Page 92 of The Wolf

I try to get myself off, but it’s hopeless. I’m burning up. I’m only wearing a light chemise to bed, yet even its delicate silk feels like lava against my overheated skin. I collapse into the sheets, and my fingers dig into the mattress as if holding on could keep me from unraveling, but it doesn’t work. Nothing does. The tension coils tighter and tighter like I’ll snap any second if I don’t feel him against me, inside me, devouring me.

Defeated, I just lay there, my body trembling, waiting for the gates of hell to swallow me whole.

I don’t know how much time passes—might be hours, or just seconds—when suddenly, everything changes.

The electricity around me rises, sharp and unmistakable. I feel it at the base of my skull… and between my legs.

He’s close. I cansensehim.

The door to the chamber flies open with a deafening crash, and there he is—in hisFinal Bossform, looking like a hellhound who came to drag me into the pit. His presence immediately crowds the room, sucking all the air from it.

I bolt upright in bed, stiff with shock. He’s panting, his massive chest heaving like he just ran a marathon—which, knowing Alex, he certainly sprinted here on top of his superhuman speed. But that’s notwhyhe’s panting—he doesn’t get tired.

I can tell he’s barely containing the beast.

His fur bristles, all puffed along his spine. His nostrils flare, sniffing my arousal, saturating the entire space. Drool glistens as it drips from his deadly fangs, his tongue darting over them like he’s already tasting me. And his eyes—God, those blood-red eyes—burn with a heat that could melt steel. They sear into me with the intensity of a thousand suns.

There’s no denying it—he’s a monster. A fucking nightmare made flesh. A still frame ripped straight from the scariest horror movie imaginable.

I’m terrified of him.

Yet, I’m also drawn to him.

I shrink back against the tall bed frame, every human instinct screaming at me to run and hide. But the animal part of me—that part awakened by him—demands the exact opposite. All I want is to throw myself into his arms, rub all over his enormous, powerful body, and feel every last inch of him pressed against me… inside me. To feel him consume me, fill me, claim me. My uterus hums with raw anticipation, a desperate siren song, even as my heart pounds loud enough to drown out any coherent thought, leaving me emptyheaded.

“Run!” he commands, his voice guttural, inhuman, filled with a dark promise. His lethal claws flex, carving into his palms, as he clings to the very last shred of his restraint. But he’salready on the hunt, stalking toward me, each move slow and deliberate. “Julia, go. Now!” With a fierce flash in his eyes, he backs away slightly, giving me space. “Run for your fucking life, little prey. And don’t let me catch you.”

It’s impossible. He knows it. I know it. My body knows it.

My tingling vagina definitely knows it.

“RUN!” he roars, the sound erupting from his chest like a thunderclap, shaking the walls of the chamber and reverberating through my very core.

So I do. I sprint past him for the door, having no care in the world that I’m almost naked. The castle is still and quiet—as it usually is during the full moon—and I can hear my own heart hammering in my chest as my body moves on pure adrenaline. My breath comes in ragged gasps. Every footstep is a frantic plea to get away, but deep down, I know there’s no running from him. I can’t outrun him.

No one can.

He wants me to feel the thrill of the hunt. He’s toying with me, drawing it out, letting me think I can get ahead—knowing full well that he’ll capture me, no matter what I do or where I go.

I spiral down the staircase to the ground level and take a sharp turn as I duck into a narrow passageway, barely missing a column head-on. I scrape the skin on my arm against it, drawing blood, but it doesn’t matter. I can’t stop. My legs are on fire, my muscles screaming in protest, but I push through it.

Maybe if I get outside, I might stand a chance?

Oh, who am I kidding?!

He’s after me now, and the excitement of it makes my skin flush and prickle. His footsteps are noiseless, though I know he follows like a storm coming to tear me apart. I can feel his eyes on me, tracking each move. Every nerve in my body stands on end. I want him so desperately, and the more I run, the more I crave the very thing I’m trying to escape.

But I can never escape him.

I dart down another hallway, and the silhouette of him creeps from the far corner, casting a long shadow. His eyes glow like two ruby stones, ringing the alarm. This is just a game for him, but that doesn’t mean it’s any less thrilling to me—I know how to play my part.

I won’t let him catch me too soon.

The heat pools in my belly as I round a pillar, the ache inside demanding to be filled. I press my back against the cool stone, trying to get a grip. But that insatiable need courses through my body, sending waves of longing to my core. I struggle to quiet my exhilarated body, listening for any sign of him. The silence around stretches, and I hold my breath, my pulse thumping so loud in my ears that I’m sure he can detect it.

I hide, he seeks. Not that I have a fair chance here—the power imbalance is laughable. But he takes his time, letting mebelieve, however briefly, that I might actually be safe.

It’s not random. Nothing about Alex ever is. Every step, every pause, every shift in the shadows is calculated. His werewolf senses are beyond anything I can even begin to comprehend. He knows exactly where I am. He always has. This isn’t a hunt for him—it’s theater. A performance designed to toy with me, to make me feel every ounce of my helplessness and his overwhelming power. And he relishes my dread.

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