Derek's POV
A full week had passed without Don's voice.
That alone should have shattered me, but it was worse than silence. He hadn't just gone quiet — he had withdrawn. Sealed himself away in some dark, locked corner of my mind I couldn't reach. Since then, I hadn't been able to shift. An Alpha cut off from his wolf wasn't merely weak. It was disgraceful. Something coiled tight beneath my skin, every nerve drawn taut, ready to snap.
My parents chose that moment to leave on a diplomatic journey, placing the entire pack in my hands. Endless documents, arguments, border disputes, internal tensions — all of it piled onto my shoulders while something inside me stayed stretched too tight. The air in my office felt dry and suffocating, the shadows on the walls almost hostile.
And then there was the scent.
Vanilla. Gardenia.
It didn't fade. It didn't weaken. It burrowed into my thoughts, beneath my skin, into my dreams. Every breath carried its pull, as though the night itself whispered my name. I knew exactly what it meant.
"Try to calm down and focus on your work," Orlando said, straightening the stacks of papers on my desk with nervous precision. "There's still a lot to do."
I looked up at him, my patience shredding apart. My heart pounded faster, my palms damp.
"I don't remember asking for your opinion," I growled, my voice rough with restrained fury.
"I'm saying this as your Beta — and your friend," he replied with a shrug. "If you want to prove yourself, you need control."
I stood. Sitting still was pointless. The floor creaked beneath my boots, but I barely registered it. Instinct had already taken over.
And then — I felt it again.
The scent was closer now. Much closer. It flooded my senses, and my heart skipped a beat.
I didn't think. I moved.
"Derek, where are you going?" Orlando called after me, but I was already gone.
The corridors of the pack house were familiar, yet felt strangely foreign as instinct guided my steps. The shadows stretched unnaturally along the walls, the world dulling until everything else faded away. The scent grew stronger, thicker — until I saw her.
She was standing with her back to me.
Slim. Fragile. Far from what I'd imagined a soulmate would be. Long brown hair caught the light dully, her simple dress swallowing her figure. Nothing provocative. Nothing bold. And yet something inside me shifted, violently, beyond my control.
My hand landed on her shoulder without conscious thought. Sparks skittered across my skin.
When she turned and our eyes met, the world stopped.
The air grew heavy, sound distant and muffled. This… her? The realization brought no peace. No calm. Only anger — deep, burning, and dangerous.
"Well hello, mate," I said coldly, my voice sharp as winter ice.
Fear flashed across her face so quickly it almost struck me. And in that instant I knew — this was wrong. Twisted. Impossible.
Before she could speak, I knocked her unconscious. Her weight sagged against me as the air seemed to thicken with heat. This wasn't just cruel — it was absurd. A servant's daughter. A Gamma, maybe even an Omega. Laughable. Pathetic.
I carried her into the forest, to the cemetery, prying open the family crypt. No one came here except my parents. Privacy was absolute. The marble was cold beneath my hands, dust thick in the air, every movement heavy with tension.
I laid her on the stone slab and studied her more closely — and still saw nothing remarkable. Thin, almost shapeless, not feminine in the way Clarissa was. Her brown hair had lost its shine. Why her? How could someone like this make me stronger?
I nudged her with the toe of my boot.
"Wake up, you miserable thing," I snarled.
Her eyes fluttered open. Terror seized her the moment she recognized me, and she scrambled back against the wall.
"No," she whispered.
"Oh yes," I said coldly. "Looks like the Moon Goddess has a twisted sense of humor. You don't actually believe you could ever be this pack's Luna, do you? So let's make this simple. We reject each other, and this farce ends."
"But… I'm your mate," she said shakily. "Doesn't that mean anything to you?"
"You're just a servant," I growled, stepping closer and gripping her throat. "You'll never be more. Reject me — now — or you'll regret the day you were born."
I waited, almost hoping Don would surface, challenge me, stop this madness.
He didn't.
Either he was too stubborn — or her wolf wasn't begging him for help.
"No," she rasped.
I released her throat, a cruel smile forming.
"I was hoping you'd choose the hard way."
I unbuckled my belt and pulled it free. Her eyes widened in horror as she scrambled to her feet, trying to run. There was only one exit. The walls were thick stone; no sound would escape this place.
She reached the door just as I lashed her back. She collapsed with a cry, pain folding her to the floor.
"Reject me!" I shouted.
"No," she breathed.
Another strike. And another. Blood slowly bloomed through the thin fabric of her dress. I didn't stop.
"Think carefully about what I'm saying," I told her coldly. "Consider how much your stubbornness is worth. Tomorrow, when I come to see you again, my dear, I hope you'll be smarter — and reject me."
I dragged her away from the door, stepped outside, and sealed the crypt behind me.
Questions clawed at my mind, but no answers came. Don stayed silent. The girl didn't break.
And that unsettled me more than it should have.
When I returned to my chambers, Clarissa was already there. Naked. Confident. Familiar. My body reacted instantly, the air thick with heat.
"Whose blood is that?" she asked, pointing at my hand.
"It's nothing," I replied, stepping into the shower and turning on the hot water. Steam wrapped around me like a veil.
She joined me moments later, her hands roaming my body.
"Not now," I muttered.
"Hm. I can fix that," she said, guiding my hand to her breast while the other wrapped around me. I hardened immediately.
"See?" she whispered against my ear, biting my lobe. "You want it. So tell me — what do you want?"
"Kneel," I growled. "Make me feel it. Deep and wild. Swallow every drop."
She dropped to her knees, taking me into her mouth without hesitation. Her lips were skilled, her tongue teasing, and soon I was gripping her wet hair, driving into her throat with ruthless pace. It didn't take long before I spilled, filling her mouth. She swallowed obediently.
Then I turned her around and pushed into her from behind. She braced herself against the glass, moaning my name. I took her hard, lifting one leg to sink deeper, faster.
Her orgasm hit quickly. I didn't slow.
I drove into her again, rougher, uncaring, gripping her breasts as she cried out. I knew she didn't enjoy this part — but I didn't care. I was playing an all-or-nothing game.
Judging by her sounds, she did too.
When I reached my peak again, I circled her clit, pushing her into another climax before finally stepping back. She panted for a moment, winked at me, and left the bathroom.
I stayed under the water, alone.
And once again, the scent returned.
Vanilla. Gardenia.
And her eyes — stubborn, unbroken.
I didn't know her name.
But I knew I wouldn't be free of her that easily.