Chapter 4: Denied Heat
Kael walked back into the torchlight like nothing had happened.
His lips still tasted like blood and Ronan. His cock was still half-hard, knot swollen and aching at the base, trapped painfully behind his zipper. Every step rubbed denim against sensitive skin, sending sharp jolts of need straight to his balls. He could feel the wet spot spreading in his briefs, slick and humiliating.
He hated it.
He hated how much he wanted more.
The council circle had reformed. Alphas were back in their places, voices low and tense over some minor territory dispute. Kael slid into his spot across from Ronan as if he hadn't just had the rogue's tongue down his throat and hand on his dick.
Ronan was already there, leaning casually against the stone marker, arms crossed, amber eyes locked on Kael like he could see every filthy thought running through his head.
Kael met his stare. Held it. Refused to look away first.
But inside, his wolf was losing its mind. Snarling, clawing, begging him to cross the stones, drag Ronan back into the trees, and finally give in—let the rogue shove him face-down in the dirt, spread him wide, and fuck him until the knot locked them together and he couldn't pretend anymore.
He clenched his jaw so hard his teeth ached.
Not happening.
Not tonight.
Not ever, if he could help it.
Ronan's nostrils flared. He inhaled slow, deliberate, pulling in the thick scent of Kael's arousal that no amount of willpower could hide. A slow, filthy grin spread across his face.
"You're still leaking," he mouthed silently across the circle, lips forming the words so clearly Kael could read them. "Bet your hole's clenching right now, remembering how close my knot got."
Kael's cock jerked hard. A fresh bead of pre-cum pushed out, soaking further. He shifted his weight, trying to ease the pressure, but it only made the friction worse.
He glared.
Ronan licked his bottom lip—slow, obscene—then let his gaze drop pointedly to Kael's crotch. The wet spot was visible now if anyone looked close enough. Ronan's grin turned darker. Hungrier.
The council elder droned on about mating rights and pack alliances. Kael barely heard a word. His entire focus was on Ronan—on the way the rogue's jeans still tented obviously, on the faint sheen of sweat across his bare chest, on the fresh claw marks Kael had left on his throat that were already healing but still red and angry.
Ronan caught him staring. He flexed his hips once—just enough to make the thick ridge of his cock shift visibly. Then he mouthed again, slower this time.
"Want it?"
Kael's breath caught.
He wanted it so bad his legs felt weak. Wanted to shove Ronan to the ground, rip those jeans down, and sink onto that fat cock until it split him open. Wanted to feel the knot swell inside him, stretching him to the limit, locking them together while Ronan fucked him raw and filled him up until cum leaked down his thighs.
But wanting wasn't the same as giving in.
He forced his eyes away. Forced his voice steady when the elder asked for his input on the border line.
"Ironfang holds the eastern ridge," he said, calm, cold, like his dick wasn't throbbing and his hole wasn't twitching with empty need. "No negotiation."
Ronan laughed—low, rough, just loud enough for Kael to hear.
The sound went straight to Kael's balls.
The circle broke again for the moon ritual. Wolves moved to the edges, some shifting partially, others pairing off in the shadows for quick fucks or scent-marking.
Kael stayed in the open, refusing to hide.
Ronan approached again—slow, predatory, stopping just outside arm's reach.
"Still playing hard to get?" he murmured. "Even though your cock's begging for my knot and your hole's probably dripping down your thighs by now."
Kael stepped closer instead of back. Close enough that their chests brushed again. Close enough that he could feel Ronan's heartbeat pounding as hard as his own.
"I don't play," Kael said quietly. "And I don't beg. If you want this hole, rogue, you'll have to take it. And I'll make you bleed for every inch."
Ronan's pupils blew black. His scent spiked—pure lust, pure dominance.
"Then let's stop talking," he growled. "Meet me at the old oak behind the council stones in ten minutes. No clothes. No bullshit. Just you spreading for me like the needy alpha slut you are."
Kael's knot throbbed painfully. His hole clenched hard at the words, slick leaking inside him now, preparing despite every denial in his head.
He leaned in until their lips almost touched.
"I'm not your slut," he whispered. "And I'm not meeting you anywhere."
Ronan's hand shot out, grabbing Kael's wrist—hard, possessive.
"Then why are you still hard? Why are you still leaking for me? Why can I smell how fucking wet your hole is from here?"
Kael yanked his wrist free. But he didn't step back.
"Because I want to wreck you," he said, voice low and wrecked. "Want to pin you down, fuck you until you're screaming my name, until your knot swells uselessly and you beg me to knot you instead."
Ronan's breath hitched. His cock jerked visibly in his jeans.
Kael smiled—slow, dangerous.
"But not tonight."
He turned and walked away—toward the council fire, toward the safety of the crowd, leaving Ronan standing there hard and furious.
Ronan watched him go, chest heaving, claws digging into his palms.
Kael didn't look back.
But inside, his wolf was howling.
He wanted Ronan so bad it hurt.
And the longer he denied it, the nastier it was going to get when he finally broke.