The moon hung high above the forest clearing, suspended like a silent sentinel in the night sky. Silver light poured through the canopy, dappling the moss-covered ground in liquid metal. Shadows danced between the towering trees, but the clearing remained still, except for one man.
Darius prowled the moonlit glade like a caged beast, his movements sharp, restless. His boots made no sound on the soft, spongy earth, the forest's silence pressing against him like a weight. The cool, grounding pull of the earth was usually enough to settle him. Not tonight. Not after that kiss.
How could this be happening?
His long strides carved a restless path through the clearing, body humming with frustration, desire, and something far more dangerous, longing. The trees swayed gently with the wind, the rustling of leaves whispering through the stillness. It should have soothed him.
It didn't.
He raked a hand through his hair, again and again, muscles bunching beneath the thin fabric of his shirt, still rumpled from Cassandra's desperate grip. Those delicate hands were supposed to push him away, not pull him closer. And yet, they'd clutched at him like a lifeline, leaving behind a burning trail he couldn't forget.
It was seared into his skin. Branded into his soul.
He clenched his fists at his sides. "Dammit!"
He had been so close.
Too close.
If he hadn't pulled away when he did, if his wolf hadn't growled for control, thrumming with a hunger he hadn't felt in years, he would've marked her. Right then. Right there. In his own damn kitchen. Up against the counter like some fevered, reckless boy who didn't know better.
And the worst part?
He hadn't wanted to stop.
Gritting his teeth, he snapped the mental link open. "Michael. Clearing. Now." The growl echoed in their shared bond, rough with strain. He severed the connection before his Beta could respond. He didn't want comfort. He needed to vent, or he'd explode.
Minutes passed. Not many. The forest stirred behind him and then the underbrush parted with a soft rustle.
Michael stepped into the clearing with calm, deliberate movements. He was dressed in black joggers and a sleeveless hoodie, moonlight giving his dark skin an ethereal sheen. Always the quiet storm, Michael said nothing at first. He simply watched.
"You called, Alpha?" he asked, voice low and cautious.
Darius didn't turn around. He was still facing the trees, jaw tight, shoulders coiled. Then, in a low rasp that barely concealed the tremor beneath, he muttered, "I almost fucking claimed Cassandra."
Michael blinked. "You...wait, what?"
Darius spun on him, eyes glowing faintly gold. "I said I almost marked her. In the damn kitchen. Five minutes ago." He holds up his fingers, shaking. "This close."
Michael gives a low whistle. "Damn. I knew you'd snap eventually, but not like that. You barely tolerate her half the time."
"I thought I barely tolerated her," Darius snaps. "Then she walked in wearing that ridiculous robe, smelling like lilac, something enticing and she looked at me like she wanted to tear me apart with her teeth."
He started pacing again, the energy burning in him too wild to contain. "And then she had the audacity to stand up to me, Michael. Her voice..." he breaks off, swallowing the growl rising in his throat. "She wasn't scared...And I let her talk to me like that."
Michael crosses his arms, leaning slightly against a nearby tree. "But you didn't hurt her."
Darius freezes mid-stride. "Of course not!" His voice cracks with something that sounds dangerously close to pain. "I would never hurt her. I stopped before I lost control. Before I marked her."
Michael relaxes slightly, but his gaze remains steady. "Good. Because she's not like the others, Darius. You know that."
Darius turns away again, fists trembling. "Don't you think I know that?" he growls. "That's what scares the hell out of me. She's not like anyone. She's..." he let out a bitter laugh, "...I don't even know what she is to me. She's been here a short time and she's already in my head like a damn fever."
Silence stretches between them.
Then Michael asks the question Darius has been trying not to hear since the moment Cassandra walked into his home.
"You think she's your mate?"
Darius stiffens. "No," he says too fast, too sharp. "That's not possible. The Moon Goddess wouldn't...wouldn't do that to me. Not again."
Michael's voice softens. "You were rejected once. Doesn't mean She wouldn't give you a second chance."
"I don't want a second chance," Darius snaps, eyes flashing. "I had a mate. One I never got to claim. She was already marked. Already pregnant." His voice breaks, the raw wound of that memory still bleeding in the dark. "I'm not going through that again, Michael. I can't."
Michael takes a slow step forward, keeping his tone even. "And punishing yourself helps how, exactly?"
Darius doesn't answer. Couldn't.
He stares into the trees, heart pounding. The weight of the past pressed down on him, cold and relentless. The memory of another woman's scent, another man's mark, the sharp ache of being too late...it haunted him still.
Then, softly, barely audible: "She looked at me like I was...just a man. Not an Alpha. Not some broken thing. Just...me."
Michael nods slowly. "She sees you. That's what scares you."
"I can't afford to be seen," Darius mutters.
"Then you'll lose her."
The words hit like a gut punch.
Darius inhales sharply. The image of Cassandra, laughing, fierce, gorgeous...flashes behind his eyes. Her fire. Her mouth. Her scent. Another man's hands on her.
His body vibrates with instinctual rage. No.
"I don't want to lose her."
Michael's voice is soft, but firm. "Then stop running from what you want. But if you choose her, Darius...choose her fully. Don't pull her into your storm unless you're ready to be her shelter."
For a long moment, Darius says nothing. He simply stands there, heart thundering, jaw clenched so tightly it hurt.
Then he gives a single nod...short. Abrupt. And without a word, turns on his heel and disappears into the woods, his footsteps fading into the dark.
He needs space. He needs silence. He needs to breathe air that doesn't smell like lilac and longing.
Michael stands still, watching him vanish into the trees. He exhales slowly, the sound half sigh, half prayer.
"Stubborn bastard," he mutters, not unkindly.
Then he turns back toward the path that would lead him home...toward warmth, and light, and the mate who waited for him.
And he could only hope that one day soon, Darius would stop seeing Cassandra as the storm and finally realize the truth.
She isn't his ruin.
She is his redemption.