Page 41 of To Carve A Wolf

She stood—slow, unhurried, each movement a study in intent—and crossed the space between us like a queen approaching a throne she already owned. The fire behind her made her skin glow like molten gold, casting shadows across her collarbones, her thighs, the dark slit of that dress.

Then she moved toward me, slowly, deliberately, as though every step she took was designed to unravel my control, and carefully settled herself into my lap. My breath hitched sharply when her thighs parted over mine, when her body pressed close enough that I could feel the heat radiating through layers of cloth, her fingers resting lightly against my chest—not hesitant or shy, but calm, assured, possessive.

I didn’t move, didn’t dare breathe, because I knew this was more than simple seduction—it was dominance, deliberate power wrapped in silk and fire. She leaned closer, her lips hovering just above mine, parted slightly, the soft warmth of her breath ghosting across my skin.

“I know exactly what you want,” she murmured, voice like heated velvet brushing against the edges of my senses. “I can feel it every time you look at me, every time your wolf rises beneath your skin when I speak.”

My hands found her hips instinctively, gripping her carefully—not roughly, but in quiet desperation, as though I feared she might vanish if I didn’t anchor her to me. Her lips curled into a faint, victorious smile—a queen satisfied to see a king rendered helpless beneath her touch.

“If you want me,” she whispered softly, dangerously, “I’m yours tonight.”

Her mouth drifted along my jawline, her touch slow,delicate, but impossibly possessive.

“Tonight, you can do everything you’ve dreamt about,” she breathed into my skin. Her fingers slid down my chest, nails scraping lightly through fabric, leaving faint, burning trails in their wake. “You can put me on my knees, or bend me across this very table. Wrap your fist in my hair and see how many times you can make me scream your name until the guards hear it echo down the hall.”

My pulse thundered in my veins, my entire body responding to her challenge, my breath ragged and uneven. She moved slightly, brushing a slow, teasing kiss to the very corner of my mouth, achingly soft and maddeningly sweet.

“I’ll be your ruin,” she whispered, voice a silken promise edged in steel, lips still warm against mine, “if that’s what you truly want. But in the morning, when the sun rises, I walk through that door. Unbound. Free from your chains. Unclaimed. And you’ll let me go.”

Something primal cracked in me. Not a thought, not a decision—just a raw, blind urge that shattered the careful leash I’d kept wrapped around my instincts. Control broke like brittle bone. Every part of me screamed to take, to mark, to own.

I lunged.

One hand tangled in her hair, the other anchoring her hips to mine as I crushed my mouth against hers. There was no patience in the kiss, no hesitation—only hunger, only the savage rhythm of two wolves colliding. Her lips opened under mine with a soft gasp, and that sound undid something in me. I lifted her—rough, hard—and slammed her down onto the table. Plates clattered to the floor, wine spilled like blood, glass shattering around us. The fire in the hearth crackled louder, as if it too was feeding off the violence between us.

Lexa arched her back, dress pulled taut over her thighs, breath catching in a moan so low and sweet I almost lostmyself right there. She whispered something, lips grazing my ear—words meant to tempt, to bind. Little lies dressed in silk. Promises she’d never keep.But fuck,I didn’t care. Not in that moment. I kissed her again, deeper, harder, letting her hips grind against me. Every inch of her burned, slick with heat, trembling with the same madness clawing through my veins.

I wanted her.Gods, I wanted to tear the rest of that dress off her, to see her spread beneath me on that table like a feast, to taste every wicked sound she could make when she broke for me. My wolf howled behind my ribs, no longer satisfied with the scent of her skin—it needed the scent of submission, of surrender, of ruin.

But then—Something shifted.

In the dark, in the firelight, in the high of lust and fury, I caught it. Her eyes. Green, yes—but wrong. Not like before. Not wild or wounded or sharp.

There was something rotting there. Poison curling behind her gaze like smoke behind stained glass. Her body was pliant in my hands, but her expression—beneath the moans, beneath the pretty purrs—was empty.

Detached. Like she wasn’t really here. My wolf recoiled. It didn’t understand. It didn’t want to stop. But it knew. Something was wrong.

Even as I kissed her throat, even as her nails raked across my shoulders, I could feel it—an unease threading through the hunger. I pulled back, just enough to catch her eyes again. Her pupils were too wide, her skin slick with sweat, her body shaking.

And still she smiled.

“Where would you go?” I asked against her lips, voice hoarse, breathless, trying to cling to logic while my body begged to sink deeper into hers. “If I say yes—if I let you go in the morning—where would you run?”

She didn’t answer. Just leaned in to kiss me again, slow and drugging.I growled and gripped her chin, hard enough to stop her. Her eyes met mine—glassy. Hollow. Tainted with something that didn’t belong.

Rotting magic.

“You’re going back to that witch,” I snarled, fury building like a storm under my skin. “Aren’t you?” My grip on her jaw tightened. “You were going to let me fuck you and then crawl back to her before the rest of your wolf breaks—just so you could carve her out again.”

I saw the truth flicker in her eyes. Guilt. Shame. Rage. But not denial.

The beast in me—Alpha—rose like fire through my blood, not from lust this time, but from betrayal.

“You were going to let me fuck you,” I growled, dragging her closer, pressing her to the table’s edge, “just to distract me long enough to crawl back to that cursed witch and slice the rest of your soul out, weren’t you?”

Lexa still didn’t speak, but the sharp breath she sucked through her teeth was enough. Her lips parted, her chest heaved, and I could feel the war happening inside her. The fracture lines. The desperation.

She twisted, wild and vicious, all that polished seduction cracking like glass beneath fire. Her nails clawed at my chest, her legs kicked with the strength of something feral clawing its way out, and her body trembled with fevered desperation. It wasn’t lust in her eyes anymore—it was terror.

---