His mouth cuts off my protest, lips claiming minewith an intensity that steals my breath. I melt into the kiss, my hands finding his shirt, pulling him closer.
“You’ve been having nightmares,” he murmurs after a few seconds. “Every night this week.”
“I’m fine—” I try to pull back, but his grip tightens.
“You’re not.” His eyes burn into mine. “But you are stubborn as hell. So, instead of arguing about it, I’m going to distract you.”
Before I can respond, he lifts me from the chair. I wrap my legs around his waist, gasping when he presses me against the wall.
“The delegation arrives in three days,” he says, his voice rough with want. “You can ask all your questions then.”
His hands slide under my shirt, palms hot against my skin. Every touch ignites something in me, chasing away thoughts of nightmares and politics.
“Right now,” he continues, his mouth trailing fire down my throat, “you’re mine. And I’m going to make sure you remember that.”
I arch into him, surrendering to the heat between us. Let him chase away the shadows with his touch, his kiss, the undeniable pull of the mate bond.
I like this simplicity of us. No one else, no worries, no concerns.
A week crawls by,marked by nightmares and Seth’s increasingly creative ways to distract me from them. His hands have learned every curve of my body, every sound I make when he touches me just right. The mate bond thrums between us constantly now, a living thing that demands attention.
But today isn’t about us. Today, the Snow Mountain delegation arrives. Unfortunately, I haven’t been able to glean any more information about the ancient magic that this pack apparently has the ability to practice.
Astra is seated next to Lucian in the throne room. I stand beside her, with Daciana at my other side. The massive doors swing open, and my breath catches.
They’re enormous. Every single one of them. Men built like mountains—broad shoulders, thick arms, bodies that look carved from stone. Their clothing is practical, layered against cold that doesn’t exist in our temperate capital. Furs and leather, dark colors that blend with shadows.
“Holy shit,” Daciana breathes beside me.
I elbow her sharply. “Behave.”
“I’m behaving. I’m just…observing.”
The alpha enters last. He’s older—maybe forty, maybe more—but age hasn’t diminished him. If anything, it has refined him into something more dangerous. Silver threads through his dark hair. Lines bracket his mouth and eyes. But those eyes are sharp, calculating, missing nothing as they sweep the throne room.
When his gaze lands on me, my wolf stirs uneasily.
“Alpha Kieran,” Lucian greets the man from his throne. “Welcome to the capital.”
“Your Majesty.” Kieran’s voice is deep, rumbling like distant thunder. He bows—respectful but not subservient. “Thank you for the invitation.”
“We are honored by your presence.” Astra’s smile is warm and genuine. “The Snow Mountain Pack is legendary. We have heard much about your dedication to the old ways.”
There’s an almost imperceptible twitch in Kieran’s expression. “The old ways sustain us. We don’t apologize for that.”
“Nor should you.” Lucian leans forward slightly. “Your adherence to tradition is admirable.”
I try to focus on the diplomatic exchange, but Kieran’s gaze keeps returning to me. Not in a sexual way, though. In a way that makes my skin prickle with warning.
Beside me, Daciana shifts her weight. I glance over and catch her staring at Kieran with undisguised interest. Her cheeks flush when she realizes I’ve noticed.
I nudge her in the ribs. “Stop.”
“I’m not doing anything,” she whispers back.
“You’re drooling.”
“I am not—”
