Finished


    Back to that day’s Stormridge Pack’s manor, Lucien Duskgrave pushed open the door to Riley’s chamber, the weight of her in his arms nothingpared to the weight of the things he hadn’t said.


    Her scent–light, faintly tinged with herbs from the healer’s salve–clung to him. He set her down gently upon the bed, careful not to jar her leg. The mattress dipped beneath her slight frame, the furs folding around her like a protective cocoon.


    He murmured a few low words meant to soothe, his voice rougher than usual, the kind of tone a wolf uses to calm a skittish mate. Then, without lingering, he turned to go.


    From start to finish, his face remainedposed–at least, it would have seemed so to anyone watching. But if Riley had looked closely, she might have noticed the truth betrayed in the faint, unnatural flush painting the tips of his ears.


    Riley’s chest warmed at the sight of him retreating, a pulse of sweetness spreading through her. But the feeling soured almost instantly, as though the taste of it had been spoiled by a bitter root.


    She thought of her own body–of what the ric had taken, of what could never be restored. The hearing she had lost in one ear. The limp she couldn’t hide on cold days. The absence of a kidney, a reminder carved into her with steel and pain.


    What Alpha would want a mate so scarred?


    What Alpha prince would bind himself to someone like her?


    The thoughtnded heavy in her chest, pulling her shoulders in, making her fists curl into the nkets. She could hear the faint sound of his footsteps fading down the hall, and in the hollow that followed, a dangerous little ember of thought flickered to life.


    Maybe… maybe I could try.


    Maybe I could heal.


    If there was a chance to mend what was broken–to walk without the limp, to hear fully again, to reim strength in her body -then perhaps she could stand beside Lucien without shame. Without the constant fear of being pitied or discarded.


    The ember red, lighting a spark of resolve in her eyes.


    She shifted slightly, feeling the pull in her damaged leg, the familiar dull ache that came with the movement. She didn’t care. She would find a way.


    Some wounds might never truly vanish, but she would fight to make them smaller, weaker, until they could no longer be used against her.


    Across the manor, Lucien stepped into his own chamber. The air here was cooler, scented faintly of pine from the branches ced by the window. He moved without thinking into the washroom, the soft pad of his bare feet muffled by the thick rug.


    The mirror caught him as he reached for a towel. He paused, almost startled by the reflection that stared back–a man whoseposure was intact everywhere except for the betraying crimson still staining the edges of his ears.


    He almost didn’t recognize himself.


    He gripped the sides of the marble basin, his head lowering for a breath. Then it came, unbidden–the memory of the kiss.


    It hadn’t been an ident. He could admit that to himself now. It had been deliberate, calcted even, meant to provoke Ronan Duskcliff, to draw that protective fury to the surface,


    But the moment his lips had touched hers, the n had shifted into something entirely different.


    Warmth. Softness. The faintest catch of her breath.


    He had tasted defiance and vulnerability in the same breath, abination more intoxicating than any drink.


    Slowly, almost without realizing, his lips curved.


    His long fingers rose to trace the shape of his mouth, as though confirming the memory was real. The sensation lingered there ghostlike, a heat that no amount of cool water could wash away.


    3:34 PM


    A low chuckle escaped him, deep in his chest.


    Finished


    So this was what a kiss truly felt like—not the idle fantasies he’d allowed himself during long, restless nights, but the reality. Raw. Unfiltered. Far better than any imagining.


    The first he had ever given.


    And if he could have it every day… if he could feel that warmth, taste that mix of sweetness and fire again and again…


    The thought rooted itself in him with quiet certainty.


    He didn’t like certainties when it came to people. Wolves were unpredictable, even dangerous, when granted too much space in his heart. He had learned that lesson young. But with Riley-


    No. He didn’t finish the thought.


    Instead, he pulled off his shirt, tossing it aside as the cool air licked over skin that still burned faintly from being too close to her. He poured water from the jug into the basin, sshing it onto his face, trying to douse the heat.


    It didn’t work.


    By the time he toweled himself dry and straightened, the flush had eased from his ears–but the restlessness had not.


    Across the hall, Rileyy on her side, eyes open in the dark.


    She didn’t know that Lucien’s thoughts were tangled with her as tightly as hers were with him. She didn’t know that the kiss had marked him just as surely as it had unsettled her.


    All she knew was that she would heal.


    Not for him.


    Not yet.


    But for herself—so that when the day came, she could stand before the world, before any Alpha, without bowing her head.


    And perhaps… so that she could take another kiss without feeling unworthy of it.


    Send Gifts


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