Page 19 of Rebel for Claws
His laugh was rich and warm. "I wouldn't dream of putting you in anything impractical. You'll need freedom of movement for training."
"Training?" Vivian raised an eyebrow, intrigued despite herself.
"You have full access to my personal gym and any weapons stored there that might interest you." Alaric's eyes held hers steadily. "I think it's important that you maintain your focus and edge right now, especially since Thorne's Council operatives are actively hunting you. Your skills are formidable, but staying sharp could mean the difference between life and death."
The acknowledgment of her abilities again sent unexpected warmth through her chest. "That's... surprisingly thoughtful," she admitted, then caught herself before revealing too much appreciation. "Though I maintain my training regimen regardless of circumstances."
"I wouldn't expect anything less." His voice carried a note of genuine respect that made her wolf preen with satisfaction. "I'll have dinner prepared and brought to your suite. I'd like to join you here in your sitting area for our conversation, if that's acceptable. Privacy will serve us both better than the formal dining room."
Vivian studied his face, searching for hidden agendas or manipulation tactics. Instead, she found only straightforwardhonesty and something that looked almost like nervous anticipation.
"Thank you for providing all of this," she said, gesturing toward the luxurious accommodations. "And for your protection, even though I'm still not entirely convinced I need it."
"You're welcome." Alaric moved toward the door, then paused with his hand on the handle. "I'll return when dinner arrives. And Vivian?" His grey eyes had shifted to that molten gold that indicated intense emotion. "I know you have every reason to distrust me based on my public reputation. But I hope tonight you'll allow me to show you who I really am beneath the facade I've maintained for three decades."
The door closed behind him with a soft click, leaving Vivian alone in the opulent suite with her racing thoughts and the scent of pine and lemon that still lingered in the air.
Who is he really? As if thirty years of rigid traditionalism can be explained away with a single conversation.
But even as the logical part of her mind maintained its skepticism, her body betrayed her with entirely different reactions. The mate bond hummed stronger now in the confined space where his presence still seemed to linger, making her skin feel hypersensitive and her wolf restless with unfamiliar needs.
Vivian moved to the fireplace, staring into the dancing flames as she tried to process the conflicting emotions warring within her. For thirty-five years, she'd prided herself on complete independence—never needing anyone and never allowing vulnerability to compromise her strength or judgment. The very idea of depending on someone else, especially a man with Alaric's reputation for control and authority, should have repulsed her.
Instead, she found herself imagining what it might feel like to let someone else share the burden of constant vigilance she'dcarried her whole life. To have a partner who could match her strength instead of being threatened by it. To explore the electric attraction that sparked between them every time they were in the same room.
This is dangerous thinking. The mate bond is clouding my judgment, making me want things I've never allowed myself to want.
But as she settled into one of the leather chairs to wait for dinner, Vivian couldn't deny the anticipation building in her chest. Despite every logical reason to maintain her distance, she was eager to unravel the layers of mystery surrounding this dangerous, stoic man who seemed to see her as an equal rather than a threat to be contained.
Maybe it's time to discover if the real Alaric Silvercrest is worth the risk of letting my guard down.
EIGHT
ALARIC
An hour later, Alaric stood outside Vivian's suite with a silver tray balanced in his hands, his wolf practically vibrating beneath his skin at the prospect of being alone with his fated mate in such a confined space. The rich aroma of garlic and herbs from the pasta dinner his chefs had prepared filled the hallway, accompanied by the deep burgundy wine he'd selected from his private collection.
Too romantic,he realized with a grimace as he took in the spread he'd unconsciously created.She's going to think I'm pushing too hard and too fast.
The mate bond pulsed stronger as he stood there on the other side of her door, his body responding to her proximity with an intensity that left him feeling like an inexperienced teenager rather than a seasoned Alpha. Every instinct screamed at him to claim her, to mark her throat and make her his in the most primal way possible. But trust had to come first—and trust required vulnerability he hadn't allowed himself in decades.
He knocked softly, then entered at her invitation. The sight of her curled in one of the leather chairs, firelight dancing across her ethereal features and pale blonde hair, nearly stole his breath. Her violet eyes tracked his movement as he crossedto the small table, and he caught the subtle way her pulse quickened at his approach.
"I hope you're hungry," he said, setting the tray down with careful precision. The domestic gesture felt foreign yet right in ways that unsettled him. "My chefs outdid themselves with the pasta."
"It smells incredible." Vivian's voice carried that smoky edge that made his wolf restless with desire. "Though I have to ask—is wine standard protocol for prisoner dinners?"
Alaric's laugh rumbled low in his chest as he poured two glasses of wine, acutely aware of how her eyes followed the movement of his hands. "You're not a prisoner. You're..."My fated mate. The other half of my soul. The woman I want to claim and protect and worship."You're an honored guest whose safety happens to be my top priority."
"How diplomatic." She accepted the wine glass, their fingers brushing in a contact that sent electricity shooting up his arm. "But I suspect there's more to your motivations than simple hospitality."
If only you knew.Alaric settled into the chair across from her, fighting the urge to close the distance between them. The firelight softened her features, and he found himself studying the curve of her lips as she tasted the wine.
"You asked why I'm known throughout the territory as a cruel traditionalist," he said, forcing himself to focus on the conversation rather than the way her tongue darted out to catch a drop of wine. "The simple answer is that I've spent thirty years playing a role to protect the people I care about."
Vivian set down her glass with deliberate care. "That's quite an elaborate performance. Most people don't maintain character for three decades unless there's truth behind it."
"Well, the truth isn't what you think it is. The truth is that I've been investigating Thorne and the High Council's corruption forthe past fifteen years." Alaric's voice dropped to the dangerous tone that made pack members step back. "Ever since human operatives murdered my Beta, Peter Cross, and his daughter."
