Page 42 of Rebel for Claws
Vivian sank into one of the chairs beside his desk, her legs suddenly unsteady. The elegant office felt cavernous without his presence, the winter afternoon light casting long shadows across the Persian rugs and mahogany bookshelves.
She pressed her hands to her face, breathing in the lingering scent of his cologne—pine and lemon and something uniquely him. The mate bond pulsated even with the distance, carrying echoes of his turmoil and fear.
He's going to walk away from me,she thought desperately.He's going to choose duty over love, just like he always has.
EIGHTEEN
ALARIC
Alaric's footsteps echoed through the marble hallways of his mansion like gunshots, each stride driven by a mixture of fury and self-loathing that threatened to consume him whole. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides, the scar on his jaw standing out starkly against his clenched features.
God, what have I done?
The words he'd thrown at Vivian—I need to think without you clouding my judgment—rang in his ears like a death knell. The look on her beautiful face when he'd said it, the way her eyes had gone wide with hurt and shock, made something twist violently in his chest.
Complete jackass. Thirty years of hiding behind fear and control, and the moment something truly matters, I revert to the same cowardly bastard I've always been.
He pushed through the heavy oak doors of his personal gym, the familiar scent of leather and steel doing nothing to calm the storm raging inside him. The afternoon light filtered through the massive windows, casting long shadows across the polished wooden floors and gleaming equipment.
Alaric moved toward the weapons rack with deadly purpose, his eyes already shifting toward gold with the fierce intensity of his emotions. He selected a hand-forged blade—perfectly balanced steel that felt like an extension of his own body. The weight of it in his palm was comforting, familiar in a way that nothing else in his life seemed to be anymore.
She was trying to be optimistic. She was fighting for our future while I ran away like the coward I've always been.
The first swing of the sword cut through the air with lethal precision, his muscles flowing through movements honed by decades of training. But even as his body moved through the familiar routine, his mind couldn't escape the memory of Vivian—her green cashmere sweater hugging her curves, her silver-blonde hair flowing like silk around her shoulders, and those incredible violet eyes blazing with determination even as he'd crushed her spirit with his words.
Old habits die hard,he thought bitterly, pivoting into a complex sequence of attacks and parries.Thirty years of shutting people out, of choosing duty over love, of hiding behind the Alpha mask instead of being real.
The blade sang through the air as he moved, but the familiar motions couldn't block out the guilt eating at him like acid. She'd been right about everything—about the prophecy, about fighting for their future, about not letting fear dictate their choices. And he'd repaid her courage and optimism by lashing out like a wounded animal.
She deserves better than a broken Alpha who?—
The gym doors burst open with enough force to make the heavy oak slam against the stone walls. Alaric spun, sword still raised, his enhanced senses immediately identifying the intruder even as his heart leaped into his throat.
Vivian stood in the doorway like an avenging goddess, her violet eyes blazing with fury and determination. Her greencashmere sweater clung to her curves, and her dark jeans hugged her long legs perfectly. Her leather boots clicked against the floor as she strode into the room, her silver-blonde hair flowing behind her like a battle banner.
"You don't get to run away from me," she said firmly. "And you sure as hell don't get to run away from our future."
Alaric lowered his sword, mesmerized by the fierce beauty before him. The mate bond roared between them, carrying waves of her anger and hurt, but underneath it all he could feel something else—unwavering determination and a love so fierce it took his breath away.
"You need to man up," she continued, stepping closer until she was within arm's reach, completely unfazed by his size or the weapon in his hands. "Take this prophecy—good or bad—head on and deal with the consequences. That's what Alphas do, isn't it? Face their fears instead of hiding in a gym like a petulant child?"
Despite the churning emotions in his chest, Alaric felt a wave of pure pride wash over him. Here was his mate—this fierce, incredible woman—standing toe to toe with him, unafraid to call him out on his bullshit. No one had ever dared speak to him like that. The combination of her defiance and the fire in her eyes sent heat coursing through his veins.
God, she's perfect.
"Vivian—" he began, but she cut him off with a sharp gesture.
"No. You don't get to speak right now. You get to listen." Her chin lifted with stubborn determination. "I don't care if this prophecy means we unite every wolf in the territory or burn the whole damn thing to the ground. What I care about is that we face it together, as equals, as partners. Not with you treating me like some inconvenience that clouds your precious judgment."
The sword fell from Alaric's numb fingers, clattering to the floor as the full weight of his mistake crashed over him. She wasright. She was absolutely right, and he'd been a fool to think otherwise.
With this woman by my side, anything is possible.
"You're right," he said, his voice roughened with emotion. "You're absolutely right, and I'm sorry. I'm so damn sorry, Vivian."
He stepped closer, close enough to smell her intoxicating scent—wildflowers and steel, strength and femininity combined in perfect harmony. His eyes had shifted fully to gold now, blazing with intensity as he looked at her.
"I let fear control me, just like I have for the past thirty years," he continued. "And I took it out on you—the one person who's been brave enough to fight for us, for our future."
