10. Elena #2
The path is little more than a faint track winding between tall, whispering grasses and shadowy trees.
The lively jazz music from the festival’s main stage fades with each step, replaced by the gentle rustle of leaves and the rhythmic chirping of crickets.
The night air is cool against my skin, but it does nothing to cool the inferno raging inside me.
Suddenly, the path curves around a massive oak tree. Moonlight filters through the branches, casting dappled shadows across the ground. That’s when I see them—just ahead, in a small clearing. The roses, climbing and tumbling in brambles, their pale pink blooms glowing in the ethereal light.
"You came."
I spin around so fast I nearly fall, only to find Dorian stepping from the shadows, his expression hidden in the half-light. I didn't sense him, but now, standing just feet away, his scent crashes over me again, like a tidal wave.
"You gave me excellent directions," I say, surprised by how seductive my voice sounds. I was going for casual, but somehow it came out sounding like I was auditioning for a sex hotline.
"It seems I did." He takes a step closer, the moonlight now revealing the intensity of his gaze.
My heart hammers against my ribs like it's trying to escape. I should leave. Right now. Before I do something stupid. Again. "This is a mistake."
"Probably," he agrees, taking another step. "Tell me to go, and I will."
The words stick in my throat. I can’t tell him to go.
Because, god help me, I don’t want him to.
My body is thrumming with a desperate energy, responding to his proximity in ways it never has before, not even before I started taking DuoBlocks.
It’s terrifying. It’s exhilarating. I close my eyes for a brief second, and I can almost see invisible threads pulling us together.
"I can't..." I begin, not even sure what I'm trying to say.
"Can't what, Elena?" He's close now. So close I can see the faint pulse at the base of his throat. "Can't resist this? Can't stop thinking about the other night, about what happened in your apartment? Can't ignore this… current thrumming between us?"
"All of it," I whisper, honest at last.
His hand rises slowly, giving me time to retreat, but I remain frozen in place as his fingers graze my cheek. The contact sends electricity racing across my skin, and I can't stop the small sound that escapes me.
"I've been thinking about you, sugar ," he murmurs, his thumb now stroking gently along my jawline. "Far more than is professional."
Sugar? A distant alarm bell rings in the recesses of my brain. He's the second alpha who's called me that today. Is it a coincidence or a reference to my actual smell?
But right now, the concern feels about as urgent as remembering to buy milk when your house is on fire—utterly irrelevant next to the overwhelming reality of Dorian’s touch
"We shouldn't," I say, even as I step closer to him.
"No," he agrees, his other hand finding my waist. "We really shouldn't."
And then words are irrelevant, because his mouth is on mine, and the world tilts on its axis.
We crash together, my back hitting the rough bark of the oak tree as he kisses me with a desperation that mirrors my own.
It’s hungry, almost frantic, all the unspoken tension, the simmering awareness that’s been building between us since that first night, exploding in a single, incandescent moment of contact.
His hands are everywhere, tangling in my hair, fingers splayed against my scalp, then gliding down my sides, over my ribs, pulling me tighter, closer, molding my body to his.
His lips leave mine to blaze a fiery trail down my neck, finding that ridiculously sensitive spot just below my ear that makes me gasp, my nails unintentionally biting into his shoulders through his clothes.
The sound, my helpless little gasp, seems to trigger something primal in him.
A low, possessive growl rumbles in his chest as he presses himself more insistently against me, the hard ridge of his arousal shockingly evident, even through our clothes.
"Elena," he breathes against my skin, my name a raw, ragged prayer on his lips.
A single, solitary functioning brain cell, my last bastion of self-preservation, suddenly flares to life.
Stop! I can't let this go too far. I know the script.
I know what happens next: clothes discarded, skin against skin, maybe even an out-of-control claiming bite that I can't allow, no matter how much my body might be screaming for it in a few minutes.
I guide his hands to my hips, keeping them outside my clothing as I shift against him, creating friction that makes us both moan. It's a compromise, not giving in completely, but not denying either of us what our bodies are demanding.
"Like this," I whisper, showing him what I need with the roll of my hips against his. "Just like this."
He understands immediately, his hands gripping my hips to guide our movements, creating a rhythm that has us both gasping. We remain fully clothed, but the friction is exquisite.
"You're incredible," he murmurs against my ear, his voice strained with restraint. "The way you move, your—"
I silence him with another kiss, not risking to hear anything about my scent. This is already messy enough without reminders of why it might be happening.
His hands slip beneath my jacket, staying outside my shirt as he cups my breasts. Our bodies move together with increasing urgency, the pressure building until I'm clinging to him, my face buried against his neck to muffle the sounds I can't help making.
When release finally comes, it crashes over me in waves, leaving me trembling and gasping against him. He follows moments later, his body tensing as he buries his face in my hair, his groan vibrating through me.
For several heartbeats, we remain wrapped together, catching our breath, neither of us wanting to break the moment.
The night air cools my heated skin, reality slowly filtering back in.
The distant sounds of the festival. The sweet scent of the wild roses.
The uncomfortable dampness clinging to my panties.
Oh, god. What have I done?
Dorian lifts his head, his eyes finding mine in the soft moonlight. There’s a tenderness there, a raw vulnerability that I wasn’t expecting, and it makes my chest ache with a strange mix of emotions.
"Elena," he starts, his voice husky.
But I press my fingers lightly to his lips. "Don't," I whisper, the word barely audible. "Please. Don't say anything."
Something flickers across his face – hurt? confusion? – but he nods, stepping back to give me some much-needed space. I immediately miss the solid warmth of his body, but I force myself to turn away, to straighten my clothes, to try and rebuild the shattered walls of my composure.
"This was..." I start, then falter, struggling to find the right words.
"A mistake?" he offers.
"No," I admit, surprising myself with how right it feels. "But it can't happen again. I have too much riding on this competition."
He studies me for a long moment, then nods slowly. "I understand."
I doubt he does, but I appreciate the space he's giving me. I check my reflection in my phone camera, wincing at my flushed cheeks and disheveled hair. I look as thoroughly undone as I feel.
"You should go first," I say, my voice firmer now. "I'll wait a few minutes. We can’t be seen leaving the woods together."
He hesitates, then reaches out, his fingers gently brushing a stray strand of hair from my face.
The touch is so light, so unexpectedly tender, it nearly breaks my heart.
"You were magnificent today, Elena," he says softly.
"Not just… now. In the competition. Your talent is undeniable. It speaks for itself."
The unexpected compliment catches me off guard. Before I can respond, he's gone, melting back into the trees and leaving me alone with my racing thoughts.
I lean back against the rough bark of the oak tree, trying to force my breathing to return to normal. What in the seven hells was I thinking? Everything I’ve worked for, everything I’ve sacrificed, all risked in a moment of weakness.
If it wasn’t settled before, it is now: I am absolutely, unequivocally doubling my dose of DuoBlocks tomorrow. Whatever is happening with my body, whatever strange, irresistible pull these alphas are exerting on me, I need to shut it down. Hard.
As I walk back toward the festival, smoothing my hair and adjusting my clothes, I don't notice the figure behind a distant tree, phone raised, recording me.