Elara Thorne POV:
The Alpha’s Command still echoed in my bones, leaving me with no will of my own. Ryker’s hand was still on my jaw as he pulled me toward him, and I tumbled into his embrace, landing softly on the plush mattress. His body was a furnace, the heat seeping through the thin silk of my nightgown, and his scent was an intoxicating storm that flooded my senses, leaving no room for thought.
His mouth crashed down on mine. It wasn't a kiss of affection or even passion. It was a kiss of ownership, a brutal declaration of power from a king claiming his tribute. There was no tenderness, only a raw, plundering hunger.
Lyra was a whirlwind of conflict in my mind, caught between ecstatic joy and unbearable agony. Her fated mate was finally touching her, and every cell in my body sang in response, a chorus of need and recognition. But my soul wept. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. There was no love here, no connection, just a cold, hard transaction.
I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to conjure Ethan’s face in the darkness. His weak smile, the trust in his eyes. *This is for him. This is for him.*
Ryker must have sensed my stiffness, my mental retreat. He pulled back slightly, a flicker of annoyance crossing his handsome features. He probably thought I was afraid, or worse, playing some kind of coy game. A low, dismissive sound escaped his lips. "Relax. I'll make it worth your while."
That sentence, meant to be some kind of crude reassurance, was a shard of ice to my heart. It shattered the last, fragile piece of hope I hadn't even known I was holding. This was exactly what he thought it was: a service rendered, a payment to be made.
So I stopped fighting. I let my body go limp, my limbs pliant and obedient beneath him. But as I surrendered my body, my spirit retreated, leaving my eyes as empty and lifeless as a still, dark lake.
His wolf, I could feel, was enraged by my passive submission. It didn't want a lifeless doll; it craved the fiery response of its mate, a clash of souls, not just a coupling of bodies. But Ryker, the man, misinterpreted the signal. He probably chalked it up to my inexperience, a flaw in the product he had acquired for the night.
With an impatient grunt, he ripped the delicate silk of my nightgown. The sound of tearing fabric was shockingly loud in the quiet room. The moment his skin touched mine, a jolt of pure energy, the fabled Mating Sparks, shot through us both. It was like lightning, white-hot and undeniable.
Ryker flinched, his whole body going rigid. The shock on his face was genuine. This was far more intense than anything he had expected. I knew, with a certainty that was both triumphant and devastating, that he had never felt this with any other she-wolf. But I also knew how his logical, cynical mind would explain it away. *She’s a virgin. It’s just a stronger reaction.* He would find any reason other than the truth staring him in the face.
The sparks nearly melted me. My instincts screamed to arch against him, to meet his kiss, to claim him as my own. But my bruised pride, my shattered heart, made me bite my lip until I tasted blood, silencing the desperate cries of my wolf.
He moved over me, and the world dissolved into a blur of raw sensation. He was powerful, efficient, his every movement driven by a primal instinct he had long suppressed. It was a storm of pure, physical release, but there was no gentleness, no whisper of affection.
For him, I could feel it was a relief unlike any he had ever known. The restless, powerful beast inside him was finally soothed, pacified by the presence of its true mate. Every muscle in his body sang with a satisfaction that was soul-deep.
For me, it was the most exquisite torture. My body was in heaven, finally united with its other half, while my soul was being flayed alive in hell. With every powerful thrust, I could feel the invisible Mate Bond between us flaring to life, strengthening, becoming a tangible, thrumming cord connecting our very beings.
But he didn't mark me. He didn't sink his teeth into the juncture of my neck and shoulder to seal the bond, to claim me as his Luna, his forever. He just used my body to quiet his own demons.
The invisible cord that had just flared to life between us went slack, growing cold and thin. It was a connection left unsealed, a door opened only to be slammed shut in my face. Lyra’s keening in my mind was no longer just sorrowful; it was the sound of a spirit being torn, a primal scream of a soul rejected by its other half. He didn't want a trace of himself left on me, not even the sacred mark of a mate.
When the climax finally took him, my vision swam. A single, hot tear escaped the corner of my eye, tracing a path to my temple before being lost in the silken pillowcase.
It was over. He pulled away from me immediately, the space he occupied instantly growing cold. There was no afterglow, no tender touch, no shared breath. He swung his legs off the bed and strode into the bathroom, the sound of the shower starting a moment later.
I lay there, broken. My body ached, but it was nothing compared to the gaping, hollow wound in my chest.
*He doesn't want us,* Lyra's voice was a continuous, heartbroken keen in my mind. *He didn't even see us.*
I curled into a tight ball, pulling the heavy duvet over my head, trying to create a shield against a cold that was seeping from the inside out. I just had to make it until morning. Get the Moonlight Grass, and then this man, this eight-year obsession, would be nothing but a ghost.
When Ryker emerged from the bathroom, a towel slung low on his hips, he glanced at the huddled shape I made on the bed. His expression was unreadable, but I saw a flicker of something in his eyes—confusion, frustration. His body was sated, but his soul was emptier than before.
He didn't come back to the bed. He walked to the window, pulled a cigarette from a case on the nightstand, and lit it. He stood there, a powerful silhouette against the dark glass, silently smoking and staring out into the night.
