KAIA'S POV
I'm frozen like a deer in headlights, my leg raised against the wall, my hand still between my thighs, caught in the most compromising position imaginable.
For a moment, neither of us moves. Neither of us breathes.
Then his nostrils flare slightly, and I know he can smell exactly what I've been doing.
The Frenzy. Of course this had to happen during the Frenzy.
Three days of pure, primal need that hits unmated werewolves every few months. Three days when logic and control take a backseat to raw instinct and desire. Three days when even the strongest wolves can lose themselves completely to their most basic urges.
I should have waited. Should have stayed home until it passed. But I was so sure I could control myself, so certain that my vow of revenge would be stronger than any biological imperative.
I was wrong.
"Well," he says quietly, his voice rough with something I can't identify. Something darker and more dangerous than before. "This is unexpected."
My face burns with shame so hot I'm surprised it doesn't catch fire. I can't speak, move, or do anything but stare at him while my world crumbles around me.
But there's something different about him now. Something wilder. His pupils are dilated, almost completely black, and there's a tension in his body that wasn't there at the river. The same primal energy that's been consuming me is radiating from him in waves.
He's in Frenzy too.
"What are you doing in my restroom?" he asks, his voice carrying that Alpha authority that makes my knees weak, but there's something else underneath it now. Something hungry and predatory.
I raise an eyebrow, trying to find some shred of dignity in this nightmare. "Your restroom?"
"Yes," he says, stepping into the small space and closing the door behind him. The click of the lock sounds like a gunshot in the silence. "My house. My rooms. My restroom. Everything here belongs to me."
The way he says it makes something flutter in my stomach that I absolutely do not want to acknowledge. There's possession in his voice, ownership, like he's not just talking about the bathroom.
I drop my dress quickly, smoothing the fabric down with shaking hands. "I was just... I needed to..."
"I know what you needed," he says softly, and the knowing look in his eyes makes me want to disappear. "The question is why you didn't come to me."
"What?"
His eyes are burning now, all Alpha dominance and primal hunger. "You're in Frenzy. I can smell it on you. Sweet and desperate and absolutely intoxicating."
My breath catches. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Don't lie to me," he growls, and the sound sends shivers down my spine. "Your scent is driving me insane. Has been since the moment I walked in here."
I can see the truth of it in the way he's looking at me. Like he wants to devour me. Like he's fighting every instinct he has not to pounce.
"I have to go," I stammer, moving toward the door. "My father is waiting."
But as I try to push past him, his hand shoots out and grabs my waist.
"Not so fast," he murmurs, pulling me against him with more force than before. More desperation.
My body collides with his chest, and the impact sends shockwaves through every nerve ending. He's so warm, so solid, so incredibly male that my brain short-circuits. I can feel the evidence of his arousal pressed against me, hot and hard and demanding.
"Let me go," I whisper, but there's no strength behind the words.
Instead of releasing me, he spins me around and presses me back against the wall. His hands are everywhere - tangling in my hair, gripping my waist, sliding up my ribs to brush against the underside of my breasts.
"You smell incredible," he says against my skin, his breath making me shiver. "Like cherries and desire and pure, undiluted need."
"Don't," I breathe, but my hands betray me by clutching at his shirt instead of pushing him away.
"Don't what?" he asks, his lips brushing against my throat. "Don't touch you? Don't acknowledge what's happening between us? Don't give you what you were just trying to give yourself?"
"Nothing is happening between us," I lie desperately.
He chuckles, and the sound is darker now, more dangerous. "Your scent says otherwise. Your body says otherwise." His hand slides down to cup me between my legs, and I nearly cry out. "This says otherwise."
My knees go weak. The heat that had been building before he walked in comes roaring back with double the intensity. Being pressed against him like this, feeling his strength, breathing in his intoxicating scent...
"Please," I whisper, though I'm not sure what I'm asking for anymore.
His hand comes up to cup my face, but there's nothing gentle about the touch now. His thumb presses against my lower lip, and I can see the moment he loses control completely.
"You're beautiful," he says, his voice rough with need. "So beautiful it takes my breath away. And you smell like you're mine."
Before I can protest, he's crushing his mouth to mine.
The kiss is nothing like I imagined. It's desperate, hungry, claiming. His tongue demands entrance, and I give it to him without question. He tastes like morning coffee and something darker, more dangerous. Something that makes my head spin and my heart race.
His hands are everywhere now, running down my sides, gripping my thighs, pulling me closer until there's no space left between us. I can feel his arousal pressed against me, hot and insistent, and it makes me whimper into his mouth.
One of his hands slides up under my dress, and I gasp at the contact. His fingers are skilled, knowing exactly where to touch to make me arch against him.
"That's it," he murmurs against my mouth. "Let me hear you."
For a moment, I forget everything else. Forget where we are, who he is, why this is wrong. There's nothing but the heat of his mouth on mine and the way his hands feel against my skin.
But then reality crashes back in like a bucket of ice water.
"No," I gasp against his mouth.
"What?" he asks, his voice rough with desire.
"No," I repeat, pressing my hands against his chest. "I can't do this."
But instead of backing off, he leans in closer, his eyes studying my face with an intensity that makes me nervous.
"Interesting," he murmurs. "Your body says yes, but your mind says no. Why?"
"Let me go," I demand, pushing harder.
He releases me immediately, but he doesn't step back. Instead, he watches me with those dark eyes, like he's trying to solve a puzzle.
"What's wrong?" he asks. "Did I hurt you?"
I wrap my arms around myself, trying to stop the shaking that's taken over my entire body. "I have to go. My father is waiting."
"That's not what I asked," he says, tilting his head slightly. "I asked if I hurt you."
"No," I admit reluctantly.
"Then why did you stop me?"
I don't answer, moving toward the door instead.
"Kaia." His voice stops me cold. There's something different in his tone now, something calculating. "You're afraid of me."
"I'm not—"
"Not physically," he continues, like I haven't spoken. "You're not afraid I'll hurt you. You're afraid of how I make you feel."
My heart pounds faster. "You don't know what you're talking about."
"Don't I?" He moves closer, and I can smell his scent again, making my head spin. "You want me. I can smell it, taste it, feel it in the way you respond to my touch. But something is holding you back. Something more than just propriety or fear."
His gaze sharpens, unreadable. "It’s new to you, isn’t it? This kind of wanting. Untouched. Unclaimed. I can feel it—you're standing on the edge, terrified to fall."
He's too perceptive. Too good at reading me.
"You're imagining things," I say, but my voice wavers.
"Am I?" He reaches out and traces one finger along my jawline, and I shiver despite myself. "Your pulse just jumped. Your breathing quickened. Your scent just got stronger."
"Stop."
"Why?" He leans in closer, his lips almost touching my ear. "What are you so afraid of, Kaia? What's got you running scared?"
His voice is hypnotic, compelling. I can feel myself leaning into him despite every rational thought screaming at me to pull away.
"I'm not scared," I lie.
"No?" His hand slides down to rest on my throat, not threatening but possessive. "Then why are you shaking?"
I can't answer. Can't think. Can't do anything but stare at him as he watches me with those dark, knowing eyes.
"You're hiding something," he says quietly. "Something big. Something that makes you pull away right when you want to give in."
"You don't know anything about me."
"I know you sing to the river when you think no one is listening. I know you come alive under the moonlight. I know you want me so badly you can barely breathe." His thumb strokes across my pulse point, and I whimper. "And I know you're fighting it for a reason you won't tell me."
"Let me go," I whisper.
"Not until you tell me why."
"Because you're a Duskmore," I say desperately. "That's enough."
Something flickers across his face - surprise, maybe hurt - but it's gone too quickly to be sure.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
I can see the genuine confusion in his eyes, and it almost breaks my resolve. Almost makes me want to explain.
Almost.
"It means this," I gesture between us, "whatever this is, it can never happen again."
"Why?" he presses, and I can see him putting the pieces together. "What did my family do to you?"
The question hits too close to home. Too close to the truth I'm not ready to reveal.
"Nothing," I say quickly. "I just... I can't."
"Can't or won't?"
"Both."
He stares at me for a long moment, and I can practically see the wheels turning in his head. He knows I'm lying. Knows there's more to this story.
"This isn't over," he says finally.
"Yes, it is."
"No, Kaia. It's not." He steps back, but his eyes never leave mine. "You can run from this, from me, but you can't run from yourself. From what you feel."
"Watch me."
He smiles, and it's not entirely pleasant. "I intend to. Very closely."
The promise in his voice makes my stomach flip. He's not going to let this go. He's going to push and prod until he gets his answers.
Which means I need to be very, very careful.
"My father is waiting," I say again, opening the door.
"Of course he is," Ronan says, his voice carrying that Alpha authority again. "Wouldn't want to keep him waiting."
But as I step into the hallway, I can feel his eyes on me, studying every move I make.
He knows I'm hiding something.
And he's not going to stop until he finds out what it is.