Chapter 007 Balcony Reckoning
Julian forced himself down the stairs from the library, each step a battle against the pull dragging him back toward his office. Toward her. The claw marks on his desk burned in his mind, a fresh scar on top of the old ones. Control. He needed control.
The dining room hummed with pack voices when he entered, the buzz dipping as heads turned. Nods of respect rippled out. He acknowledged a few, but his focus sliced through the chaos of scents—sweat, venison, pine smoke from the massive stone fireplace. Hunting for one.
There.
She burst from the hallway, pink hair escaping its ponytail in a wild halo, grey eyes huge behind those ridiculous glasses. She froze at the threshold, shoulders hunching like she might rabbit out. Ridiculous. Delicious. His.
Mine.
The wolf stirred, low and insistent. He shoved it down.
“Ms. Bailey.”
Her head snapped toward him. Emotions chased across her face—wary, defiant. Too much attention on that. Her scent sharpened as he closed the distance. Nervousness. Attraction. Fear. Had to be fear. Humans spooked easy around wolves.
The pack had filled most seats, eyes flicking from him to her. Curiosity. Indifference. Predatory glints from the younger males that set his teeth on edge. Sterling, at the head table by the fire, scowled like he'd swallowed bad meat.
“Alpha Moonstone.” Steady voice, but her pulse thrummed rabbit-fast in his ears. His wolf liked that sound. Preened.
“You’re late.”
“Just a little.” A glance at the crowd. “Fashionably late, even—”
“Come.”
He turned for the head table, not waiting. Her frustrated huff trailed him, along with muttered words—arrogant, caveman—before her steps hurried to match. The pack tracked them, speculation thick in the air. Those young males' stares lingered too long. Hackles rose.
Challenge them. Mine.
Keep walking.
Sterling's eyes were cold chips as Quinn neared. “Alpha. I see our… guest has found her way to dinner.”
Julian ignored him, gesturing to the empty seat beside his. “Ms. Bailey, you’ll sit here.”
Her brows shot up. “At the head table? Isn’t that… a protocol thing?”
“You’re a representative of TalkToMe. A guest under my protection.” He locked eyes with Sterling. Dare you. “Protocol dictates you sit with the leadership.”
“I’m a cybersecurity consultant. Here to install your Wi-Fi.”
“Nevertheless.”
Sterling's lips thinned to a blade. Julian pulled out her chair. She sat, reluctance in every line. “This feels very… conspicuous,” she murmured as he settled beside her.
“Would you prefer to eat alone in the kitchen?”
“Honestly? Yes.”
“Denied.”
Her huff almost pulled a twitch from his mouth. Servers brought venison stew steaming in iron bowls, crusty fresh bread, roasted vegetables glistening from the pack gardens. He focused on that. Not her warmth inches away. Not her scent coiling around him like smoke. Not the soft rhythm of her breaths.
“You should know our ways before presuming to join us at table.” Sterling's voice sliced in, aimed at her. His gaze raked her t-shirt, her pink hair. “It is not casual.”
She turned, chin lifting. “Are you always this welcoming to guests? Or am I just special?”
Silence crashed over the table. Breaths held. No one talked to Sterling like that. Sarcasm dry as bone, eyes steel-grey glints.
Sterling's face mottled red, neck veins bulging. “You are not a guest. A human intrusion. Necessary evil from your boss and our Alpha’s misguided loyalty.”
“Is that what we’re calling a multi-million dollar investment? Guaranteed income stream for twenty years? Sounds like basic economics to me.” She scooped stew, chewed slow, swallowed deliberate.
Sharp. His wolf approved, surging hot. Our female defends the pack.
“You’re an outsider. Don’t understand traditions.” Sterling leaned in, snarling. “Machines and human ideas. Poisoning the well we’ve drunk from for generations.”
“That will do.”
His voice rolled out, alpha command thick. Heads bowed. “Ms. Bailey is here at my invitation. A guest. She will be treated as such.”
“Alpha, I meant no—”
“You meant exactly what you said.” Held Sterling's gaze. Watched shoulders slump in submission. “I expect better from a wolf of your experience.”
Quiet spread. Eyes averted—smart wolves. Quinn sat still beside him, no flinch. Good.
“Eat,” he said low. “Stew’s better warm.”
She ate.
The meal dragged. Sterling sulked, trading loaded glances with other elders—filed for later. Younger wolves chattered again, but glances flicked Quinn's way. Curious. Appreciative. Hostile. He noted them all. Tactical. Nothing else.
Safe. Keep her safe.
Dinner wound down, pack dispersing to evening runs or homes. He stood; she scrambled up, nearly toppling her water glass. Steady hand caught it. “I’ll show you to your room.”
“Now? Back to the office.”
“Late. Long drive. Busy day. Social overload. Rest.”
“My systems—”
“Morning.” He headed for the stairs. Her steps followed, quieter now. Up to the second floor, family quarters hall. Opened her door.
She stepped in. Gasped.
Four-poster bed of twisted polished branches dominated, cream silk comforter smooth. Sitting area with plush sofa, armchair by stone fireplace. French doors to balcony, forest view dark and endless. Next to his room. Her scent would seep through walls. Torment.
“Not what I expected,” she whispered, drifting to the doors. Moon rose, silvering pines. “May I?”
“Of course.”
Followed her out. Cool pine air, but her wildflower scent drowned it. She stared at trees; he stared at her. Moonlight on glasses frames. Breeze teasing pink strands.
“Beautiful. So… quiet.”
“Our territory.” Close enough to touch. “You’re safe here.”
She turned. Eyes searching. “Am I?”
Words stuck. Alpha. Protector. But he'd dragged her into wolves and grudges.
“You are.” Rough. “Under my protection. No harm.”
She studied him, seeing too much. Held still. No crack. No tension show.
“Thank you.” Soft. “Office. Room. Rest order.”
Then tiptoes. Lips on his.
Soft. Impossible. World detonated—senses overload. Wildflower skin, dinner wine tang. Intoxicating. Body locked rigid. Shock. Then her hesitant press—lust crashed, knees buckling near.
Wolf howled. Mate. Ours.
Hands rose, framing her face. Thumbs traced jaw. Angled deeper. Her breathy sound—straight to his cock. Took. Claimed. Tasted. Eight years' control shattered.
Homecoming. Recognition. Certainty—she was it. All.
Pulled back, heaving. Glasses crooked, lips swollen rose. Eyes wide, horror dawning.
“Oh my God.” Backpedal, stumble near. Hands to mouth. “Don’t know why. Moon. Quiet. You all Alpha protective. Brain short-circuited—”
“Quinn.”
Growl cut her ramble. Froze, arms shield.
“Mistake.” Whisper. “Won’t happen again. Focus. Better—”
“I’m not sorry.”
Stared. Shock, confusion, hope flicker—terrifying.
“You don’t like me. Humans. Something.”
“I don’t dislike you.” Scraped out. “Don’t trust my reaction. Difference.”
“What does that mean?”
“Distraction I can’t afford. Complication. Risk.” Wolf snarled. Reward. Destiny. Ignored. Past lessons—Morgana breaking his father. “Nothing can happen.”
“Rejecting me. Great. Consistent.” Chin up, defiance over hurt. “Back to work.”
“No.”
“No? Can’t just no.”
“Late. Rest.”
“Need servers before pack riots over buffering streams.” Voice rose. “Work. Can’t…”
Gesture between—balcony, kiss, mess. Panic rising. Logic girl facing illogical.
“Servers tomorrow.” Gentle. No scare. No run. “Sleep, Quinn.”
“Sleep fine.”
“Barely.” Dark circles memory. Empty cans. “Silas told. Caffeine, code since Monster Island.”
Flinch. Hit.
“Not your business.”
“Affects job? Mine.” Stepped back—wound. “Rest. Talk morning.”
Turned. Walked. Instincts screamed stay, claim. Walls held—from Morgana's wreckage.
Into his room next door. House quieted, pack gone home. Hearing caught her through wall. Boots thump by door. Fabric whisper—changing. Bed creak.
Dark room, listened to her breathe. Two months. Break him.
Mate.
No.
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