Reese’s smirk faltered. The amusement, the lazy cruelty—gone.
Now, his gaze dragged over Celine slowly. Like he was seeing something new. Like he had just realized exactly what he wanted. Like he lost all interest in anything except for her.
Before she could step back, he moved.
Fast.
A rough grip, a shove, and then her back hit the wall. Hard.
The impact rattled through her bones, but his body was already there, pressing in.
Celine sucked in a breath. Too close.
Reese braced an arm beside her head, the other hand gripping her hip—not to restrain, but to feel.
“Want to play protector now?” he murmured, his lips too near her ear, his breath warm against her throat. “Well, I’m glad we get to spend some time together. No Alpha to interfere.”
A sharp heat slithered down her spine—not fear. Revulsion.
She refused to be frozen.
She forced herself to look away from him, to find the girl still on the ground, wide-eyed and trembling.
Celine met her gaze and mouthed, “Run.”
The girl hesitated for half a second—then bolted.
Reese didn’t even glance at her.
His fingers dug in. Not cruel, but possessive. Exploring.
“You’d do well to remember,” he murmured, his grip dragging over her waist, fingers curling just beneath her ribs, “you’re only allowed to stay here as a slave.”
Celine’s pulse roared.
His palm skimmed up. Slow, too slow. Like he was savoring the moment.
“And if I’d like to,” he went on, voice lazily pleased, “I can arrange for you to become my personal one.”
His hand slipped under her shirt. Celine went rigid. Every nerve in her body screamed at the unwelcome heat of his skin against hers. The way he took his time. The way he already thought she was his.
“Ew, Reese, she’s dirty,” the redheaded she-wolf scoffed.
Reese only smiled. “I don’t mind a little—”
Her knee slammed up into his groin.
The sound he made—choked, pained, furious—was satisfying enough.
He staggered back, a string of curses spilling from his lips.
His friends laughed.
Celine didn’t wait to see his reaction.
She spun and ran, heart hammering, skin burning. Not from his touch, but from the fury.
He had looked at her like she was his for the taking. Like she was something to be claimed.
And that—that–was something she would never allow again.