Chapter 4 #2
The word lands like a blow. She stares at me, and I watch understanding dawn in her eyes. Slow at first, then faster as the pieces click into place. The symptoms she's been experiencing. The changes in her body. The way she's been drawn to me despite her hatred.
Horror follows close behind.
"What are those pills?" Her voice has gone quiet. Dangerous.
"Suppressants. Your grandmother kept you hidden from what you are." I let the bottle catch the firelight again, let her see exactly what I'm holding hostage. "I'm simply removing the mask."
"What I am." She repeats the words like they're poison. "And what exactly is that?"
"Omega." I let the word settle between us. "The first born to the Carswell line in six generations. A genetic echo of the gift your ancestor burned out of himself on a frozen battlefield. Helena discovered it when you went through puberty. She's been suppressing your nature ever since."
Iris shakes her head, but I can see the doubt creeping in. The symptoms match too perfectly. The pieces fit too well.
"You're lying."
"I told you before. I'm many things, but a liar isn't one of them.
" I take another step toward her, and she holds her ground this time, chin lifted, eyes blazing.
Even now, even terrified and furious and burning with a heat she doesn't understand, she refuses to back down.
"Your grandmother sent me her research before she died.
Blood tests, genetic markers, case studies of omega expression in human-adjacent bloodlines.
She wanted me to understand what I was getting. "
"Why?" The word tears out of her. "Why would she do that? Why would she give me to you knowing what would happen?"
"Because she knew the blood pact would come due eventually, and she wanted you to survive it.
An omega without an alpha goes mad, Iris.
The heat builds and builds until it breaks the mind trying to contain it.
Helena kept you suppressed to buy time, but time ran out.
The pact activated, and I collected what was owed. "
Her hands ball into fists at her sides. The trembling has spread through her whole body now, rage and fear and arousal tangled together until I doubt she can tell them apart.
"Give me back my pills."
"No."
She moves before I can brace for it, launching herself at me with a scream of pure fury. Her nails rake toward my face, and her knee drives toward my groin, and for a moment I glimpse the fighter Helena spent years creating. Fast. Vicious. Trained to exploit every weakness.
But I'm faster. And I've been anticipating this moment for longer than she knows.
I catch her wrists and spin her, using her momentum against her.
Her back hits the wall hard enough to knock the breath from her lungs, and I pin her there with the weight of my body, her arms trapped above her head in one of my hands.
She writhes against me, still fighting, and the friction sends fire racing through my blood.
She feels it too. I can tell by the way her struggles slow, by the way her breath comes in ragged gasps that have nothing to do with exertion.
She floods my senses, thick with heat and slick and desperate wanting.
Through the thin fabric of her dress, I can feel her nipples hardening against my chest.
Her body knows. Even as her mind screams denial, her body arches toward mine, seeking the relief only I can provide.
"Let me go." Her voice is barely a whisper.
"Is that what you really want?" I lower my head until my lips brush the shell of her ear.
She shudders, and the sound that escapes her throat is not quite protest. "Your body is telling me something different.
I can smell how wet you are, Iris. I can feel how badly you want this.
Stop fighting and let me give you what you need. "
"I don't need anything from you."
"Liar." I press closer, letting her feel the hard length of me against her belly.
Her gasp is sharp, almost pained, and her hips roll against mine before she can stop them.
"You're going to need me so badly you can't think straight.
You're going to burn from the inside out until the only word left in your vocabulary is my name.
And when you finally break, when you finally beg me to make it stop, I'm going to take my time.
I'm going to make you earn every second of relief. "
"You bastard." But her voice breaks on the word, and her body has gone pliant against mine, resistance crumbling beneath the weight of biological imperative.
"Yes." I release her wrists and step back, putting distance between us before my own control shatters. She sags against the wall, chest heaving, eyes wild with need and fury and confusion. "And you're going to beg me before this is over."
I walk to the door without looking back. Every step is agony. My wolf howls inside me, demanding that I turn around, that I take what's mine, that I end this torture for both of us.
I don't.
"The heat will get worse over the next few days," I say, my voice rough. "Much worse. When you're ready to accept what you are and who you belong to, come find me."
I should leave. I should walk out the door and let her burn until she understands. But she's right there, flushed and trembling and looking at me with those eyes full of hatred and hunger, and my control finally cracks.
I close the distance between us in a single stride, fist my hand in her hair, and crush my mouth to hers.
She gasps against my lips, and I swallow the sound, drinking her in like a man dying of thirst. My tongue sweeps into her mouth, tasting her fury and her fear and the sweetness underneath that belongs only to me.
She bites down on my lower lip hard enough to draw blood, and the copper tang only makes me kiss her deeper, harder, angling her head back so I can take everything she's trying to deny me.
Her hands come up to push against my chest, but there's no strength behind it.
Her fingers curl into the fabric of my shirt instead, pulling me closer even as I know her mind must be screaming at her to fight.
I press her into the wall with the full weight of my body, letting her feel every hard inch of what she does to me, and she moans into my mouth.
The sound vibrates through me, settling low and hot in my gut.
I kiss her like I'm claiming her. Like I'm branding her from the inside out.
My free hand slides down her side, over the curve of her hip, and grips her thigh hard enough to bruise.
She arches against me, her hips rolling in a desperate rhythm that tells me exactly how badly she needs relief.
The scent of her arousal thickens, flooding my senses until I can barely think past the need to bury myself inside her and make her scream my name.
But not yet. Not like this.
I tear my mouth from hers and drag my lips down the column of her throat, tasting the salt of her skin, feeling the frantic hammer of her pulse against my tongue.
She whimpers when I reach the junction of her neck and shoulder, and I bite down, not hard enough to break skin but hard enough to leave a mark.
Hard enough that she'll feel it tomorrow and remember who put it there.
"Stellan." My name comes out of her like a curse and a prayer tangled together. Her head falls back against the wall, exposing more of her throat in unconscious submission. "I hate you."
"I know." I lick the bite mark, soothing and claiming at once. "But you want me anyway. You're soaking through your dress right now, aren't you? Aching for something you won't let yourself ask for."
Her only answer is a broken sound that might be denial or might be need. I don't care which. Both taste the same.
I kiss her one more time, softer now, almost tender. A promise and a threat wrapped together. Then I force myself to step back, to release her hair, to put distance between us before I take her against this wall and ruin every plan I've spent years crafting.
She sags against the stone, lips swollen and wet, chest heaving, eyes glazed with a desire she can't hide. The mark on her throat is already darkening. Good. Let everyone see it. Let them know she belongs to me.
I close the door behind me and lean against it, breathing hard. Through the wood, I can hear her screaming, cursing my name, throwing things against the walls.
Good. Let her burn. Let her curse my name until her throat goes raw.
I push away from the door and walk toward my own quarters, where cold water and an empty bed await. The pills are heavy in my pocket, five small tablets that represent the last barrier between Iris and her true nature.
Tomorrow, I'll have them destroyed. Five small tablets reduced to ash, and with them, the last barrier between Iris and what she's becoming.
When she finally comes to me, and she will, I want her to remember this moment. I want her to remember that she fought, and lost, and came to me anyway.