57. Bram
Bram
Stephen King wrote in On Writing that “writing is not life, but sometimes it can be the way back to life.” Before Clara, I’d stopped writing.
But the moment she stepped into my life, it was like some long-dormant part of me clicked back on. Her in this big, mysterious house, surrounded by whispers of the paranormal was exactly what I needed. I’d ripped through half a manuscript in days.
A light tapping at my door. Clara’s little entry request. My heart kicks, but I’m in the middle of a paragraph.
“Come in, Ghost,” I call, fingers still hammering at the keys so I can give her my full attention in a moment. A few more words, a quick tap of the period, and I look up—
The door is open. But no one’s there.
A chill slides up my spine. Beyond the doorway is nothing but black. The lights are off. It’s past midnight. Why I thought it would be her at this hour is beyond me.
I push back from my desk, stepping around it as the hairs on the back of my neck rise. Something is in the dark. Watching me. My alpha rises fast and hard, and a low snarl rips from my chest.
The darkness outside my doorway shifts. A shape splits from the rest, swirling until it takes on the same form I saw during the séance.
I force my alpha back into check. “Hello, Finian.”
The shadow recedes, revealing the alpha from the old newspaper clippings. Same suit, no hat. Pale hair slicked back. Pale eyes locking on mine. He’s slightly translucent—I can make out the doorframe through his shoulder.
A pulse of dominance rolls through the room. High. Maybe as high as mine. The ghost of his alpha stares out from behind his gaze.
I let my own alpha loose. Like hell would I lose control of my pack to a ghost. I’m sorry he lost his, but that doesn’t change a thing.
My growl deepens, and I push my dominance toward him, filling every corner of the room with it. The only thing holding me back from full aggression is knowing what Clara said. That her omega recognizes him as one of hers.
That seems to be Finian’s goal, because his dominance folds back in on itself before dissipating.
Dominant alphas tend to grow stronger with age. In terms of years lived, Finian wins. But do years after death count? He hasn’t aged. And when he died, he was a few years younger than me.
It doesn’t matter. My dominance finishes its sweep of the room.
Finian tips his head back, to the side, throat exposed.
The gesture knocks the wind from me. From that first wave, I was sure he’d challenge to the end.
But instead, he offers his neck. His outline flickers like a candle in a draft and then vanishes.
He’s yielded. Offered himself as pack. That was his goal tonight.
I leave my office immediately, climbing two flights to the omega suite. I knock, soft, but insistent. I’m not going to bed without seeing her.
Light shuffling, and then sleepy eyes peek around the cracked door. When she sees me, her eyes widen, and she swings it open.
“Bram… do you want to come in?”
I nod. Her hair is a tangled halo of black and orange, a pillow crease pressed into one cheek. Her sleep shirt hangs off one shoulder, exposing warm skin. She’s perfect.
I s tep inside, the door closing behind me. Her space is saturated with her. Plants thrive in the corners, dreamcatchers and twinkle lights. Cozy and whimsical, grounded and free-spirited all at once.
“What happened?” she asks, searching my face.
“I got a visit from Finian tonight.”
Her eyes widen, lips parting. She didn’t know he’d intended to challenge me.
“Did he—”
“Offered me his neck. Almost immediately.” She exhales in relief, making the corner of my mouth twitching up. “Didn’t think I could win, little Ghost?” She stammers out a denial until I hold up a hand. “I couldn't have. I think he was the most dominant.”
Her brow pinches, worry flickering there. My ego’s not that fragile. I didn’t lose my pack. That’s all that matters.
“When I was younger,” I explain, “I never showed the usual traits of a dominant alpha. My father and the other alpha in my pack never made me feel less for it. They taught me that dominance challenges are only worth engaging in if you have something to lose. Tonight, I had something to lose.”
I cup her cheek, and she catches my wrist, bringing it to her nose to scent-mark me. I step into her space. “Ghost, I just wanted to make sure you’re all right. I wasn’t trying—”
She cuts me off with a fingertip to my lips. “Do you want to stay?”
A growl works its way up from my chest. I hook my arms around her waist and lift. Her legs wrap around me instinctively, back pressing to the door. My erection grinds against her heat, and she rolls her hips down into me.
Jack and Dagan are blessedly in their own rooms tonight.
“What do you want, little Ghost?” I rasp.
“You,” she breathes.
I chuckle. “That’s not enough. Tell me what you want me to do.”
Her pupils are blown, fire in her gaze. “I want you to fuck me.”
The words nearly make my knot blow. I reach between us and almost lose it again when I find bare, slick skin already drenched for me.
I want to make it last, draw out every whimper and gasp, but I know I can’t.
Not tonight. Not after feeling so close to losing something so precious.
I just need to have her. To know she’s here, real, mine.
She nods, reading the desperation in my eyes.
I shove down the waistband of my sweatpants, not bothering to take them off. My cock springs free, the heavy length slapping against her soaked pussy. She gasps at the contact, and before I can even move, she lowers herself onto me, taking me in one long, wet slide until she’s speared on my cock.
A feral growl tears out of me, loud enough to rattle the door I’ve got her pinned against. I slam her back into it, holding her there so tight she can’t move an inch farther. She whimpers, tries to bounce on me, but I’m not ready to let her yet.
“Who do you belong to?” I snarl, voice rough enough to scrape bone.
“You,” she gasps.
That’s all it takes. My restraint snaps. My hips drive forward in brutal, pounding thrusts, the door shaking in its frame as I fuck her hard enough to make the walls remember it. She clings to me, nails digging in, gasping encouragements against my neck between broken moans.
I reach down between us, circling her clit with quick, ruthless flicks. Her whole body goes taut, her head tipping back in a ragged cry right as I sink my teeth onto her neck. Not breaking skin, not yet, but hard enough to brand her for me .
Clara shatters around my cock, pulsing and squeezing so tight it drags me under with her.
My balls tighten, my knot slams home, popping inside her and swelling until we’re locked together.
Hot pulses of my release flood her, fillin g her in wave after wave until I feel like I’ve claimed every part of her from the inside out.
She’s a trembling heap in my arms by the time it’s over, and I carry her to the pack bed with deliberate care. We curl on our sides, my knot still seated deep, holding us exactly where I want us.
She smiles at me through heavy-lidded eyes before slipping back into the sleep I woke her from.
I don’t sleep. I just watch her breathe, wondering what I ever did to deserve something this fucking perfect.