Chapter 6: Cracked Control
Kael made it back to Ironfang territory just before dawn.
The pack house was quiet—most wolves still out running the borders or sleeping off the summit. He slipped through the side door, avoiding the main hall, and headed straight for his private quarters at the top floor. His boots left faint wet tracks on the stone steps; slick had soaked through his pants completely, making every movement feel obscene.
He locked the door behind him. Leaned against it. Breathed.
His cock was still rock-hard, throbbing angrily, pre-cum leaking in steady pulses. His hole felt swollen, slick dripping down his inner thighs in warm trails. He could smell himself—thick arousal mixed with Ronan's scent clinging to his skin like a brand.
He dragged a hand down his face. "Fuck."
He stripped fast—coat, shirt, boots, pants—everything hitting the floor in a damp pile. Naked, he stood in the middle of the room, moonlight slanting through the tall window across his body. Scars glowed silver. His cock jutted out, flushed dark, head slick and shiny. His hole clenched on nothing, more slick pushing out, running down his leg.
He wrapped a hand around himself—rough, punishing—stroking once, twice. A low groan escaped before he could stop it.
His mind went straight to Ronan.
The way the rogue had grabbed his wrist. The heat of his palm sliding inside Kael's pants. The filthy words whispered against his ear: "Your hole's dripping down your thighs, isn't it? Soaking everything. Begging for cock."
Kael stroked faster. His other hand slid back, fingers circling his hole—slick, hot, ready. He pushed one finger inside. Easy. Too easy. His hole sucked it in greedily, clenching hard.
"Shit," he hissed.
He added a second finger, fucking himself slow, imagining it was Ronan's thick cock instead—stretching him wide, filling him deep, pounding until he couldn't think.
He pictured Ronan pinning him to the wall, jeans shoved down just enough, slamming in raw and hard. Pictured the rogue growling in his ear, "Take it, alpha. Take every fucking inch like the needy slut you are."
Kael's hips bucked. His fingers curled, hitting that spot inside that made his vision white out. Pre-cum dripped steadily from his cock, pooling on the floor.
He wanted Ronan so bad it hurt—wanted to feel that fat length splitting him open, wanted to be fucked until he was shaking, leaking, marked inside and out.
But he couldn't give in.
Not to a rogue. Not to the one who'd walked away five years ago and left him bleeding and hard in the ruins of a burning village.
He pulled his fingers out. Stopped stroking. Forced himself to stand still, breathing ragged.
"No," he growled to the empty room. "Not happening."
He stalked to the shower, turned the water scalding, stood under it until his skin turned red.
The heat didn't help.
Ronan's scent was still on him—embedded in his skin, in his lungs, in every filthy thought.
By the time he dried off and fell into bed, dawn was breaking.
He lay on his back, cock still half-hard against his stomach, hole still slick and aching.
Sleep came in fits—dreams of Ronan's mouth on his throat, Ronan's hands spreading him wide, Ronan's voice whispering, "You're mine, Kael. Stop fighting it."
He woke hard again. Aching. Furious.
He dressed quickly—fresh clothes, no trace of last night's mess—and headed downstairs.
The pack was stirring. Betas nodded respectfully as he passed. A few omegas scented the air curiously but kept their distance.
Kael ignored them all.
He needed to train. Needed to burn this off. Needed to remind himself who he was.
The training yard was empty this early. He shifted—fur rippling, bones cracking, wolf form massive and black as midnight. He ran the perimeter hard, claws tearing earth, lungs burning.
But even in wolf form, the need didn't fade.
His wolf wanted one thing: Ronan. Wanted to hunt him down, pin him, claim him, be claimed by him—didn't care which way as long as it happened.
Kael shifted back human at the yard's edge, panting, naked again, cock still hard and leaking.
He dressed roughly, ignoring the way his hole clenched every time he bent.
A beta approached—young, nervous.
"Alpha. Patrols report a rogue scent near the eastern ridge. Fresh. Strong."
Kael's stomach flipped.
Ronan.
He forced his voice calm. "Handle it. Tell them to stay back. I'll deal with it."
The beta nodded and left.
Kael stood alone in the yard, fists clenched.
He could ignore it. Could send enforcers. Could pretend last night never happened.
But his wolf was already moving—already heading east, already hunting.
And Kael… Kael followed.
Because some hungers couldn't be starved out.
And Ronan Blackthorn had become a hunger he couldn't deny much longer.