The floor of the Alpha's mansion shone so bright it almost hurt Emma's eyes, and still her supervisor had snarled at her to polish it again. Midnight work, her knees raw, the stink of bleach on her hands no matter how hard she scrubbed. She sat back on her heels, wiped her forehead with her arm, and whispered, "If my father could see me now, uh…he'd probably roll in his grave."
The thought cut deep. Her father, proud Alpha of the Moon Flame Pack, had led with honor until James Crawford's Blue Moon wolves came like a storm. Fire, claws, screams,everything ripped away. Now she was the conquered Alpha's daughter, reduced to a servant, her beauty paraded as a prize, her days a string of humiliation.
The mansion was too quiet. The other servants had gone to their quarters, leaving her to finish alone. She stacked her bucket, pressed her palm to the polished wood, and let herself breathe one short moment. The window stood open, and the night air carried rain and pine musk. It smelled faintly like freedom freedom she'd never touch again.
Then the oak doors slammed open downstairs.
She jumped, the rag slipping from her hand. Footsteps dragged across the floor, heavy, uneven. A low growl mixed with a groan climbed the stairs.
Her pulse kicked. James Crawford. Alpha of the Blue Moon Pack. The man who had ruined her world. He was back, and drunk.
Emma crouched in the shadow of the banister, peering down. He was tall as ever, broad shoulders filling the doorway, but something was wrong. His shirt half open, chest damp with sweat. His steps unsteady. He leaned hard on the wall and muttered, "Fuckin' wolfsbane. Who the hell—spiked me…" His voice slurred, eyes glowing faintly with fever.
Emma froze. This was it. The chance she'd imagined a hundred times while scrubbing floors. James was weak. He wouldn't see her coming. She could grab the silver knife from the kitchen, sink it into his chest, and end him.
Her fingers curled. "Do it," she whispered, voice shaking. "Do it before he"
But her legs wouldn't move. Not just from fear, though her body trembled. It was that cursed pull deep inside her chest—the mate bond. The tether she'd felt the first time their eyes met. The bond he had rejected, cold and cruel. She had sworn to hate him forever. And still, seeing him now, swaying in the doorway, something twisted inside her. Anger tangled with something hotter, darker, and she hated herself for feeling it.
"Shit," she muttered, dragging a hand down her face. "Why now?"
James dragged himself up the first steps, muttering curses. He smelled of liquor and smoke, but underneath it Emma caught the scent that always betrayed her,the sharp pine-and-fire scent that screamed mate. Her throat went dry.
She should've run to her quarters. Should've let him collapse in the hall. But if he found her fleeing, he'd question it. And if he hit his head and died, they'd blame her.
Before she could think, she was moving. She rushed down the stairs, catching his arm as he swayed. His weight slammed onto her shoulder and she gasped, almost knocked flat.
"Easy," she said quickly, voice tight. "You're burning up."
His head dropped toward her, hair falling into his eyes. He squinted, confused. "Who…who the fuck are you?"
Emma stiffened. He didn't even recognize her. "Just a servant," she said softly. "Come on. Let's get you to bed."
"Servant…" He gave a crooked smile. "You smell…good. Like…" He lowered his head, nose brushing her hair, and her skin broke out in goosebumps. "Fuck. Like I need you."
Her stomach flipped. "You need water," she snapped, trying to tug him toward the hall. But his grip tightened on her wrist. His eyes locked on hers, pupils blown wide.
"Wait," he rasped. "It's you."
Her chest seized. Did he realize? Did he see her—the mate he had rejected? Her lips parted, ready to spit the truth in his face. But the words stuck. The bond thrummed alive, pulling her closer.
"Alpha" she began, but his mouth crashed against hers.
Heat. Desperate. Nothing soft about it. A kiss that stole her breath. She shoved at his chest. "Stop—stop this, you're drunk"
"Don't care," he groaned against her lips. "God, I've been looking for,I can't" His hands slid to her waist, dragging her against him. Heat poured off his fevered body, and Emma swore her knees would give out. Her wolf clawed inside her, howling for him.
"I hate you," she gasped, shoving. "You killed my—"
But his mouth claimed hers again, swallowing her words. She should've screamed. Should've scratched his eyes out. Instead, her fingers knotted in his shirt, holding on as if the ground had vanished. Every nerve burned.
He backed her to the wall, lips hot on her throat. "Mine," he growled softly, teeth grazing her skin.
"Don't," she whispered, trembling. "Don't you dare say that."
"Can't help it." His voice cracked, raw. "You're…shit, you're everything."
"You don't even know who I am."
"Then tell me," he breathed, palm cupping her cheek. "Tell me your name."
She froze. If he knew, he'd kill her. Or worse. She shoved at him. "I—I can't. You're not yourself. I need to"
"Wait," he pleaded, catching her hand. His gaze was desperate. "Why does it feel like this? Like…, like I'll die if I let you go?"
Her throat ached. Tears blurred her vision. "Because you already did," she whispered. "You already killed everything."
He blinked, lost. Then he pushed her backward toward his bedroom door, fumbling with the handle. She should've run. She should've broken free. But her wolf whined, and her legs betrayed her, carrying her with him into the dark.
The door clicked shut. His mouth was on hers again, clumsy, fevered, but needy. She whispered, "This is wrong, Alpha, this is so wrong…" But her hands were already clutching his shoulders, her body arching into his.
"Don't stop," he begged. "I need you. Please…"
His fever was scorching, his skin damp. He pulled her down onto the bed with him, lips desperate on her neck, collarbone, everywhere. Emma trembled. "Fuck," she gasped, "I can't,I can't believe this is happening…"
Her body burned with betrayal, but the bond was stronger than her resolve. His hands slid over her hips, tugging at her dress. She moaned against his mouth, hating herself, yet unable to pull away. Every touch made her melt and break at the same time.
"Say you want me," he whispered, voice breaking. "Say it"
"I don't," she choked. "I shouldn't" But her body betrayed her, arching into him, her lips crashing back to his.
The night blurred into heat and motion. Clothes tugged off, fevered hands roaming. The bed creaked under their tangled bodies. Emma whispered "shit…shit…" against his ear, nails digging into his back as his fevered strength pinned her down. He groaned her cries into her mouth, lost in the bond neither could fight.
When it was over, James collapsed against her, chest heaving. His breath was hot on her skin. "Mine," he murmured again, softer this time, almost a plea.
Emma stared at the ceiling, tears pricking her eyes. "No," she whispered. "Never."
Moments later, he slipped into unconsciousness, the wolfsbane finally dragging him under. His arm fell heavy across her waist, trapping her. She pushed it aside, slipped out from under him, trembling.
Her body still hummed with heat, but her heart was raw. If anyone discovered this, she was dead. If James remembered, she was ruined. She wiped her mouth, whispering, "Phew…what the actual fuck did I just do?"
She turned for the door. But as she opened it, his voice rasped behind her, half-asleep, dream-heavy.
"Mate."
Her hand froze on the knob. Her whole body shuddered. She bit her lip until it bled, refusing to turn back.
Then she fled into the night, leaving James Crawford tangled in fever and dreams, unaware of the storm about to break.