Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
For Adrian, the day began with a restlessness that had him pacing the confines of his quarters like a caged animal. Every sound was too loud, every scent too potent. The pack’s normal bustle felt abrasive, the casual interactions of his wolves grating on nerves stretched taut as piano wire.
His wolf was a constant, demanding presence at the edge of his consciousness—pacing, snarling, pushing for release. It wanted the hunt. It wanted to run. It wanted Harper.
And she was everywhere.
He stood at the edge of his office—his office, in his pack house—and watched her work at what used to be his desk.
She’d commandeered it that morning, claiming the positioning was optimal for the new network installation.
He’d meant to object. He’d opened his mouth to remind her that an Alpha’s workspace wasn’t up for grabs.
Then she’d looked up at him with those intelligent grey eyes, pushed her glasses up her nose, and asked if he had a problem with sharing.
He hadn’t been able to form words.
Now she sat cross-legged in his chair—her shoes kicked off somewhere, probably under the desk where he’d have to look at them every time he walked past—typing at a speed that shouldn’t have been humanly possible.
Her pink hair was piled on top of her head in a messy knot, secured with what appeared to be a pencil.
Her shirt, a vintage Led Zeppelin concert t-shirt, had a small tear near the collar.
Just a tiny rip in the fabric. Nothing significant. Except that it exposed a sliver of collarbone, and he couldn’t stop staring at it.
Mine.
His wolf stirred in his chest, pressing against his control with increasing urgency.
“Hey, you okay?”
He realized he’d been standing in the doorway for an embarrassingly long time. She was watching him now, head tilted, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth.
“Fine.”
“You’ve been staring at me for like two minutes.”
“I wasn’t staring.”
“Okay.” Her smile widened. “You were contemplating the wall directly behind my head with unusual intensity. My mistake.”
He growled softly—he couldn’t help it—and her eyes brightened with something that looked dangerously like satisfaction. She’d been teasing him all morning, pushing right up against the boundaries of his control like she was testing the fence for weak spots.
And she kept touching him.
Not obviously. Not aggressively. Just… casual contact that shouldn’t have meant anything.
Her fingers brushing his when she handed him a report.
Her shoulder bumping his arm when they walked down the hall.
Earlier she’d reached up to fix his collar—his collar, like he was a pup who couldn’t dress himself—and her knuckles had grazed the side of his neck.
He’d nearly pinned her to the wall right there in the hallway.
“I brought you food.” She gestured to a plate on the corner of the desk. “Irene said you missed breakfast.”
“I don’t need—”
“Turkey sandwich. I remembered you don’t like tomatoes.” She turned back to her screen like feeding him was no big deal, like his eating habits were just another piece of data she’d catalogued and filed away. “The bread’s a little stale, but I figured you’d survive.”
He stared at the sandwich, his chest tight.
Offering food was an act of submission, of caring.
No one had brought him food since… he couldn’t remember.
His mother, maybe, when he was young. Certainly not Vivienne, who’d barely acknowledged his existence unless she needed something from him.
And the pack members who prepared communal meals didn’t think to check whether the Alpha had eaten.
They assumed he could take care of himself.
Which he could. Obviously.
But she had noticed. She had remembered. Harper had made him a sandwich without tomatoes because she’d paid attention to his preferences, and now she was sitting there pretending it meant nothing while his wolf howled with possessive satisfaction.
She provides for us. She CARES for us. Claim her. Claim her. CLAIM HER—
“I’m going for a run.”
She glanced up. “It’s one in the afternoon.”
“I need air.”
“Adrian—”
He was already moving, striding through the pack house fast enough that the wolves he passed pressed against the walls to let him through.
They could feel it—the restless energy crackling off him, the barely-contained wildness of an Alpha on the day of the full moon. Smart wolves got out of his way.
He shed his clothes behind the oak at the edge of the yard. The shift came easily, almost eagerly, his body flowing from man to wolf with a familiar ripple of sensation. Four paws hit the ground. He threw back his head and ran.
Wind rushed through his fur. Pine needles crunched beneath his feet. The world narrowed to sensation—the rich smell of earth and growing things, the distant chatter of squirrels, the steady pound of his heart as he pushed himself harder, faster, farther.
But even here, he couldn’t escape her.
Her scent clung to him. Not physically—he’d run far enough that the pack house was miles behind him—but in his memory, his imagination.
That clean, sweet smell with the undertone of something warmer.
It had invaded his office, his clothes, his very skin.
He’d caught himself pressing his nose to his own shirt yesterday, searching for traces of her.
This is madness.
His wolf disagreed violently. His wolf thought the madness was in the not-claiming, the denial, the constant painful restraint.
She wanted them. He could smell it on her—the spike of arousal when their eyes met, the flutter of her pulse when he got too close.
She was ready. She was willing. She kept offering herself up in tiny, devastating ways.
And he kept pulling back.
Because she was human. Because the elders would never accept her as Luna, and the pack would splinter if he chose her over tradition. Because Vivienne had seemed perfect too, once, and look how that had ended.
He skidded to a stop at the edge of a rocky outcrop, chest heaving. Below him, the valley stretched out in shades of green and gold, beautiful and indifferent to his turmoil. Harper would like it here.
Stop thinking about her.
He couldn’t. That was the problem. He thought about her when he woke up—was she awake too, already working, forgetting to eat?
He thought about her when he trained with the pack—would she be impressed by his combat skills, or would she point out that her algorithms could probably optimize his fighting patterns?
He thought about her when he lay in bed at night, alone, aching, imagining what sounds she would make if he—
The crack of a twig made his ears swivel.
Coleman emerged from the trees in wolf form, his grey-brown coat gleaming in the afternoon light. His enforcer was smart enough not to approach directly, instead circling to a respectful distance and settling onto his haunches with the patient air of someone prepared to wait.
Adrian shifted back to human, not caring about his nudity. Wolves didn’t stand on ceremony about such things.
“You followed me.”
Coleman shifted too, revealing his familiar scarred face and perpetual frown. “You’ve been running yourself ragged for days. Someone needed to check that you hadn’t fallen off a cliff.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re wound tighter than a new rope.” Coleman crossed his arms, utterly unimpressed by Adrian’s attempt at dismissal. They’d known each other too long for that. “What’s got you so twisted up?”
He didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.
“Harper.” Coleman’s voice was carefully neutral.
“What about her?”
“Don’t play dumb, Adrian. It doesn’t suit you.” Coleman moved to sit on a nearby boulder, seemingly unbothered by the rough stone against his bare skin. “The whole pack can smell what’s happening between you two. Half the males are taking bets on when you’ll finally claim her.”
His jaw clenched. “She’s not mine to claim.”
“Your wolf seems to disagree.”
“My wolf doesn’t make decisions. I do.”
Coleman was quiet for a moment, studying him with the assessing gaze of a warrior evaluating a battlefield. They’d fought together, bled together, and survived the nightmare of Vivienne’s machinations together. If anyone had earned the right to speak bluntly to the Alpha, it was him.
“You want her.”
It wasn’t a question. He didn’t deny it.
“What she is doesn’t change what she makes you feel.” Coleman picked at a callus on his palm, seemingly absorbed in the task. “I’ve known you since you were a pup, Adrian. I’ve never seen you react to a female like this. Not even—” He stopped.
“Not even Vivienne,” he said flatly. “Say it.”
“I wasn’t going to.”
“You were thinking it.”
“Fine. Not even Vivienne.” Coleman met his eyes, steady and honest. “That’s what scares you, isn’t it? Feeling something this strong after what she did.”
His hands curled into fists. She’d started trying to seduce him the second time he caught her cheating on his father. She’d insisted that her lover had attacked her, dramatically dropping her gown to display the red marks covering her naked body.
He’d been fifteen, and to his horror, his body had responded. He’d fled in shame, her laughter echoing behind him. It hadn’t been the only time, and even though she’d never succeeded, the memory of her predatory pursuit was a nightmare that continued to haunt him.
Adrian had spent the last eight years rebuilding. Proving himself worthy of the Alpha position he’d inherited too young. Earning his pack’s trust piece by painful piece. He’d sworn he would never let another woman have that kind of power over him.
And then Harper Bailey had crashed into his life with her pink hair and her defiant eyes and her absolute refusal to be intimidated by him, and all his carefully constructed walls had started crumbling like wet sand.