Episode 6

☽☽☽

MIKAEL'S POV

☾☾☾

Ah, a mhuirnín.

She is fighting me—my darling. I can't help but be amused. Piscín fiáin. A very wild kitten she is. She butts heads with me straight on, but at the same time, she is fleeing. I see her trying to escape from me. What a sight... It reminds me, say, of prey running from a predator.

In the meantime, it's alright, almost fun and games for the racing deer. But as soon as it stops, for a mere second, to rest or to catch its breath, the beast swoops in on it for devouring.

It will only be a while before she tires and returns to where I want her to be. Then, I will consume her like a fire does a moth.

I've met women like her before. Women so painfully beautiful, it physically hurt a man. They act tough at first, pretending and denying their attraction to me, but eventually, they give in.

At the end of their charade, they are on their knees begging. It does not take them long to realise that I am the one who can save them; sex was usually, merely, a gatekeeper for their endless list of wants and needs.

She has experienced the tip of the iceberg of what I can do before. Though it seems that she no longer remembers. It galls me that she does not have my face etched in her memories despite all that happened that night.

How could she forget how my lips caused her pulse to soar and her heart to pound to a beat foreign to her ears?

Years after, I did not forget her. Could not forget the smell of her supple skin: citrus and honeydew—a combination that could send any man's blood rushing south—despite my initial efforts to do so.

["You recognise her, don't ye?"] My wolf stirs at my question but offers nothing in return. Asshole. I curse, entertained as always by his laziness and apathy in situations like this. He won't say, but he does remember. He's been closer to the surface since we met her than is typical of his routine.

How then is it not so for her? How does she have no memory of me, of what I could do? Unless... I hold back my assumptions. What if that was not her only rodeo? It's possible that it was not a first for her to let herself go the way she did. In hindsight, it did not feel like it was.

However, I could be mistaken. It wouldn't change anything if I'm wrong or not, so I'll not judge her. Not until she remembers that day. Though, how that comes to happen is none of my business.

I have my own mission to be saddled with: making the princess of the States' Midwestern region fall for me.

My eyes flick to her as we walk towards my car. As if she sensed me staring, her emerald eyes flutter upwards, and she blinks at me with pretty, long lashes. Álainn. How beautiful. She would make such a great prey.

The vibrancy of the green hue swirling around her pupil distracts me for the split second she holds my gaze. But she's quick to avert her sight and marches ahead on her own.

I have to give her credit. She's good at what she does—as she was that day—whatever it's labelled. First, it was irking me with unreasonable questions. Now, she's moved on to ignoring me. And, as my eyes see, seducing me as well.

Her dark silky hair swishes from side to side, hypnotizing me like a drug. It doesn't matter that it's dyed. It suits her. I can't look away. Her hips sway as she struts on. Wide, well-rounded they are. I shut in a groan when my gaze drops to her ass, rounded and viciously jogging in her tights. What sort of undies might she have on to allow for such a sight?

I want to find out. Her curves stand out like a weapon, and I have no doubt that she will be using it as one soon enough. I have my defence mechanisms, but even then, there's limits to how long my restraints can hold.

Truth is, I'm not sure what she wants. But I can't deny the lustful effect she's having on me. Now and then. Her spiteful words add even more fuel to the fire. More flame to my desire, which is good as it'll make things go smoother. The more obvious I appear to fall for her, the better.

So far, it's all gone as I wanted. I did expect her to be more pliant and susceptible to my charms. Even put on a show of being annoyed to guilt-trip her for pushing herself to hate me. It was all a deception, one that had little impact on her.

I know now. She's one to keep fighting. I like that. She needs to keep fighting. Until the day I break her. Until the day she begs and pleads for me. Until that fateful day when I've worked my way into her heart comes, I'll let her play this little game of hers. And I'll enjoy every moment of it. For, only then will she be the key I need.

Though she shot ahead of me, in a few long strides, I catch up to her. I point at my car, and she nods to show understanding. At my reserved spot, I watch her stare down the pitch-black motor before nodding as if satisfied. What does the little one know of cars? Could she be one of those women interested in racing? That would be a surprising quality added to her profession as her father's scapegoat.

"Get in!" No, she's not. I conclude when her eyes widen slightly at the car's doors sliding upwards. She hesitates as if unsure. "It won't bite. You get in." I gesture at the interior of my custom Veneno Roadster. We have no time to spend. Enough has been wasted.

"Thanks," she murmurs under her breath. It is almost as if she does not want to be too grateful to me. Maybe, since I'm holding her 'captive.' I chuckle as I make my way to the driver's side, recalling her previous accusations and threats. She tries so hard to be mean and intimidating when actually, she is fragile and powerless. Like most humans are without their weapons.

What, really darling? Kidnapping? Abducting? If I'd wanted any of those done, she'd have been gone before she knew it. There would be none of what happened today. Especially since she is the one who offended me.

Back to that punishment... I should think of something. I did give her my word, after all.

Like many gorgeous women I've met, I want her in my bed. But forcing myself on a woman is not a course of action I've ever considered. Nor do I plan on doing so in the future. I'll not be seducing her either. Particularly when she's so hellbent on not opening up to me. There will be enough time in the future to do so.

I will win her over. Make her fall hard and fast. I can't let her escape me. Not when I have so much at stake.

As I settle into my seat, I mark her awkwardness, a result likely because I stole her out of her comfort zone. She obviously does not appreciate the performance. But it had to be done. Getting rid of that wolf-boy, Walter, or whatever his name is, was the only way to discard my fast-filling glass of rage.

A Crestengalt, he is. The lineage of one of the most prestigious wolf families until a century ago. His grandfather, Gregory, tossed the honour of his family for the mate of another Alpha. She was my father's woman. Greg's courting did not end well, of course. Most certainly not after he marked her and placed his seed in her womb.

There was war. One that had never been in the history of werewolves. It was ordinarily that wolves bound together against other supernaturals. Though they were possessive of their territories, they had one another's backs in the end. Not this time.

I was obliged to fight against a man once a mentor. My father brought him to his knees, and with a final hit, I watched him crumble, a shell of himself. Till today, it was one of the very few deaths I'd had a reaction to.

Now, his grandson was here. The irony it was to find him with my woman lounging around instead of making their way to my pack: the territory she was to attend with me until it was time to discard her. I had to give him a warning. My bitter threat might have come off as being prejudiced. But, it's no matter. He needed to know his place. I take no jokes when it comes to what is mine.

Saskia is mine. Mine to be used. Mine alone.

My hand grips my keys as I force the anger slowly mounting to blow over. She's staring at me. But I don't give her any signs that I know. I turn to my side window as if screening for incoming cars, but I see when she sucks in an intense breath and repositions her shoulders to directly face me.

It might be the only opportunity she gets to gather more physical details of the man to be her husband. Outside, she'd avoided meeting my eyes or any of my features. If only she knew she'd be caught so easily in the act now.

I imagine she'll try to sneak glimpses at me when my attention is on the road. How surprised will she be to learn that I can drive with my eyes virtually closed? I'd like to know.

Will those big gorgeous eyes round at such a revelation? Will she part those soft, rosy lips that I want to kiss in shock? Will she let out that tiny gasp that sounds so much like a moan? That sounds like she's being screwed in my bed. The crotch area of my pants tightens, and I halt my train of thought.

"Yeh free to ogle me as you like, love." I beam, less charged at my choice to tease her instead of fantasising about her writhing underneath me. It's a relief it is that it won't be long until that day.

By my side, she's red as a sweet bell pepper. It's nice to see her flustered. There will be more of this to come. "Thank you so very much," she scoffs, her sarcastic tone sharp and distinct. I smirk at her.

Turning on the stereo, sweet, jazz music fills the car. But only for a brief moment as I eject the CD and hold onto it by placing a finger through the perfect hole in the middle.

Reaching for the glove compartment, the back of my hand brushes her knee. She jumps at the contact, which spread electric bolts up my arm, then cautiously veers her legs away. I appreciate the space to search for the case of the CD, but I'd prefer her closer.

I'd not realised how long ago it'd been since I enjoyed the warmth of a woman until I had her flush against me. I crave her heat, which packed every space in my body, fostering sinful thoughts. Thoughts that still won't retract the claws they have fastened onto me.

"Will you keep searching for the case forever?" She snaps, her soft voice crashing into me like a wave. I want her to keep talking when I pound into her.

"I could if you wanted," I hold up a new disc after tucking the first CD away. "You like country?"

"I don't mind it," she replies genuinely.

"Then you should be right fine with this." I assert, pushing the music plate in.

"The Gambler," she comments on the song that fills the car, letting her lips relieve themselves in a dazzling smile from the tension they'd been holding. I noticed. Still, I can't fathom why I want to see her smiling more. Fuck. I swear as I join the traffic piling up on the main road. I need my eyes on the price.

"It's the gambler, isn't it?" She frowns slightly. My silence must have confused her.

"Yeh." I bite out the word, then ground myself with a deep breath before continuing. "By Kenny Rogers. How'd you know?"

"I have a friend who loves his music. Plays them a lot."

"I see," I sigh through my nose. I'm giving too much of a damn about her. The plan will fall apart if this continues.

Fuck.

I won't let that happen.