Damien's Pov
The ride back to Blackthorn Keep was silent, though my wolf wanted to howl. Every nerve in me screamed from the encounter, the way his fingers had grazed my skin, the way his eyes had stripped me bare, the way I had almost begged for more. I clenched my jaw so tight it hurt, as if physical pain could silence the echo of his voice in my head.
"Go back to your keep, Alpha King. Pretend you're not mine."
Damn him.
The massive gates of the keep loomed out of the mist as I approached. Guards bowed, eyes lowered, none daring to meet my gaze. To them, I was the picture of strength, the wolf-king who feared nothing, who bent for no one. If they knew how close I had come to surrendering in that clearing…
I shifted back into human form just inside the gates, muscles aching from restraint more than from the run. A servant rushed forward with a cloak, draping it over my shoulders before bowing low. "Welcome back, Your Majesty."
I grunted in acknowledgment and strode through the torch-lit corridors. My wolf ears still rang with the forest sounds, but my human mind was already colliding with duties. Always duties. There was no peace in being king.
Kael was waiting in the war hall, arms crossed. His sharp eyes flicked to me the moment I entered. "You went alone again."
I ignored the accusation in his tone.
"Report."
"The border patrols found signs of vampire movement. No direct clashes, but tracks, scents, disturbances. They weren't trying to hide."
"Of course they weren't," I muttered. Adrian wanted me to know. It was bait, a summons.
Kael frowned. "Do you think it's a declaration?"
I didn't answer immediately. The council chamber smelled of smoke and iron, the long table cluttered with maps and reports. My ancestors' banners hung heavy overhead, wolves stitched in silver thread, their eyes stitched in gold. Their judgment pressed down on me like a weight.
"They're testing us," I said finally. "Looking for weakness."
"And what do we show them?"
The answer was simple, strength. Ruthlessness. War. Yet when I closed my eyes, I didn't see enemy scouts. I saw Adrian's smile. You'll never say no. Not to me.
I slammed my fist against the table. The wood groaned but held. Kael tensed but didn't flinch. He had known me long enough to recognize the battle I fought wasn't only against vampires.
"I'll address the council at dawn," I said. "Make sure they're all here."
Kael hesitated. "And you? Will you rest?"
I almost laughed. Rest. As if sleep were anything but a trap where Adrian's voice followed me.
"Leave me," I ordered.
When the hall emptied, I poured myself a drink of dark mead and stared at the flickering flames in the hearth. The fire reminded me of him, dangerous, consuming, impossible to touch without burning. And yet, hadn't I already been scorched? Hadn't I already surrendered more than I could ever admit?
I hated the longing that crawled through me. I hated that I could still feel the ghost of his hand under my chin, the softness in his voice when he'd whispered exactly.
And gods help me, I hated that I wanted more.
By dawn, I was no calmer. The council chamber buzzed with voices as elders, alphas, and advisors filled the seats. Their scents mingled, old blood, iron, pine, impatience. All eyes turned as I entered.
"My king," Elder Marlowe said, bowing low. His hair was white, his shoulders still broad despite his age. "We've heard troubling rumors. Vampires gathering. Whispers of alliances with rogue wolves. It cannot be ignored."
"No," I agreed, my voice echoing in the chamber. "It cannot."
"Then we strike," another alpha growled, slamming his fist on the table. "Take the fight to their borders. Show them the Blackthorn pack will not be provoked."
A chorus of agreement followed. My council thrived on blood. They wanted war, glory, vengeance. None of them cared what it would cost.
I raised a hand, silencing them. "We don't move without proof. Sending wolves blindly will only weaken us."
Marlowe frowned. "And if they strike first?"
"They won't," I said. Too firmly. Because I wasn't talking about them. I was talking about him.
"Are you certain?" Kael asked carefully. His gaze lingered on me longer than it should, as if he could peel away my thoughts.
I met his stare with a coldness that dared him to push further. "I am."
The council exchanged uneasy glances. Some nodded reluctantly, others muttered under their breath. But none openly defied me. For now.
When the meeting ended, Marlowe caught my arm. "Your Majesty," he said quietly, "you've grown… cautious. That is not like you. The people whisper. They wonder if the wolf king has lost his fire."
I pulled free of his grip, my voice low and dangerous. "Tell them the fire still burns. And if anyone doubts it, I'll show them the ashes of their bones."
His eyes widened, but he bowed and retreated.
By the time night fell again, I was pacing my chambers, restless. Adrian haunted me more with silence than with words. Every time I shut my eyes, I saw his smirk, heard his whisper, felt his touch. My wolf snarled inside me, restless with the denial I forced upon us both.
I tried drowning him in duty, reading reports, signing decrees, listening to petitions. None of it worked. Every scrap of parchment blurred into crimson eyes and pale lips.
I found myself at the balcony again, staring into the forest. The night called to me. He's out there.
"Damn you," I whispered into the darkness.
Because I knew if I ran again, if I sought him out, he would be waiting. Always waiting. And every time, I gave him more of me. A touch. A word. A weakness.
And one night, he would take it all.
Sleep finally dragged me under in the early hours, but it was no mercy. Dreams claimed me, thick and heavy.
Adrian stood at the end of my bed, shadows clinging to him like a cloak. His eyes glowed, red and soft, dangerous and tender all at once.
"You think you can resist me forever?" he asked, his voice a silk chain.
"I have to," I rasped.
"No," he said simply, crawling onto the bed with the grace of a predator. "You want to."
His hand slid across my chest, cool fingers searing against heated skin. My breath caught. My wolf whined, torn between rage and surrender.
"This is not weakness," he whispered, pressing his forehead to mine. "This is truth."
When his lips brushed mine, I woke with a start, gasping, drenched in sweat. The sheets clung to me like chains. The room was empty, but his scent lingered, phantom, cruel, impossible.
I pressed my palms to my face, trembling.
The Alpha King of the wolves should not dream of his enemy. Should not ache for his touch. Should not crave the fire of his kiss.
And yet I did. Gods help me, I did.