Kael’s POV
She had nowhere left to run. Pressed into the corner, trembling, she looked as if she were fighting not only me but the pull of my scent itself.
"Eira," I murmured again, kneeling before her. My hand reached for her, but she flinched away, shrugging off my touch as though my fingers would stain her.
"Don’t..." she warned, her voice ragged.
I drew a slow breath, forcing myself to stay calm. This time I caught her hand and didn’t let go. With one firm pull, I brought her against me. Her small, frail body collided with my chest, and I held her steady, refusing to let her slip away.
That was all it took. My touch, my scent, the closeness she had tried so hard to escape—this was what she needed most, even if she hated herself for needing it.
Her body softened against mine. She buried her face against my neck, inhaling me, clutching my shirt with desperate fingers. Her nails dug into my skin, sharp and sweet, a pain that grounded me even as it inflamed the beast inside me.
I tightened my hold on her, letting her scent wash over me, letting her small frame fill my arms. She felt so fragile, so perfect to hold, both comforting and unbearably tempting.
But how would she take everything I was about to give her? She was weak now, trembling, but I prayed her pureblood lineage would grant her the strength she needed.
Lost in each other’s arms, I felt her tears soak into my shirt. She wanted to fight. She couldn’t. And now she had no choice but to give in to the man she hated most—the only one who could give her what she needed. It must have been a horrible, helpless feeling for her.
"Just this once, let me help you," I whispered, my voice low and hoarse.
She let out a small, broken sob. "...I... hate you..." she breathed, yet she clung tighter to me, her body betraying her, snuggling into the very arms she loathed.
"I know," I said softly. "Just this once. I promise I won’t touch you again unless you want me to."
She didn’t answer. Her sobs continued, her body trembling as desire began to overtake her rationality, tearing down her self-control piece by piece.
Her scent, her touch, her presence—they were fatal to me. And mine was the same to her.
I cupped her face and tilted it toward me. Tears streaked her cheeks, her eyes brimming with utter helplessness.
"You can hate me for the rest of our lives," I murmured. "I won’t mind. All I want is to stop your suffering. And for that..." I leaned in, closing the distance between us until my lips brushed her trembling ones, "...we have to mate tonight."
She closed her eyes and breathed in my scent, her last resistance slipping away as she prepared to surrender the fight.
Taking it as her willingness, I pressed my lips to hers gently at first, tasting the trembling softness of her mouth. It was the first time I had ever kissed her—the first time I had allowed myself this closeness I had imagined in restless nights. For so long I had wondered how it would feel to kiss those delicate lips, and now I had my answer.
She was delicious.
My heart skipped a beat as her taste filled me—sweet, intoxicating, so much more than I had ever dreamed. My wolf purred inside, restless, impatient to take her right there, clawing at my restraint.
Her lips were unsure, hesitant. She was unskilled in kissing, yet she tried. The hate she carried for me faltered beneath the weight of her wolf instincts, beneath the fire of her heat.
I cupped her cheek, drawing her closer. My thumbs brushed over her damp cheeks in a tender caress, hoping to let her feel my care rather than my hunger. My lips captured hers again and again, coaxing her, savoring her with gentle pulls, nibbling lightly as though every breath she gave me was a gift. She gasped softly, and I drank the sound in like it was meant only for me.
My hand slid along the curve of her back, feeling her shiver beneath my touch, then rose to her neck, fingers threading into the silk of her hair. Curling them at the base of her skull, I gave a gentle tug, tilting her face upward, forcing her gaze to meet mine.
Now she looked entirely drunk on desire, her hazy eyes moving from my own to my lips, as if she could not wait to taste me again. Her breathing came ragged and uneven.
That was it. That was what I wanted to see—the hunger she felt for me.
I claimed her mouth once more.
This time the kiss was no longer gentle. I devoured her lips with a hunger I could not hold back. Passion surged, fierce and demanding, and she met it with equal fire.
Her hands clutched at me, sliding over my chest, curling against my shoulders as if she needed to anchor herself in me or drown.
My arms wrapped around her waist as she shifted instinctively, from sitting to rising onto her knees so that her body pressed fully against me.
Her lips parted under mine and I slid my tongue into her mouth, tasting her deeply.
She yielded, answering with unsteady eagerness, learning me, clashing against me. The kiss grew wild, a battle of tongues and breath, our mouths desperate, unwilling to separate.
She was soft, warm, trembling, yet burning with the same passion that consumed me. Her fingers dug into my back, nails raking through my shirt, sending shocks of pain that only fed the fire in my chest, her lips moving against me with growing urgency.
The sounds of wet kisses, her soft moans, and our ragged breathing, the heat our bodies were radiating, filled the small secret room.
I kissed her as though I could brand her, claim her—as though I could make her forget every reason she hated me and remember only this moment.
At this moment, I wanted to believe she was truly mine.