Cassandra’s POV
Adolphus’s lips pressed against mine, warm and searching, his breath shallow, just short of surrender. For a fleeting second, I thought he’d give in. But then he pulled away.
Not gently. Not with reluctance. Abruptly.
His breath came uneven, shoulders tense, as if breaking contact had cost him more than he was ready to admit.
A smile tugged at the corners of my mouth. My heart pounded with an adrenaline-fueled thrill. This was exactly where I wanted him, off balance, trying to catch up.
I hadn’t summoned him here for idle conversation. My purpose was deliberate. Clear.
I turned from him with practiced ease, smoothing away any sign of disappointment, and reached for the teapot. Porcelain clinked softly as I filled a delicate cup, the scent of jasmine rising in gentle waves. It curled around us, subtle and sweet, cloaking the tension beneath a veil of calm.
I held the cup out, palm up, arm extended with calculated grace.
“Will you be the new Beta?” My tone was airy, casual, as though I hadn’t just pressed my mouth to his.
Adolphus didn’t move. His gaze stayed locked on me, unreadable but sharp. His jaw set with quiet resistance.
“I can’t,” he said, low and unwavering. “It wouldn’t be fair to Katrina.”
Katrina.
The name felt like grit against my teeth. I kept my expression smooth, lips parting in a soft laugh that didn’t quite reach my eyes. I placed the cup on the table with a faint click that sounded louder in the stillness.
“A Beta without a wolf is useless,” I said, tilting my head slightly, as if I were simply stating a fact. But my eyes were on him, searching.
His stare met mine without flinching. “You were her best friend,” he said. A quiet accusation laced his voice, not angry, just tired.
The words slid over me like a dull blade. I shrugged, brushing them aside with a flick of my hand as I stepped closer. My robe shifted with me, the silk whispering against his arm. It was a touch so light it could’ve been imagined, but I knew he felt it.
“You’re thinking too much,” I murmured, voice barely above a whisper. “Here, have some tea.”
His eyes didn’t move. “I don’t drink tea.”
A flash of irritation rose sharp and sudden, but I smothered it with a smile so sweet it might’ve fooled someone less perceptive. Turning back to the table, I reached for a darker temptation. The wine poured like liquid garnet, slow and rich, catching the firelight in the crystal.
The room felt smaller now. The fire crackled softly, its glow painting shadows on the walls, golden and wavering. The scent of jasmine mingled with aged oak and smoke, wrapping around us like a velvet shroud.
Even the smallest sounds, the shift of glass, the creak of the floor, seemed amplified, intimate.
I breathed in slowly, savoring the moment. Every movement I made now was deliberate, loaded. This wasn’t about romance. It wasn’t about longing.
It was about power.
I was no longer the girl with aching dreams of love. I was a Luna in the making, claiming what was owed.
I turned back, one glass in each hand. “Then have a drink with me,” I said softly. “You wouldn’t say no again to your Princess... your future Luna, would you?”
Something flickered behind his eyes. His jaw worked, but no words came immediately. I didn’t wait.
Instead, I reached for the knot at my waist and pulled. The robe slipped down in a slow cascade, pooling at my feet.
I stood bare but not vulnerable, clad only in black lace that clung to me like a second skin. The firelight danced across my body, illuminating skin and silk, casting long shadows along the curves he’d once memorized.
His breath caught.
I saw it, the moment he broke. The tension in his muscles, the way his hands clenched slightly at his sides, as if suppressing the instinct to reach for me.
His throat bobbed with a thick swallow, his chest rising heavier now, like he was holding back something wild.
And I let the silence hold.
Let it stretch and hum between us, taut like a pulled string ready to snap. I watched the internal struggle behind his eyes, saw the way his wolf paced just beneath the surface, hungry, torn, tethered only by the thinnest strand of control.
He didn’t speak, but he didn’t look away either. The fire crackled. Somewhere in the distance, the wind whispered against the windows.
“One drink, Princess,” he finally said, voice hoarse and rough. “And then I’ll return to my chamber.”
That was fine.
One drink was all I needed.