door. I heard the murmur of voices, the click of heels on marble, the rustle of a suitcase being taken. Then Alice’s footsteps, climbing the stairs, the lighter tread of the girl behind her.
She’s here. The wolf was pacing now, agitated and eager. Our mate is in our den. Go to her. Claim her.
I stayed where I was.
After a few minutes, I descended. Slow and unhurried. Each step measured and controlled.
She stood in the entrance hall, looking around at the grand staircase, the paintings worth more than her father’s debt. Her suitcase sat at her feet like a surrender flag. She looked smaller here than she had in my office. Younger. Out of place among all this cold grandeur.
And then her scent hit me.
Apples and cream. Sweet and fresh and untouched. Overlaid with something sharp, something bright with fear. But underneath that, something else. Something warm and alive that made my mouth water and my cock stir.
The combination went straight to my hindbrain, made the wolf howl with recognition.
Mate. Mine. Take her. Now.
I ignored him. Barely.
“Miss Hughes.”
She turned. Her eyes were dark-circled, exhausted. She’d been through hell today, and she was still standing. Still holding herself together with nothing but willpower and pride. Something about that pleased me more than it should have.
Brave little mate. The wolf’s tone had shifted. Admiring now. Strong. Worthy.
“Mr. Antonov.” Her voice was steady. Points for composure.
“Alice will show you to your quarters. You have one hour to settle in.” I turned away, already walking. “Then you come to me.”
I didn’t look back to see her reaction. I didn’t need to. I could hear her heartbeat skipping from here, could smell the spike of fear that sharpened her scent.