Chapter 15 Raphael #2
But the surveillance report from earlier troubled me. The pressure valve hadn’t failed on its own. Someone had tampered with it. Someone with building access, someone who knew the mechanical systems, someone who’d deliberately created a crisis designed to break her.
The dead corgi. The tampered valve. The pattern was forming, and it pointed somewhere inside her hotel. Someone she trusted. Someone who smiled at her every day while plotting her destruction.
I should tell her. The thought surfaced and I crushed it immediately.
Information was power. Her fear, her vulnerability, her need for protection from threats she couldn’t see? Those kept her dependent on me. Those ensured she’d come running back every time the world turned hostile.
Coward, the wolf snarled. She handled a crisis today without us. Proved she doesn’t need our protection. And instead of admiring that, you’re already planning how to use her ignorance against her.
I stared at the falling snow and said nothing.
Viktor was watching me in the rearview mirror, his expression carefully blank. He’d seen me checking my phone. Seen the way my jaw had tightened at certain moments. He was too good a wolf not to notice.
“The hotel situation?” he asked quietly.
“Handled.” My voice was ice. “She handled it.”
Something passed through Viktor’s eyes. Surprise, maybe. That I would admit a woman had managed something without my intervention.
“And Michael?” Viktor’s eyebrows rose fractionally. “You want him removed?”
The wolf liked that idea. Liked it very much.
“Not yet.” I forced the words out through gritted teeth. “He’s useful. For now.”
We drove the rest of the way in silence, the snow falling heavier now, blanketing the world in white.
I thought about the texts I’d sent her. About the way she’d probably read them, her stomach dropping as she realized the extent of my surveillance.
About the heat I’d promised her tonight, the reward for her clever performance.
She’d handled the crisis brilliantly. She’d proven herself capable, competent, worthy of the legacy she was fighting to save.
And tonight, I would remind her exactly who she belonged to.
The rest of the drive passed in silence. Viktor dropped me at the gates without a word, and I walked up the long driveway alone, the snow crunching under my shoes.
But I didn’t go inside. Not yet.
The wolf was too close to the surface, too agitated from vampires and sabotage and the knowledge that someone had threatened her while I’d been negotiating with corpses. If I went in now, if I caught her scent, I’d do something I would regret.
I veered off the driveway and into the treeline.
The snow was ankle-deep here, untouched by groundskeepers. I waded through it until I reached the familiar clearing where I’d run before. My fingers were already working the buttons of my coat, my shirt, letting them fall into the white powder.
The cold bit at my skin, but wolves ran hot. I barely felt it.
The shift came hard this time, fueled by rage and possession and bloodlust I didn’t want to name. Bones cracked. Muscles tore. The pain was almost welcome, a distraction from the fury howling through my blood.
Then I was on four legs, and the snow-covered forest became my hunting ground.
I ran through the falling snow, a massive black shape cutting through the white like a blade.
The vampires’ unnatural stillness had left my instincts screaming, and now the wolf finally had release.
Tree trunks blurred past. Snow flew up behind my paws.
The cold air burned in my lungs, sharp and clean, washing away the death-scent that had clung to me since the warehouse.
Someone hurt her, the wolf snarled as we ran. Someone threatens what is ours.
The saboteur. The dead corgi. The hang-up calls. A pattern. A threat.
Find them. Kill them.
I would. But first I needed control. First I needed to burn off this feral energy before I did something stupid, like track her scent through the manor and pin her against the nearest wall.
At the edge of my property, I paused, chest heaving. Snow settled on my black fur like ash. The manor glowed in the distance, warm light spilling from windows. Somewhere in there, she’d come back from her crisis. Handled it herself. Proven she didn’t need me.
The thought made the wolf growl low in his throat.
Ours. We protect what is ours. Whether she wants it or not.
Turning, I ran back, following my own tracks through the snow. The shift back was easier, faster. Naked in the clearing, I stood, breathing hard, steam rising from my skin in the cold air. The rage had banked to something manageable. Something I could control.
I dressed quickly and walked the rest of the way to the manor, snow melting in my hair.
The house was too quiet when I arrived.
Her scent lingered in the hallways, telling me where she’d been.
The library. The kitchen. Her room, briefly, before she’d left for the hotel.
I could track her movements through the house like following a trail of breadcrumbs.
Here she’d paused by the window. Here she’d run her hand along the banister.
Here she’d stood in the doorway of my study, looking at something.
Looking at me, maybe. While I slept.
But she wasn’t here now.
I ended up in my study, a glass of whiskey in hand, staring at the collar still sitting on my desk. It sat there like an accusation, a symbol of everything between us that remained unfinished. The silver chain gleamed softly in the firelight, the diamonds catching the dancing flames.
Alice appeared in the doorway. “She left quite early this morning. Before breakfast.”
“I know.”
“She seemed determined.”
Determined. Running from me, more likely. Running from the kiss I’d given her and the mess I’d made of the aftermath.
I drained the whiskey and poured another. Outside the window, snow continued to fall, blanketing the world in white. Somewhere in town, she was handling the aftermath of a crisis. Proving she didn’t need me.
Both facts gnawed at me. She was supposed to need me.
That was the point. She was supposed to be desperate, dependent, broken down until she had no choice but to submit.
Instead she was out there solving problems and earning the respect of her staff while I sat here like some lovesick fool, tracking her scent through the hallways.
Not lovesick, the wolf corrected. Possessive. There’s a difference.
Was there?
She’s strong, the wolf insisted. That makes her more worthy, not less. Stop running.
I wasn’t running. I was being careful. Strategic. The mate bond was a trap, a biological imperative that would make me as stupid and dangerous as my father had been. If I claimed her, if I let the wolf have what it wanted, I would destroy her the way my father had destroyed my mother.
You’re not him.
But I could be. I felt it sometimes, the rage that lived beneath my careful control. The violence that wanted out. During the consummation, when I finally had her beneath me, would I be able to stop? Would the wolf let me?
Or would I become the monster I’d been born from?
I heard her car on the driveway before I heard her footsteps. The engine cutting off, then silence. A door closing. Her heartbeat, rapid from exertion or anxiety, growing closer with each step.
The wolf surged toward her like a compass finding north.
Mate. Home. Ours.
I stayed where I was. Forced myself to remain still as her scent grew stronger, but layered now with other things. Exhaustion. Stress-sweat. Cold from the winter air. And something new.
Pride.
She appeared in the doorway of my study, snow melting in her dark hair, her cheeks flushed from the cold. There were shadows under her eyes, evidence of a day spent in crisis. But she stood straight, her chin lifted, meeting my gaze with something that hadn’t been there before.
Confidence.
For a moment, neither of us spoke. The kiss hung between us, unaddressed. The promise I’d broken. The collar on my desk. Everything we hadn’t said.
“I’m going to take a shower,” she said finally. “It’s been a long day.”
Not asking permission. Not explaining. Just informing me.
I should have said something. Should have reminded her who she belonged to. Should have demanded to know why she hadn’t called me the moment the crisis began. Should have pinned her against the doorframe and finished what I’d started with that kiss.
Instead, I watched her walk away. Watched the sway of her hips, the straight line of her spine. Watched her disappear around the corner, taking her scent with her.
The wolf howled in protest, but I held him back. If I followed her now, I wouldn’t be able to stop. The need was too strong, the bond too insistent. I would have her against the shower wall, on her bed, anywhere she’d let me take her.
And then I would claim her.
And then I would destroy her.
Coward, the wolf snarled. She handled a crisis without you. Remind her who owns her. Claim what is yours.
I poured another whiskey and watched the snow fall.
Hours passed. I didn’t move from my chair. Didn’t eat. Didn’t do anything but sit in the growing darkness, watching the snow accumulate on the windowsill while the whiskey burned slow and steady in my chest.
The fire had burned low by the time I heard her moving through the manor. Her footsteps on the stairs, then silence. She’d gone to bed.
I sat in the dark, the empty glass in my hand, and let the wolf rage.
Today I had sat across from vampires, creatures I was born to hunt, and my mind had wandered to a human girl’s scent. Today someone had sabotaged her hotel, put her in danger, and she had handled it alone. Today my brother had noticed my distraction.
Viktor would tell Max. He always told Max.
And Max would have questions. Questions about the Hughes contract. About why I’d been distracted during the Diamantis exchange. About whether I was losing my edge over a human girl who should have been nothing more than a means to an end.
She is ours, the wolf insisted. Take her. Use her. Break her. That is what the contract allows.
But that was the problem. The contract allowed me to take her body.
It didn’t explain why I couldn’t stop thinking about the way she’d handled that crisis.
Couldn’t stop replaying the moment she’d walked into my study with her chin lifted and her shoulders straight.
Couldn’t stop wanting to drag her back here and remind her who held the leash.
She’d proven today that she didn’t need me. That rankled more than it should have.
Break her pride, the wolf suggested. Remind her who owns her.
I thought of Lena in the shower, water running over skin I’d touched but hadn’t claimed. The memory of her kissing me back, fury meeting hunger, her fingers twisted in my shirt.
I would take what the contract entitled me to, put her back in her place, remind her that independence was a privilege I could revoke at any moment.
But tonight, in the silence of my study with the collar glinting on my desk, I couldn’t shake the image of her standing in that doorway. Exhausted and proud and not asking my permission for anything.
Somewhere in the manor, she slept. Unaware that someone wanted to hurt her. Unaware that the man who’d contracted her was already planning how to remind her who was in charge.
Tomorrow, I would make her understand.
The wolf paced and snarled, and I poured another whiskey, letting the burn settle in my chest.
She was a contract. A possession. A means to destroy her father’s legacy and complete my revenge.
Nothing more.