As Axel walked in front of Ivan, leading the way down the stairs toward the floor of Ivan's room, Ivan clenched his fists in his pockets.
He used every ounce of control he had not to reach out, grab Axel's arm, and pin him against the wall. The urge was nearly unbearable.
The need pulled at him like fire under his skin, demanding closeness, demanding touch. But he resisted, because if he gave in, he would lose himself completely, and he already hated how much of himself he had lost.
He hadn't slept the entire night. Not after facing his mate, not after the cruel words that had been thrown at him.
He had replayed the moment over and over, hearing them again, tasting the bitterness of rejection every time.
He couldn't believe it had happened, couldn't believe that after years of waiting, of hoping, of guarding the idea of a mate as something sacred, what he had been met with was betrayal, insult, and abandonment.
