Chapter 3

I couldn't have enough of him. I was exhausted and sore, but I didn't mind. I did not want to sleep. I wanted the pains. I wished he were always with me. His weight rested on top of me. I wanted to squeeze him in even more. I wanted to see his face. I wanted his sweat to drop on me. I wanted to drop mine on him. I got on top of him. I had never done it before. 

I couldn't believe I was actually doing this. I was creating something. I grasped him and slid him in. 

He felt something deeper in me. I'll never forget this. I was in command, which he appreciated. I held his hands down. He acted as though he was attempting to escape. I touched his face with my tits. He lost his mind and bucked. He tore me apart. I applied pressure. It was unbelievable to me. 

He flicked a finger over my buttocks. It was me that did it to him. Heaved and lifted. It was unbelievable to me. It went on forever, and so did the new things. He took action. I made a copy of him. I took action. He carried it out again. He grabbed me by the rear. I resisted, letting more of him come inside of me. I sucked him in. He kissed me. I forced him onto my abdomen. 

The night came to an end and I still couldn't fathom what had just happened.

But as the night faded, so did the effects of the alcohol. Reality began to creep in in flashes, and with it, a heavy, sinking feeling of satisfaction. I started to feel the exhaustion in my bones, the ache in my muscles from overexertion. I wanted to stay in that warm cocoon of pleasure, but my body had other ideas, and I felt myself slipping into a half-conscious state.

My eyes fluttered open, still half-asleep. My body felt like it had been through a marathon and indeed it was, every muscle sore, every joint stiff. As I turned my head, the blurry image of a man beside me came into focus. His face was still a mystery, hidden by the remnants of sleep and the fading effects of alcohol. My mind, sluggish and confused, reached for familiarity. 

“Damian, is that you?” My voice was a tired, low whisper, filled with the last remnants of sleep.

“Yes, it’s me, my love,” came the response, but the voice, it was deeper, richer, but in my groggy state, I didn’t notice. Tears pricked at my eyes as I let the words tumble out, “Damian, I love you... but I just wish you would stop sleeping around with wolves you find pretty and strong. It hurts me every time you do it...” 

The words were heavy with pain and truth, and before I could hear the response, I drifted back into a deep sleep, the weight of my emotions too much to bear.

The early morning hours arrived with a soft, warm light filtering through the curtains, casting the room in a gentle glow. I was still worn out, the exhaustion from the night before clinging to me like a heavy blanket. A hand brushed through my hair, a kiss was placed on my forehead, and I mumbled, “Damian...” as I turned over to continue sleeping.

Elijah’s voice, filled with frustration, barely reached my ears as he muttered, “From what happened last night, you should at least remember a little that it’s me, not Damian.” But I didn’t hear him. I was too far gone, too wrapped up in the remnants of my dreams and the lingering pain in my heart.

Unable to bear the mistaken identity any longer, Elijah lifted me from the bed. His movements were careful, despite the frustration simmering beneath the surface. He carried me into the bathroom, his grip tightening as if determined to make me remember, to make me his mate. As he laid me down gently, his thoughts were clear—he intended to mark me, to make me his mate in every sense of the word, before I fully regained consciousness. 

The scent of him, strong and overpowering, filled the small space, meant to overwhelm my senses and mark me as his mate.

As he was leaving the bathroom for a couple hours, he glanced back at me, a determined look in his eyes. “By the time you wake up, we will settle what I have just done,” he whispered and all I could feel was the warm air from whatever really was making me warm that cold morning.

Hours later, I woke up my body protesting as I sat up. The room was unfamiliar, not the bedroom I was used to waking up in. Panic set in as I looked around, trying to piece together the events of the night before. The headache was intense, a throbbing reminder of my excesses. I glanced at my phone, seeing that it was already 12 PM—far too late for someone who should have been home hours ago.

I pulled the quilt up to cover myself, suddenly aware that I was in different clothes than I had been in last night. My red gown was gone, replaced by something soft and unfamiliar. Fear and confusion battled within me as I looked around the room. The sun’s rays fell on a figure sitting on a couch, the light obscuring his face.

“Who is there? Where am I?” I demanded, my voice tired and shaky as I tried to shield my eyes from the light, desperate to see who it was.

The man stood, stepping away from the light, and finally, I saw his face. “I’m Elijah,” he said, his voice calm but with a hint of something darker beneath. “I saved you from a scandal of a man last night... a really drunk one at that.” He walked closer, his steps making the floor creak, his eyes never leaving mine as he dropped the book he had been reading beside the bedside lamp. He leaned in, resting his hands on the bed, trapping me with his gaze. “I must confess, last night was epic. You really were good,” he said, running his hand through his hair, revealing a man in his late forties, well-built, his muscles pumped that I could see veins very visible and with an air of power.

His words hit me like a freight train. “What do you mean, last night? And yes, yes, I do remember you saving me from that stranger, but I can’t remember anything else...” My hands gesture wildly, trying to piece together the fragments of my memory. “Especially what you are referring to that happened last night.”

Elijah’s gaze was intense as he studied me, his lips curling into a knowing smile. “Why do you have a similar look to my husband?” I asked, desperation creeping into my voice. “I mean, even your build looks almost just like him.” My headache was unbearable, but I pushed through it, trying to make sense of the situation. I didn’t even realise that my scent had been altered, that Elijah’s mark had already claimed me.

“What did you say your name was again?” I asked, hoping that maybe it was all a misunderstanding.

“Elijah... that’s the name, ring any bells?” he asked, his tone mocking as he took a sip of juice, his eyes never leaving mine, waiting for the realization to hit.

“Elijah? Elijah what?” I pressed, needing more, needing something to ground me in this confusing reality.

“Elijah Gilbert,” he replied, and the name fell like a bomb in the room. Everything went silent, the weight of it sinking deep into my stomach.

“No... no... no...” I stammered, shaking my head as if that would make it untrue. “Fck, fck, what the fck have I fcking done? No, no, no, that’s not true... you possibly can’t be who I’m thinking you are...” The words tumbled out, broken and panicked, my mind refusing to accept the truth.

Elijah looked at me with a cheeky, sinister smile, a confirmation of my worst fears.

“Now you see, Annabel,” he began, his tone calm but laced with amusement. “Though the night was splendid, I couldn’t help but notice you kept mentioning your husband’s name while in your sleep, like it was your first time having an affair outside of him.” He poured a glass of water, handing it to me. “Here, for the headache.”

My hands shook as I took the water, my mind spinning. Just then, my phone buzzed on the table—it was Damian. I picked it up, holding it out to Elijah, showing him the name on the screen. “You see? Your nephew is calling me,” I said, my voice shaky.

“Hey...” I answered, trying to keep my voice steady as Damian’s voice filled my ear.

“Just been out, why are you looking for me?” I asked, the words coming out more defensive than I intended.

“I won’t be back now, maybe later,” I continued, trying to keep the panic out of my voice.

“Please, do not shout, I’m not feeling well where I am,” I said, my hand holding my head as the headache pounded against my skull.

“I said I can’t tell you where I am. Is that the only reason you called me?” I asked, trying to end the conversation as quickly as possible.

“I won’t say I’m even surprised,” I muttered, hissing under my breath as I dropped the phone, ending the conversation.

Elijah watched me the entire time, his expression unreadable, but his eyes glinting with something dangerous. “Hmmm, why all that tension?” he asked, his voice smooth as silk, yet cutting like a knife.

I didn’t respond, just stared at him, my mind a whirlwind of emotions and thoughts. I had nothing to say—there was nothing I could say that would make any of this better.

The reality of my situation was beginning to sink in, and I was terrified of what would happen if Damian knows that I just did the exact same thing I always beg him to stop.