Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
Kain
Roses???
Who the hell got her roses?
I’m back in my office, but my feet haven’t stopped moving since I stood near the entrance of the break room and saw those red petals on her desk.
I couldn’t stop staring, couldn’t tear my eyes away from the sight of her there with that bouquet.
But she could take her eyes off me; as a matter of fact, she did.
She looked right at me and then immediately away, turning back to those flowers and the woman next to her like I was nothing, like I didn’t exist.
My feet strike the office floor far too hard as I keep going from my desk to the door and back again, the rhythm doing nothing to burn off the energy coiling tighter and tighter in my chest. I can’t stop pacing, and my wolf won’t calm down, clawing at my ribs like he’s trying to tear his way out and go find her, wherever she may be.
I should be focusing on the mission. Maybe I should even be grateful that someone else is getting her attention, pulling her away from me so the organization won’t have reason to watch her more closely.
Maybe I should be relieved that she’s moving on, that the distance I forced between us is actually working.
But all I feel is this savage, burning rage that makes my eyes see red and my hands clench into fists.
A knock sounds at my door, but I don’t answer, too caught up in the thoughts spiraling through my head, in the image of those red roses sitting on her desk like a declaration.
The knock comes again, more hesitant this time.
“Come in!” I practically bark.
The door opens slowly, and Anderson steps through, his movements careful, measured, like he’s approaching a wild animal. His eyes are wary as they track my steps around the office, clearly registering the tension that must be radiating off me in waves.
“You asked to see me, sir?” His voice is small, uncertain.
“Shut the door.”
He does, the click of the latch unnaturally loud in the tense silence. He stays near the door, hands clasped in front of him, waiting.
I force myself to stop pacing, plant my feet, and face him directly. “I want to make some changes to the units rotating through the Alpha’s Guard.”
Anderson blinks. “Changes? What kind of changes?”
“I want more oversight. Direct input on who’s assigned to the Alpha’s and the Luna’s security details and when.”
His expression shifts, uncertainty darkening his features like storm clouds moving in. “That’s…That might be difficult, sir.”
“Difficult how?”
“Well, the Alpha’s Guard has their own command structure.
They’re autonomous by design, answerable directly to Alpha Darius.
They’ll collaborate with us on general security matters, but they won’t take kindly to you essentially trying to take over the logistics of the Alpha’s and the Luna’s protection.
” He shifts his weight, clearly uncomfortable with contradicting me but pushing forward anyway.
“It’s sort of their whole purpose. Their pride, you know? ”
“I’m aware of their pride.” My voice comes out hard, edged with the frustration I can’t quite contain. “But I’m the head of security for this entire pack. All security matters should fall under my purview, including direct coordination with the Alpha’s Guard.”
“I understand, sir, but—”
“No buts. I need this done.” I step forward, fixing him with a look that brooks no argument.
“Inform them that I want control of selecting the units in charge of the Alpha’s and the Luna’s security.
Frame it as enhanced coordination, improved communication, whatever makes it palatable to them. But make it happen.”
Anderson swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing visibly. “I’ll try, sir. But I can’t guarantee they’ll agree to it. The head of the Alpha’s Guard is…well, he’s protective of his autonomy.”
“Then be persuasive.” I turn away, dismissing him with the words, “That will be all.”
“Yes, sir.”
He leaves quickly, as if he’s eager to put distance between us. I don’t blame him.
I stand here in my empty office, taking deep breaths that do nothing to calm the chaos churning inside me.
I should be glad someone’s pursuing her. It’s safer for her and smarter for the mission. Exactly what I wanted when I lied to her face about having amnesia.
Except, I can’t take it. Can’t stand the thought of someone else making her smile, buying her flowers, touching her in ways I’ve been denying myself.
I leave the room, unable to stay still, needing to move, to walk, to do something other than stand in that small space and let the rage consume me.
I find myself heading down to the break room again, like maybe if I go there I’ll find that bouquet gone, thrown out. Like maybe I imagined the whole thing.
But when I reach that floor and turn toward her cubicle, the roses are still there. Still vivid red against the bland beige of her workspace, still impossible to miss.
Anne is focused on her computer, fingers flying across the keyboard, lost in the work she’s doing. Out of the blue, she looks up and smiles slightly, and my heart leaps.
But the smile isn’t for me.
A man has approached her cubicle, tall and lean with an easy confidence in his stride. He’s carrying an insulated disposable cup, probably coffee, and he hands it to her with a gesture that speaks of familiarity. She accepts it, saying something I can’t hear from this distance.
Then, he touches the roses. Runs his thumb over the petals like he has every right. When his hand moves to her shoulder, casually and comfortably, my wolf snarls inside me with such violence that I have to lock every muscle to keep from shifting right here in the hallway.
I’m too far away to hear their words, but I can read lips well enough. Learned that skill during captivity, when whispered conversations were the only source of intel.
“I hope you like them,” he says.
“They’re beautiful,” she replies.
The world reduces to a haze of white noise. My vision tunnels, edges going gray, and I force myself to retreat before I do something insane, before I march over there, rip his hand away from her shoulder, and make my claim clear to everyone watching.
I turn and quickly enter the break room. I need a moment. Just a moment to calm down, to center myself, to remember why I can’t act on these instincts that are tearing me apart.
I drop into a chair in the far corner, press my palms flat against the table and focus on breathing. In through the nose, out through the mouth: the exercise they taught us for controlling the shift when emotions run too high.
It’s not working.
A minute passes. Maybe two. The break room door opens, and two voices filter in, a casual conversation that grates on my nerves like sandpaper.
The same man from Anne’s cubicle enters with another guy, both of them laughing about something now, completely at ease. They head for the coffee maker, still talking, oblivious to my presence in the corner.
They pour their drinks and move to sit on the opposite side of the room. The space is empty enough that I can hear every word clearly.
“Looks like you’re finally about to get your dream girl, David,” the other man says, voice full of knowing amusement.
David. That’s his name.
David chuckles, and the sound makes my hands clench on top of the table. “I wouldn’t get ahead of myself, but yeah, it looks like she’s going to give me a chance. Finally.”
“She certainly loved the flowers. Smart move, man. Now you gotta lock her down. Don’t mess this up.”
“I don’t plan to. We’re going out for dinner on Thursday, and I’m pulling out all the stops. She deserves the best.”
They keep talking, voices easy and relaxed, completely unaware that their conversation is driving me to my wits’ end.
Every word is a knife, every laugh a twist of the blade.
My wolf is roaring inside me, demanding I cross the room and end this, end him, make it clear that she’s mine even if I can’t claim her.
I get up abruptly, chair scraping loudly against the floor, and leave without a word or a glance in their direction. My whole body vibrates with barely contained violence as I stride back to my office and slam the door hard enough to rattle the frame.
I drop into my chair and pull up Luna Violet’s schedule on my screen, forcing myself to look at the data, to focus on something productive. Times and locations all jumble together, though, meaningless strings of information that won’t coalesce into anything useful.
All I can see is his hand on her shoulder. All I can hear is his voice saying he’s taking her out.
By the time evening rolls around and the building starts to empty, I’m hanging on by a thread. I tell myself to go home. To leave before I make things worse.
Instead, I find myself standing in the parking lot, lurking.
The sun is setting, casting long shadows across the nearly empty lot. Most of the staff have already left, but I spot Anne’s car immediately; I’ve memorized everything about it without meaning to. I position myself behind a nearby tree where I can see it clearly.
I don’t have a plan. Don’t know what I’m going to say or do. I just know I can’t let her leave without…
Without what? Confronting her? Demanding she explain herself? I have no right. No claim. I’m the one who pushed her away, who told her the mate bond was dead, who made her believe I was a stranger.
She appears at the building entrance, keys in hand. The golden light of sunset catches in her hair, and even from this distance, even with jealousy eating me alive, I can’t help but think she’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
She heads for her car, heels clicking on the pavement.
I move before conscious thought can intervene, cutting across the lot to intercept her. She doesn’t see me until I’m right there, stepping into her path just as she reaches for her car door.
“What the—” She jumps, one hand flying to her chest. “Goddess! You scared me.”
“We need to talk.” My voice comes out rougher than I intend, raw with everything I’ve been holding back all day.
Her surprise shifts to wariness. “About what?”
Instead of answering, I step closer, forcing her backward until she’s pressed against the car. My hands land on either side of her, caging her in, and somewhere in the back of my mind, I know I’m being irrational, possessive. Everything I have no right to be.
But I can’t stop.
“Who sent you the flowers?”
Her eyes widen. “What?”
“The roses on your desk. Who sent them?”
Her voice hardens, anger sparking in those warm, brown eyes. “That’s none of your business.”
“Humor me.”
“No.” She tries to duck under my arm, but I step to that side to block her. “What is wrong with you? You’re the one who told me that you don’t remember me. That whoever I thought you were doesn’t exist anymore. That I’m just another staff member. So, why do you care who sends me flowers?”
“I’m just wondering.” The words taste like poison. “The mate bond seemed so important to you before. You cried over it. Begged me to remember. But now, you’ve decided to go out with another man?”
The rage that floods her face is magnificent and terrible. “Are you for real? What exactly did you expect me to do, Kain? Be miserable forever? Pine after a man who can’t feel the bond, who doesn’t remember me, who looks at me like I’m a stranger?”
“I never said—”
“Never said?! You made it very clear that you’re not that guy anymore.
That the person I loved is dead. So, why would you be surprised that I’m going out with someone else?
I’m trying to move on. I’m trying to build a life that doesn’t revolve around mourning someone who’s standing right in front of me but may as well be a ghost! ”
Each word is a knife to the chest, accurate and devastating.
“So, you’re going to date him? Let him court you like you’re available?”
“I am available!” She shoves me in the chest, but I don’t budge.
“My fated mate doesn’t want me. The bond is dead on your end, remember?
So yes, I’m going to let David take me out.
I’m going to learn to care about him. I’m going to let him kiss me, touch me, and maybe—just maybe—I’ll let him erase every memory you ever left on my skin until I can’t even remember what it felt like to love you! ”
Something in me snaps.
Before rational thought can intervene, before I can remember all the reasons this is wrong, I crash my mouth against hers.
The kiss is wild, desperate, everything I’ve been holding back for weeks unleashed in a single moment.
Anne makes a sound—surprise, anger, need, I can’t tell, but I know she’s furious.
She bites my lip hard, but then she’s kissing me back just as fiercely, her hands fisting in my shirt, pulling me closer even as she should be pushing me away.
I can feel her wolf singing to mine. I can feel the rightness of this, the way our bodies fit together like they were designed for each other. I can taste the sweetness of her mouth and the salt of the tears I didn’t realize she was crying.
My hands find her waist, pulling her flush against me, and she arches into the contact with a soft gasp that nearly destroys what little control I have left.
This is Anne. My Anne. The girl I’ve loved since we were teenagers, the woman I’ve dreamed about every night for ten years, the mate I’ve been pretending doesn’t matter while dying inside from the denial.
And she’s kissing me like she has been waiting just as long.
Enduring all the torture was worth it for this.
I pull away from her, breathless, desperate for air. My entire body feels like it protests the loss of contact. My wolf whines softly within me, craving nothing more than to keep tasting her.
Anne is flushed, her lips swollen, her eyes wide and dark with stunned confusion. She looks at me like she is still caught up in the kiss, like the world has not quite settled back into place.
She’s so beautiful, it hurts to look at her.
“Kain…” Her voice is breathless, wrecked.
“I bet David could never make you feel like this.” The words escape before I can stop them, rough and possessive and completely at odds with everything I’ve been telling her.
Her expression shifts from desire to fury so fast, it gives me whiplash. “You—”
But I’m already walking away, my blood thrumming.