Selene's POV
The night was supposed to be mine. My eighteenth birthday, the night the pack gathered beneath the full moon to witness my first shift — the moment destiny was meant to claim me. I stood barefoot in the clearing, the cold biting at my skin, my heart pounding with anticipation. The elders chanted, the pack watched, and I waited for the fire to ignite in my blood, for the wolf to rise.
But nothing happened.
The silence stretched, heavy and suffocating. Whispers rippled through the crowd, pity in some eyes, disgust in others. No wolf. No bond. Broken. Useless. My chest tightened, shame burning hotter than the cold. I wanted to scream, to demand another chance, but the truth was undeniable. My wolf had not come.
The rejection was swift. The pack turned their backs, their voices sharp as knives. I was no longer one of them. Not truly. Not without a wolf.
I ran.
Through the forest, through the streets, until the neon lights of the city swallowed me whole. Every step was a prayer to escape the weight of their judgment. The club was chaos — bass pounding like a heartbeat, lights flashing crimson and violet, bodies moving in a blur. I wasn't supposed to be here, but I needed to forget.
That was when I saw him.
Leaning against the bar, tattoos curling up his arms, silver glinting from his ear and eyebrow. His eyes — piercing blue, cold fire — locked onto mine, and my breath faltered. Heat surged through me, dark and unrelenting. My wolf was silent, but my body betrayed me. Lust clawed at me, raw and hungry. Shame burned, but desire drowned it.
He moved toward me, the crowd parting as if the night itself bent to his will.
"You don't belong here," he said, voice low, rough, threaded with danger.
I forced a smirk, though my knees trembled. "Maybe I do tonight."
His lips curved, not quite a smile, more like a challenge. "Then prove it. Dance with me."
His hand closed around mine, hot, possessive, and I gasped. My wolf stayed silent, but my pulse thundered. Every brush of his skin made me ache, every flicker of his gaze made me burn.
The music surged, and suddenly we were moving together, bodies colliding, the heat of him pressing against me. His tattoos shifted like shadows across his skin, his piercings glinting under the lights. His breath brushed my ear, his voice a growl. "You're fire. And I want to burn."
My knees weakened, my pulse thundered. Dark thoughts consumed me — his body pressing me into the sheets, his mouth tracing every inch of me, his hands marking me as his. I wanted it all. I wanted him to ruin me, to make me forget the rejection, the shame, the emptiness.
I didn't resist when he led me out into the night. The city was alive, neon signs flickering, sirens wailing in the distance, but none of it mattered. His leather jacket brushed against my arm, the scent of smoke and whiskey clinging to him. We walked fast, like we were chasing something we couldn't name, until we reached the hotel.
The room was dim, the curtains drawn, the city lights spilling in faint gold. He closed the door behind us, and suddenly the silence was louder than the music had been. My heart hammered, my breath caught, and when he stepped closer, I felt the storm inside me break. His jacket fell to the floor, leather whispering against the carpet. Tattoos shifted across his skin as he moved, alive in the half‑light. His body was all sharp lines and restless energy, yet when his hand brushed mine, it was gentle, almost reverent.
He guided me toward the chair, his movements deliberate, his gaze unrelenting.He sat down first, his movements deliberate, his gaze unrelenting. With a firm tug, he pulled me down onto his lap, the sudden closeness stealing my breath. His body was all sharp lines and restless energy, yet the way he held me was gentle, almost reverent.
His lips brushed mine in fragments, never giving everything at once, teasing me with pauses that felt like fire. My breath came shallow, my pulse racing, every heartbeat echoing in the silence.
"You're trembling," he teased, thumb grazing my knuckles. "Maybe it's you," I whispered back, breathless. His smile deepened, dangerous and tender. "Or maybe it's the silence."
Every brush of his mouth was a promise withheld, every pause a challenge. His tattoos seemed to shift with the shadows, alive, restless, as though they too were waiting for me to surrender."Go slow," I whispered, voice trembling, the words barely audible over the rush of water. "It's my first time." His lips brushed my ear, his voice low, steady, unyielding. "Slow or fast doesn't matter," he murmured, "all I'll do is make sure you never forget me."
He lifts me slowly up and down for me to get use to the feeling of him inside of me. The feeling of benig full it strangest. We move like that was feels like forever.
"hold on" he said
He rose from the chair with me still in his arms, his grip firm yet careful, and carried me toward the bathroom. The door swung open, and the hiss of water filled the silence, steam curling into the air like smoke. He set me down, but his hands never left me, tracing the line of my shoulders, the curve of my spine, grounding me even as my pulse raced.
The tiles were cool beneath my feet, but the heat of him eclipsed everything. Tattoos glistened as the water slid over his skin, shifting like living shadows across the hard planes of his body. My breath caught at the sight—danger wrapped in tenderness, hunger tempered by restraint.
He pressed me gently against the wall, forcing me to close my legs around him . The cascade of water drumming around us, every movement deliberate, unhurried. His mouth found mine again, slower this time, memorizing the shape of me, as though each kiss was a vow. His hands slid down my arms, then back up, framing me, coaxing me closer.
"You taste like fire," he whispered against my lips, his breath mingling with mine. "And you," I managed, trembling, "you feel like danger I can't resist." His smile was wicked, softened by tenderness. "Then don't resist. Let me ruin you in the sweetest way."
The steam blurred the edges of the world, leaving only him—his body, his breath, the fire in his gaze. Every touch was a question, every pause a challenge, and I answered without words, surrendering to the rhythm he set.
He carried me back into the bedroom, the steam of the shower still clinging to our skin, the city lights spilling faint gold across the sheets. He set me down gently, but the weight of his body followed, pressing me into the cool fabric. The contrast made me shiver—heat above, chill below, every nerve alive.
His tattoos shifted like shadows across his chest, alive in the half‑light, and his gaze burned through me, blue fire that saw every forbidden thought I tried to hide. My lips parted, desperate, my breath shallow, and when his hand framed my face, I leaned into it like it was the only anchor I had.
"I want you everywhere," I whispered, voice breaking under the weight of need. His smile was fierce, tender, unrelenting. "Then I'll leave no part of you untouched."
He kissed me again, slower this time, lips tracing mine as though he was memorizing the shape of me. His hands slid down, tracing the curve of my shoulders, the line of my spine, coaxing me closer. Every shift of his weight was a question, every brush of his skin against mine an answer I gave without words.
"You're mine tonight," he murmured, voice rough, steady. "I've always been yours," I confessed, trembling, "even when I tried to deny it."
The sheets tangled beneath us, the world narrowing to the heat of him above me. My wolf was silent, but my thoughts were loud, dark, unrelenting. Shame whispered that I was broken, wolfless, rejected—but desire drowned it, ruthless and consuming.
"Forget the emptiness," he whispered against my lips. "I'll fill you with nothing but me."
And when his mouth claimed mine fully, deeper, harder, I knew there was no turning back.
Orion's POV
I hadn't planned to be here. The bar was supposed to be a distraction, a place to drown the weight of mafia meetings and blood debts. I came for the whiskey, for the noise, for the chance to forget the empire waiting outside these walls. But then I saw her.
She was fire. Dark hair spilling like ink over her shoulders, storm‑grey eyes that cut through the smoke and noise. Defiance in the way she held herself, chin lifted, as if daring the world to break her. My wolf snapped awake the moment her gaze met mine, the bond slamming into place with brutal force. Mate. The word burned through me, undeniable.
"You feel it too," my wolf growled inside me, restless, clawing at the edges of my control. "No," I answered silently, watching her laugh at something across the bar, "she doesn't. Her wolf is silent.""Then make her see. Make her remember."
I tried to resist, but every detail carved itself into me—the curve of her lips when she smiled, the way her fingers traced the rim of her glass, the faint scar at her wrist that spoke of battles survived. She was rebellion wrapped in beauty, and I was already undone.
Later, in the quiet of the hotel room, the city lights painted her skin in gold. Her lips tasted of rebellion, her touch of fire. She whispered my name like it was a secret, and I knew I was ruined. My wolf raged with triumph, howling inside me, "Ours. She is ours."
"She doesn't know it yet," I argued, even as I held her tighter. "She will. Bonds don't lie. You'll show her."
But when I woke, she was gone.
The bond remained, sharp and unyielding, but she had vanished into the city, leaving only the echo of her scent and the memory of her touch.
The bed was cold when I woke. Sheets tangled, her scent fading but still clinging to the air—smoke, whiskey, and something wild I couldn't name. My wolf stirred instantly, restless, prowling inside me.
"She's gone," I muttered, sitting up, the city lights now replaced by pale dawn. "Not gone," my wolf snapped, sharp and unyielding. "She's ours. Find her."
I dressed quickly, every movement fueled by the gnawing ache of absence. The empire could wait—the debts, the meetings, the blood. None of it mattered compared to the bond burning in my chest.
On the streets, the city was alive with noise and motion, but all I heard was her. I followed the faint thread of her scent through alleys and crowded sidewalks, each trace pulling me deeper into the maze. My wolf growled with impatience, clawing at me.
"You're too slow," it snarled. "She's slipping away.""I'm trying," I shot back, jaw tight. "She left without a name, without a word. Do you want me to tear the city apart?""Yes," the wolf answered without hesitation. "If that's what it takes."
Every memory of her sharpened the hunger—the storm‑grey eyes that dared me to look deeper, the scar at her wrist that whispered of battles survived, the way her lips had shaped my name like a secret. I could still feel the weight of her body against mine, the fire in her touch, the defiance in her kiss.
"She doesn't know the bond," I reminded myself, though the words felt hollow. "She will," my wolf growled. "She can't run from what's written in blood and bone."
The city stretched before me, endless, but I knew one truth: I would find her. Whether it took days, weeks, or years, the bond would guide me. She was mine.
And until I had her back, neither whiskey nor war would silence the hunger.