I found his lounge easily enough, though "lounge" was an insult to what stood before me. It was enormous, an entire secluded wing of the High District, untouched and unreachable to anyone who wasn't powerful enough to breathe that kind of air. No one lived remotely close to him. No one dared to. This was a level of residence meant for the elite.
And somehow, I was walking straight into it.
They had sent me here without a proper explanation. Just a clipped command, a shove in the right direction, and suddenly I was stumbling toward the home of the most terrifying wolf alive, dressed in clothes torn to rags and stained by my own blood.
The building was shaped like a circular fortress, single-storied but sprawling, surrounded by ponds that formed a kind of man-made island. Stone paths crossed the water as a path. Even before the ponds, gardens bloomed in every direction, flowers arranged with such deliberate artistry that for a moment I forgot the pain radiating through my bruised ribs.
Only for a moment.
Because every step hurt.
Every breath hurt.
Every memory of that abominable monster hurting me earlier made my fists clench until my knuckles ached.
No. Don't think about that.
Shaking the poisonous thoughts away, I pushed myself forward. My legs wobbled, but I forced them to keep moving. I was filthy, exhausted, half-healed and half-broken, but I wasn't turning back. My wolf couldn't even heal my hurting bones because of how weak I was.
The moment I stepped inside, I stopped breathing.
The interior was… otherworldly.
Dark ambience clung to the space like it was created for it, heavy and deliberate. High-quality woods framed the walls, furniture arranged with deadly precision and caee. The room felt somewhat ancient and powerful.
I almost didn't dare step farther in.
It felt like I was intruding.
No… more like contaminating.
But the door had been open, so I pushed my luck. Aldric Varyn had no reason to lock anything. Who would dare try invading the heir's domain? No wolf with a functioning brain. I conveniently exempted myself from that category with a tiny flicker of pride that probably counted as suicidal.
Still, I couldn't help it...
I had actually walked into Alderion Aldric Varyn's private home.
A billion wolves would kill for the chance.
So I drifted deeper, marveling. I touched things I shouldn't have touched, stared at things I shouldn't have stared at. I wanted to memorize everything—the lines, the shadows, the weight of the atmosphere.
Eventually I reached the room farthest inside.
The last door.
Literally the only one that mattered.
His room.
It wasn't locked.
Of course it wasn't.
Inside, everything was exactly as I imagined: high-end, minimalist, dark. The kind of "dark" that wasn't just a color, but a presence, masculine, commanding, dangerous.
His scent clung to every inch of the place, crisp and sharp and sinfully clean. It hit me like a punch, heating my cheeks despite the chill running down my spine.
Then I found the walk-in closet.
Gods.
It was enormous. Swords gleamed on display; medals rested in pristine glass cases; crests and armor lined the walls. Leather. Fur. Horns. Vampire teeth, actual vampire teeth, mounted like trophies of his victories.
He was incredible.
My fingers hovered with reverence before I let myself touch the cool metal of a blade, then a crest, then the smooth fabric of one of his coats. I inhaled his scent shamelessly, letting it settle into my lungs. It felt illicit and electrifying.
Then my mind clicked into something far more practical:
I needed clothes.
Badly.
Rummaging through the lower shelves, I found a folded set of pajamas, a black shirt, black trousers. Plain, but beautifully made. His. Obviously his, everything he had was beautifully made.
I snatched them like stolen treasure and rushed out of the closet, then directly into his personal bathroom. A long shower washed away dried blood, sweat, and the grime of the day. The water stung my cuts, but the relief was worth it.
It was hell today.
Hell.
I was still drying my hair when my instincts screamed.
Someone was here.
Just… a feeling.
A gut-deep, primal alarm.
He was back.
Panic shot through me.
I practically leapt out of the shower, tugging on the pyjamas, they were long on me, too long. I fumbled hopelessly with the shirt buttons, my hands shaking, my heart slamming against my ribs.
Button faster.
Move faster.
Run.
If he saw me..
like this
in his clothes, in his room…
I bolted for the door, shirt still half-open, hair dripping. My breath came in frantic gasps. Just escape. Just hide. Just..
I collided with something solid.
No, someone.
I staggered, and the world stopped.
Alderion Aldric Varyn stood before me.
Tall.
Broad-shouldered.
Drenched in authority and danger, wearing a scowl that could've frozen the sun.
His eyes moved from my face… to my dripping hair… to the unbuttoned shirt hanging off my shoulders… to my eyes that widened in shock. I hiccuped.
His shirt.
His clothes.
His home.
His room.
And me.
A pathetic, bruised stray in borrowed fabric.
My stomach dropped into oblivion.
Fuck.
I'm cooked.
I froze.
His gaze burned through me, sharp, golden, irritated… and somehow colder than I thought eyes could ever get.
For a second, the entire world was soundless.
Then…
"You."
The word rolled out of him with a low rumble.
My throat tightened around nothing, and I found myself stupidly lowering my head to watch the beautiful experience awesome tiles my toes wriggling my hands clutching the hem of the garment.
"I...I didn't break anything," I blurted out. "Probably."
Great.
Brilliant.
Just dig your grave deeper, Zero.
He took one step forward.
Just one.
But my entire wolf flinched like he'd struck me. His presence filled the room far too easily, bigger than the space, bigger than reason, bigger than anything my tiny, battered body could hope to stand against. My heart thrashed like a wild animal trying to escape my ribs.
"You're wearing my clothes," he said.
"I…I'm sorry," I choked out. "The people sent me here. I didn't know where else to go, I was dirty and bleeding and…."
His eyes flicked downward, trailing over my bruises, the half–buttoned shirt that hung past my thighs, the exposed skin from where his shirt hung past to my feet. Something shifted in his expression…
A predator taking inventory.
"Step back."
I stumbled back so fast my heel slipped on the wet floor and I almost fell. Almost. But his hand shot forward, fast, precise, catching my wrist before my skull met the floor.
The heat of his grip seared straight to the center of my chest.
My breath hitched.
His fingers tightened.
"Stand," he ordered.
I stood. Shakily.
He let go as if the touch had meant nothing, yet my skin still burned where he grabbed me.
Aldric looked around the room, then at the damp footprints trailing from his shower to where I stood dripping with his shirt half-open, my hair sticking to my face. His jaw flexed.
"You touched my things."
I nodded, trembling. "Y..yes."
"You entered my room."
My voice was barely a whisper. "Yes…"
"You went through my closet."
I opened my mouth, then closed it.
There was no point denying that one. I probably smelled like his entire wardrobe at this point.
His eyes narrowed.
"It seems your idiocy knows no restraint."
I stiffened. Anger sparked, brief but real, before dying under the crushing reminder of who he was.
Aldric Varyn.
Son of the High Alpha.
The deadliest wolf of our age.
And me?
A rougish, nearly feral nobody whose name meant less than dirt.
So I swallowed the anger.
And lowered my head.
"I'm sorry," I murmured.
He stepped closer.
Too close.
So close I could see the faint scar along his collarbone, the way his lashes shadowed those molten eyes, the heat radiating from his skin. My wolf whimpered internally, unsure whether to run or kneel.
"I don't accept apologies," he said.
My stomach dropped.
"W-what do you accept?"
His gaze flicked to the undone buttons of his shirt.
"His hand lifted, slowly, deliberately, until a single finger hooked the edge of the collar I was drowning in.
His voice dropped.
"Take it off."