Their kind had always been more primal, more attuned to desire. She had witnessed the way their eyes lingered when they thought she wasn't looking.
Let them look.
She didn't care. If anything, she welcomed the attention—it meant she was still in control. And after everything, she refused to let herself feel small in their presence.
Tying her hair into a loose knot at the nape of her neck, she leaned against the window frame, letting the salty breeze brush against her flushed skin. The night was young, the air alive with tension, and Lauretta had the distinct feeling that something was coming.
Something she wasn't sure she was ready for—change.
A startled gasp left her lips as a sudden crack echoed through the room, the force of the impact shattering the lock and sending the door swinging open violently. Lauretta barely had time to pull at the hem of her dress before a towering figure filled the doorway, the scent of whiskey and something darker, more primal, flooding her senses.
Alpha Marcus.
He stood there, chest rising and falling rapidly, the veins in his forearms taut as though he were barely restraining himself. His usually warm amber eyes had shifted, burning bright gold—a telltale sign of his wolf surfacing.
Lauretta's pulse pounded in her ears as he took her in, his gaze sweeping over her in a way that made the room feel even hotter than before. The thin yellow gown clung to her curves, the dim candlelight casting subtle shadows across the exposed lengths of her thighs. She saw the way his jaw clenched, the way his nostrils flared as if he were inhaling her scent.
And then his eyes darkened even further.
She recognized that look. Hunger.
Panic flared in her chest.
Lauretta jumped off the bed, lowering her head in immediate submission, hoping to douse whatever fire was raging inside him. She knew better than to challenge an Alpha in this state—especially a drunk, unstable one.
"Good evening, Alpha," she greeted softly, forcing her voice to remain even, careful, and measured. The last thing she wanted was to provoke him further.
Marcus exhaled sharply, his body still rigid with tension. His fingers twitched at his sides, as if warring with himself.
"Why are you dressed like that?" His voice was thick, rough, almost accusing.
Lauretta swallowed, resisting the urge to step back. "It's hot, Alpha."
His gaze flickered to the open window, to the ocean breeze drifting in, before snapping back to her. His pupils were blown wide now, his breathing shallow.
"You look..." He swallowed hard, his voice trailing off.
Lauretta didn't dare finish the sentence for him. She could hear the war within him—the struggle between man and beast, the drunken haze clashing with whatever restraint he had left.
She needed to tread carefully. One wrong move, and she wasn't sure even Marcus would be able to stop himself from giving in to his primal instinct to claim a poor, weak, defenseless omega.
He only stalked toward her, his movements slow but deliberate, like a predator closing in on its prey. Lauretta moved backward, slowly trying to escape him without arousing the hunter in him.
Lauretta barely had time to react before her back hit the wall, the cool stone pressing against her burning skin. A gasp left her lips, but Marcus swallowed it instantly, his mouth crashing down onto hers in a bruising, desperate kiss.
Any protest she might have made was silenced, lost beneath the force of him.
This was the second kiss of her life in eighteen years—and she couldn't quite call the first a kiss. It was more like a playful stolen kiss, with her doing the stealing. She had never known a touch like this. There was nothing hesitant or tender about it. It was wild, raw, and possessive, as if he were claiming her with every brush of his lips and every demanding stroke of his tongue.
She should have fought him. Should have shoved him away, reminded him of who he was, of who she was.
But instead, she melted.
Her body betrayed her, going pliant in his arms, her fingers curling against his chest as she responded unabashedly to his kisses. The scent of whiskey mixed with the musk of his skin clouded her thoughts, making her forget everything but the way he felt.
A deep growl rumbled in his throat as he pressed her harder against the wall, his hands gripping her waist, pulling her closer. Heat coiled low in her belly, sharp and undeniable.
Dangerous.
Yet she didn't pull away.
She wondered what had brought about this change in him. He had gone from ignoring her to frolicking with her in her bedroom. His hands slid up her dress and played with the nest of damp curls between her legs, drenched from her juices. A protest formed on her lips but died when he found the sensitive nub at the base of her entrance; he swallowed her moan of pleasure.
His grip on her hands was the only thing keeping her from sinking to the floor, her legs weak beneath the dizzying onslaught of sensation. His lips moved against her neck, trailing heat in their wake, each press of his mouth sending sharp jolts of pleasure through her.
Lauretta was on fire.
She wanted more. Needed more.
And it shocked her.
This was the man she had rejected before even meeting him, the Alpha she had once considered nothing more than a potential enemy. Yet here she was, trembling in his arms, acting like a reckless fool, her body betraying every ounce of control she thought she had. Oh, the moon goddess did know how to play cruel tricks—and it seemed she was her favorite victim.
She was buckling under his touch, writhing as his fingers worked her with a skill that made her mind go blank. It was intoxicating, maddening—dangerous.
And that realization hit her like a bucket of cold water.
What was she doing?
Panic surged through her, cutting through the haze of lust. This wasn't her.
A strangled protest left her lips, muffled against his mouth, but she pushed harder, her palms pressing against his solid chest.
"Marcus, stop."