Chapter 8 Kane
Kane
I’ve been wearing scuff marks into the floorboards with how much I’ve been pacing.
I walked in after work fully expecting Violet to already be here invading my space, tossing her shit everywhere and throwing my meticulously ordered apartment into chaos.
Instead, I found a small stack of boxes lined up neatly in the entryway.
Not many– either she’s a minimalist, or she only packed essentials– and more importantly, no girl.
Irritating.
Not because I want her here, but because I’d already braced for the impact.
I’d prepped for the disruption and the inevitable confrontation.
Now, I’m stuck in this hazy, restless state of waiting that I can’t stand.
The kind of uncertainty that crawls under my skin, grates on my nerves, and drives me up the fucking wall.
I’m seconds from swallowing my pride and calling Hawkins for an update when my inner wolf suddenly perks up, followed by the sound of a brisk knock at the door.
She’s here.
I don’t have to open it to know– I feel it in my chest, the tether of our mate bond pulling taut and sending my wolf into a goddamn frenzy. He surges forward with a rush of excitement so fierce it’s almost painful, claws raking against my ribs.
I immediately shove him back, grinding my molars as I stalk down the long entry hall.
My footsteps echo off the barren walls, steady and restrained despite the wildfire smoldering underneath my skin.
When I reach the door, I pause to draw a deep, steadying breath before flipping the deadbolt and pulling it open.
Mate.
The word reverberates in my skull like a battle cry the instant I lay eyes on Violet, my wolf’s instincts rising despite my best efforts to keep him at bay.
She somehow looks even more tempting than she did last night. Her dark hair is yanked back in a tight ponytail that accentuates her high cheekbones, blue eyes bright and wild like a storm barely contained.
I clamp down on my reaction and force my expression neutral, dipping my chin in acknowledgement. “Mate,” I greet gruffly.
Her glare is glacial. “It’s Violet,” she snaps, pushing inside like she owns the place and shoulder-checking me on her way past.
“More like violent,” I mutter as I kick the door shut, pivoting to follow her down the hall.
She breezes right past the neatly stacked boxes lining the wall, walking the length of the corridor and stopping at the end.
“Hm,” she hums, taking in the open-concept layout of my apartment with a slow, sweeping glance.
“It’s a two bedroom,” I say, coming up behind her and gesturing left. “Yours is through there.”
“Thank fuck,” she mumbles under her breath, spinning to face me.
It’s a mistake.
The moment our eyes lock, both our wolves surge to the surface.
Molten silver bleeds into her irises, swirling like smoke, while my own beast claws his way through my defenses to peer back at her.
Every instinct screams for me to reach out, to touch her skin, to pull her in close and make damn sure she knows exactly who she belongs to.
This is so much worse than I thought.
I break the stare like it’s a chokehold, quickly moving past her and crossing the living room in long, controlled strides toward the bar cart in the far corner.
“I don’t stay here often,” I toss over my shoulder as I snatch up a bottle and pour myself a whiskey– just enough to dull the edges my wolf keeps sharpening.
“So you’ll have the place to yourself most of the time. ”
Her footsteps trail after me, my pulse spiking higher with every one she takes. It’s ridiculous how tuned-in I am to this girl. It’s as if she’s the only signal in a world full of static. Even when I’m not looking at her, I can feel her movements, the gravitational pull etched into my biology.
“Where do you stay?” she asks, tone edged with suspicion.
“I’ve got a lake house,” I murmur, throwing back the whiskey in one swallow. The burn barely registers as I pivot to face her, wiping my mouth with my forearm before adding, “It’s outside the city. Quiet.”
Her gaze flicks to the glass in my hand. “Got one of those for me?”
I jerk a nod, turning back to the bar cart and grabbing another glass. I pour her a drink and refill my own. When I pass hers over, our fingers brush, and my wolf lunges so hard I have to lock my jaw to keep from reacting.
So. Much. Worse.
She takes a tentative sip, watching me over the rim of her glass. Her throat bobs as she swallows, and I unconsciously track the movement, fingers twitching with the urge to wrap around that delicate column.
“You know why I did this,” she murmurs, eyes narrowing with razor intent. “But why did you?”
“What do you mean?”
“The Pairing,” she clarifies. “You seem pissed about it. Or is that just your default setting?”
I throw back my whiskey, letting the burn buy me a second to think.
I could dodge. Lie. Shrug it off and pretend none of this touches me.
Or I could give her something real. It’s the least she deserves in this shitshow.
“Alpha thought it’d be good for pack optics,” I say finally. “Boost morale, reignite interest in the Pairing.”
Her mouth actually drops open for a split second, shock widening those blue eyes before she snaps it all back under control. Then she downs the rest of her whiskey in one hard swallow and holds out her empty glass in silent demand.
I take it without comment, turning back to the bar cart.
“The way I see it, since neither of us wants this, we can just stay out of each other’s way,” I grumble as I pour each of us another drink.
“You’re free to live your life normally.
Go to work, socialize. Just think of it as a change of address. ”
“Didn’t you hear?” she asks as I swivel and hand her the glass. “I was relieved of my nutritionist duties at the TTC. Something about how the job’s beneath the mate of the Commander.” She frowns, tips her drink toward me like a toast to bullshit, and downs it in one go.
I do the same, because yeah… that tracks.
The Tactical Training Center– TTC for short– is where enforcers get shaped into weapons. It’s probably not a great look for the Commander’s mate to serve as their lunch lady.
“I’ll see if I can reverse course on that,” I mumble.
She rolls her eyes, wiping the corner of her mouth with her thumb. “Don’t bother. Kinda hated working there anyway. Other than the eye candy, of course.”
Her gaze drags down my body– quick, like an unconscious response– and her cheeks immediately bloom with a pink flush that looks way too damn good on her. She abruptly shoves the empty glass into my hand like she’s slamming a door on her own reaction, then turns away and strolls toward the windows.
“So even you’re under Alpha’s thumb,” she muses, staring out at the dark sky beyond the glass.
I set her tumbler down on the bar cart with a soft clink that feels too loud against the silence. “He runs the pack,” I state simply.
“Like an evil dictator,” she mutters.
My wolf bristles, protective instinct sparking hot. Not for Gage, for her– for what could happen if anyone else heard her talk like that.
“You should be more careful about what you say,” I warn, voice low.
She glances back at me over her shoulder, chin lifted in challenge. “Or what?” she scoffs. “What can he possibly do to me that’s worse than this? Or does it just personally offend you when someone talks trash about your precious leader?”
The insolence in her tone sets my teeth on edge. Again, not the comments about Gage– fuck him, he’s the reason we’re in this mess– but disrespect is something I don’t tolerate from anyone.
“Don’t be stupid,” I growl.
Defiance flares in her gaze. “Oh, I’m many things, Commander Kane, but I’m definitely not stupid.”
“No?” I fire back, brow lifting. “Then what were you doing at that warehouse?”
If looks could kill, I’d already be bleeding out on the hardwood. Her hands curl into fists, eyes narrowing, jaw clenching tight.
“I told you, I was in the wrong place at the wrong time,” she bites out.
“Nobody stumbles into a rebel meeting by accident,” I scoff.
“Well I did,” she snaps, jabbing a finger at her chest. “I was just–”
She cuts herself off, snapping her mouth shut and shaking her head hard. Then she laughs– a sharp, humorless sound that scrapes along my nerves.
“Is that your angle? Become my mate to try to get me to talk? Because if that’s what this is, then the joke’s on you, asshole. I don’t know anything.”
“Make sure you keep it that way,” I say, snatching up the whiskey bottle and taking a pull straight from it, the burn not nearly enough to overpower the fire ripping through my veins.
She folds her arms, lifting her chin like she’s begging for another round. “Don’t tell me what to do.”
Irritation flares, simmering beneath my skin.
And yet, even as anger rises, I’m getting hard.
Because that fire in her eyes– the way her chest heaves, breath gone ragged– makes me picture her on her knees.
Makes me imagine taming that defiance, holding it tight in my fist, bending her until she breaks sweet.
“Don’t test me,” I warn, voice dropping to a dangerously low octave.
She clicks her tongue and rolls her eyes, pure provocation. “Or what, Kane?”
“I’ll put you over my damn knee,” I growl.
She snorts. “I’m not a fucking child.”
“No. You’re a fucking brat. And you clearly need a firm hand.”
Her pupils blow wide. The scent of her arousal hits me like a punch– hot, sharp, intoxicating– and my wolf lunges so hard he nearly bursts through my skin.
Fuck. She likes that idea. And I also like it far too much.
“Go to hell,” she spits.
I pinch the bridge of my nose, eyes squeezing shut as I let out a long, exasperated sigh. “Trust me,” I mutter, voice rough with restraint, “I’m already there.”
She spins on a heel, and my eyes snap open just in time to see her flip me off before tearing down the hall toward the guest room.
She finds it easily enough, diving inside and slamming the door so hard it rattles the frame, the sound echoing through the whole damn apartment before silence swallows it up.
My wolf whines pathetically in the back of my mind.
I drag a hand down my face, breathing hard, pulse still hammering like she’s inches away instead of behind a wall I could easily break right through if I let instinct take the wheel.
Yeah, I think we’ll stay out of each other’s way just fine.