Page 20 of Moonlit Fate

I tried to think of something else, but it proved useless. Atticus had infiltrated me, his image branded behind my eyelids, fueling my desire until it roared through my veins.

I sighed, the sound turning into a deep, primal moan as I succumbed completely to the fantasy. In the privacy of my bath, I chased the pleasure he evoked inside me, my movements becoming more insistent, more purposeful.

“Atticus,” I whispered, his name a sacred incantation that hastened my unraveling.

My body tensed, muscles coiling tight as a drumbeat before the crescendo hit, sending waves of ecstasy crashing over me. It was a release as much as it was a betrayal.

As my stolen ecstasy ebbed away, a tide of self-loathing took its place. How could I have let myself be consumed by desire for Atticus? A rogue, no less. Yes, he was handsome with an untamed, captivating rawness, but he did not fit the criteria for the mate of a future alpha. A quick fuck, maybe, but nothing more.

“Stupid,” I muttered.

Reluctantly, I got out of the tub, the tile floor cold beneath my bare feet. The steamy haze of the bathroom seemed to mock my turmoil, the scent of my arousal lingering in the air as I grabbed a towel.

“Tonight is about Larkin,” I told my reflection, trying to steel myself against the pull of forbidden yearnings. I dried offand wrapped the plush towel around me, its softness a poor substitute for the touch I truly craved.

With slow, deliberate movements, I dressed for the evening, each layer of clothing armor against the onslaught of emotion that threatened to breach my composure. Tati, ever the dutiful assistant, fussed over me, her hands deftly arranging my hair and smoothing out the lines of my dress.

“Larkin will be so taken with you tonight,” she chirped.

“Will he?” I said absently, my gaze fixed on a distant point as if I possessed the power to see through the walls and catch one more glimpse of the wild rogue.

“Of course! You two are perfect for each other.” Tati smiled at me. “A match made to lead.”

“Right. A match,” I said flatly, the word ash on my tongue. Perfect on paper, perhaps, but the absence of passion between Larkin and me was glaringly obvious to anyone who observed us.

“Are you sick?” Tati leaned in closer to me, placing her hand on my forehead, her eyes filled with worry as she studied my face.

“No, I’m perfectly fine.” The smile I offered her was as brittle as thin ice. “Just pre-date jitters, I suppose.”

“Ah, understandable,” she said with a knowing nod, mistaking my anxiety for excitement.

“Thank you.” I dismissed her with a gentle wave. I needed quiet, a moment to put on the mask of the dutiful daughter, the future alpha who would sit across from Larkin and entertain the pretense of our union.

As Tati left, my heart sank, and I sighed heavily. The room suddenly grew colder. A quick glance in the mirror showed a poised, polished woman, but beneath the surface, a fire raged, stoked by memories of a rogue who had ignited something dangerous in my soul.

The chime of the doorbell pulled me from my reverie, the sound jarring against the quiet of my chambers. A primal part of me wished to dive into the lavender-scented waters and hide in my bath while the world outside this sanctuary dissolved into oblivion. Taking one last look at my reflection, I squared my shoulders and walked toward the inevitable.

I padded through the hallway, my heart thudding heavily in time with my steps. The idea of Larkin waiting for me in the dining room, sitting beneath the soft glow of the chandelier, should have excited me, or at least comforted me. Instead, I felt like I was an actor in a well-orchestrated play where every line was rehearsed, every gesture calculated.

Larkin. His name alone conjured an image of steadfast, unyielding order. He was loyal, strategic, with a mind as sharp as a blade—all good qualities.

Trying not to groan at the sheer dullness of it all, I descended the staircase, the expensive fabric of the carpets whispering against my soft-soled slippers.

Love was not a luxury afforded to those who lead.

The family home, with its grandeur and history, had been transformed tonight into an intimate cocoon of courtship. I looked over the dining room, noting how the space had been manipulated to evoke an impression of privacy and closeness. The staff had put in a commendable effort, but it did little to ease my restless spirit. Chaperones lurked in the shadows, their presence felt but not seen.

“Good evening.” Rising from his seat at the table, Larkin exuded confidence. He looked as if he belonged here, already comfortable in his position.

“Good evening.”

“Shall we?” He gestured at the table, and I nodded, allowing the mask of the perfect future mate to settle firmly into place. As we settled into our seats, the subtle clinking of silverware andthe gentle rustling of linen napkins set the stage for an evening where every word spoken would be weighed, every glance scrutinized by eyes unseen.

But beyond these walls, in the wild corners of my heart, the rogue’s touch lingered, a tempestuous reminder that fate had a twisted sense of humor.

“Your father has high hopes for this union,” Larkin said, brimming with a charm that had been honed over many such discussions.

“Indeed.” I studied him from across the candlelit table.

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