Circe's POV
If Father were to see me, he would kill me.
Literally.
I was supposed to be in training, but here I was, sneaking off to meet the love of my life.
Someone who I would do anything for at this moment. He was my peace, my home and my hope.
I pushed the tree branches aside as I walked, careful not to make too much noise. The forest was thick, the leaves damp beneath my bare feet.
Shadows danced under the moonlight, stretching across the narrow path that led to the stream.
The night air carried the scent of wet earth, mingled with pine and water lilies.
My heart pounded. This was dangerous. If anyone saw me, if word got back to my father…
I spotted him before he saw me Alpha Sante, the man I had chosen, the man I was forbidden to love. My father's rival.
He stood near the stream, where our pack border ended, his broad frame leaning against a tree, his hands resting on the hilt of his sword. His dark hair was pulled back, but loose strands fell over his amber eyes, which glowed under the moon. His lips parted slightly as if sensing my presence.
When his gaze landed on me, a slow, knowing smirk curved his lips. "Late again, little wolf."
"I had to make sure no one saw me," I murmured, stepping closer, feeling the heat of his body before I even reached him.
Sante pulled me into his arms, the warmth of his touch chasing away the cold that clung to my skin. His embrace was firm, unyielding.
"One day, you won't have to hide," he whispered, his lips brushing the curve of my ear. "One day, you'll be mine without fear."
I closed my eyes, letting his words sink into my bones, wishing they could be true. If only things were that simple. If only my father wasn't King Lycaon, the most feared Alpha in all of Dagonaut.
His hands skimmed my waist, fingers teasing the hem of my tunic, sending a shiver through me. "I missed you," he breathed, his lips finding the curve of my neck.
I exhaled shakily, my fingers curling into his shirt. "Show me how much you miss me."
He chuckled.
His mouth captured mine in a slow, deep kiss.
His lips were warm, tasting of the wild, of something untamed. My fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer. His hands roamed, sliding up my back, over my shoulders, down to my hips. I melted against him, my body responding to his every touch, every whisper of his fingers against my skin.
The world outside faded, the weight of my father's rule momentarily forgotten.
All I could think of was Sante. At this moment my father can go fuck himself for all I care.
I pressed my hands hard against his chest, as I pushed myself against him.
Sante pressed me against the rough bark of the tree, his breath hot against my lips. "Circe..." His voice was low, rough with longing.
His hands pushed my tunic higher, fingertips grazing the bare skin of my thigh. Heat coiled inside me, a fire I could not contain.
I gasped, pressing a hand to his chest, halting him. "Not now."
His eyes darkened, his jaw tightening, but he nodded. "I'll wait."
I traced the edge of his jaw, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. "I know."
We stood there, wrapped in each other, our breathing heavy, our bodies aching for more. The sounds of the forest filled the silence, the distant rustling of leaves, the distant hoot of an owl. I wished I could stay here forever, but fate was never that kind.
Then, the snap of a branch shattered the moment.
Sante tensed, his grip tightening on me. His eyes shifted, scanning the darkness. "Did you hear that?"
I nodded, barely breathing.
The air grew thick, the once calming sound of the river now drowned out by the rustling of movement too many feet, too fast.
Sante grabbed my wrist, pulling me behind him. "Run," he whispered. "Now."
Before I could move, an arrow sliced through the air, embedding itself in the tree beside us. Another followed, barely missing my shoulder. My breath hitched, panic seizing my chest.
"They found us," I choked out.
Sante's sword was already drawn, the steel glinting under the moonlight. More figures emerged from the shadows, Potemkin pack warriors.
My father's men.
I knew them well. They were trained to kill without hesitation.
More arrows rained down, forcing us backward. Sante grabbed my arm, shoving me behind a fallen log. "Stay low."
"I can fight," I hissed.
"No," he snapped, his eyes fierce. "You run. You hear me? Run."
Before I could argue, the sound of hooves pounded against the earth.
The warriors parted, making way for a dark chariot pulled by two stallions. The man seated atop it was draped in his war cloak, his golden armor gleaming in the moonlight.
The person who stepped down.
Oh no.
Father.