Chapter 8

Mature Content Warning:

This chapter contains mature themes, including explicit language, and scenes intended for adult audiences. Reader discretion is advised.

Third person pov

Thorne staggered back into the mansion, the wound on his side still raw, the pain sharp enough to make him hiss with each step. His body was healing, but exhaustion slowed the process. His wolf was strong, but even he had limits, and tonight had pushed him close to breaking. He grabbed a coat near the entrance, throwing it over himself as he shifted back to human form, his movements stiff from the lingering pain.

Darius followed closely behind, his expression grim as he took in Thorne’s state. “Alpha, let me summon the healers. You’re…”

“No.” Thorne’s voice was sharp, cutting off any argument. “I’ll handle it. Leave me.”

“But, Alpha…”

“I don’t need to repeat myself, Darius,” Thorne growled, his tone leaving no room for argument. He pressed a hand to his side, feeling the sticky warmth of blood against his fingers.

Darius hesitated, and tilted his head. “The guards lost the prisoner,” he said. “Overpowered by rogues. But we’re already sweeping the territory. I’ll make sure we find him.”

Thorne let out a low growl of frustration, his patience worn. “If they slipped through once, they’ll do it again if you don’t secure the borders. Double the patrols. No one in or out until I say otherwise. Understood?”

“Yes, Alpha.” Darius nodded and turned to leave, but paused for a moment. “And… the girl? Ember?”

“What about her?”

“She was shaken, but unhurt. She took the pup back to the servants’ quarters. Should I…”

“Just keep her out of my way,” Thorne snapped, cutting him off again. His chest tightened at the mention of her name, though he quickly shoved the feeling aside. “Focus on what matters.”

“Yes, Alpha.” Darius bowed his head slightly before disappearing down the corridor.

Thorne exhaled, his jaw clenched as he climbed the stairs to his room. His mind was restless, circling back to the same thought over and over again. Ember. His mate. The very idea got on his nerves. An insolent, defiant servant as his fated partner? Fate had a cruel sense of humor, no doubt. There was something off about her, something he couldn’t quite place, and it put him on edge.

She wasn’t supposed to matter. She wasn’t supposed to be anything. Yet she occupied his thoughts more than she should, and that irritated him.

Reaching his bedroom door, he pushed it open, already undoing the belt of his coat. His head throbbed, his side still burning, and all he wanted was a moment of quiet to think.

Then he caught the scent.

Flowery. Sweet, almost dizzying. His brows furrowed as he stiffened, every instinct suddenly on high alert. It was out of place, foreign, and it came from inside his room.

And then he saw her.

Serene, draped across his bed in little more than a lacy scrap of fabric that hardly counted as clothing. She looked up at him with a sultry smile, her dark eyes gleaming.

“Thorne,” she purred, stretching lazily as if she hadn’t just trespassed into his private space. “You look like you’ve had a rough night. Let me… help.”

“What the hell are you doing in my room?” Thorne’s voice was cold with a dangerous edge.

Serene didn’t flinch. Instead, she sat up, letting the sheet fall from her shoulders as she smirked. “You’ve been so tense lately. I thought you could use some company.”

“You thought wrong.”

“Did I?” She stood, walking toward him with calculated grace. “I’ve seen the way you’ve been brooding. All that pressure on your shoulders, all that frustration. I could ease it, Thorne. You know I could.”

He stepped back, his eyes narrowing dangerously. “Get out.”

“Why so cold?” Serene asked, her voice like honey as she tilted her head and offered a coy smile.

Ignoring his sharp tone, she stepped closer, her fingers brushing against his shoulder as she slipped the coat from his body. Thorne tensed, his muscles rigid beneath her touch, but he didn’t move. Her eyes dropped to the wound on his side, and before he could stop her, she swiped a finger through the blood.

“What are you doing?” he growled, his voice low and threatening.

Serene didn’t answer. Instead, she brought her blood-coated finger to her lips, her eyes locked with his as she slowly licked it clean. The deliberate act was so provocative and defiant, Thorne’s jaw tightened as a flicker of lust stirred in his groin.

“Still the strong, silent type, I see,” she teased, her smile widening.

Thorne remained silent, his fatigue and irritation bleeding through in the way he dropped into the chair she led him to. He exhaled heavily, his exhaustion apparent despite his attempts to maintain composure.

Serene disappeared into the bathroom for a moment, returning with a damp towel in her hand. She knelt beside him, her movements slow and deliberate as she dabbed at the blood on his side.

“You’ve been reckless again, haven’t you?” she murmured, her voice a mix of fake concern and amusement.

Thorne’s gaze dropped to her hands, watching as she cleaned the wound with excruciating slowness. Her fingers lingered longer than necessary, the towel brushing against his skin in a way that felt too intimate.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” he muttered, his tone icy.

She laughed softly, leaning closer. “Oh, Thorne. You always pretend to be so unaffected. But deep down, I know you enjoy the attention.”

When the last trace of blood was gone, Serene set the towel aside. The wound had already closed, thanks to his healing abilities. Yet instead of stepping back, she rose and straddled his lap, her movements fluid and unapologetically bold.

“Get off me,” Thorne hissed, his voice a low growl.

She ignored him, sliding her hands up his chest as she leaned in, her breath warm against his neck.

“Why fight it? You’ve been running yourself ragged for weeks. Let me take care of you for once.”

Her lacy top slipped off her shoulders and fell away, exposing her plump breasts, dewy in the dim light. Thorne’s hands gripped the armrests of the chair, his claws threatening to extend as his wolf stirred uneasily.

“This isn’t happening,” he said through gritted teeth, his tone sharp enough to cut.

But Serene wasn’t discouraged. Her lips curved into a wicked smile as she tilted her head, studying him with predatory intent. “Oh, darling, it already is.”

Thorne’s voice turned icy but without conviction, weakened by the sight of her. “You’re playing a dangerous game, Serene. I suggest you stop before you regret it.”

Serene leaned in, her lips brushing against his ear as she whispered, “And what if I don’t?”

Before he could respond, she grabbed the back of his head and pushed her hardened nipple into his mouth.