Chapter 3 - The Wolf’s Mark
1789 Words
Celina’s POV
THE COLD stone walls of the council hall echoed with murmurs and disdainful glances as I stepped behind Lucien. I knew I wasn’t welcome here—hell, I wasn’t even supposed to exist in this world. But wrapped in a floor-length black gown, with Lucien’s scent still clinging to my skin from the car ride, I lifted my chin higher than I felt.
Fake or not, I had to look like I belonged.
Lucien’s hand rested on my lower back, a possessive weight disguised as gentlemanly decorum. But I could feel the tremor beneath his cool skin. He was tense. And I was beginning to understand why.
This wasn’t just a gathering. It was a declaration.
The ruling packs of the North were present, seated in a semi-circle beneath a chandelier shaped like a clawed hand. High-ranking wolves, their scents thick with dominance, stared me down like I was prey. Some with suspicion. Some with amusement.
One with open disgust.
Alpha Gavrik of the Hollowridge pack—Lucien’s long-time political rival—stood up mid-discussion and slammed his palm against the obsidian table.
“This is an insult,” he growled. “You expect us to accept her?” He jabbed a finger toward me, not even bothering to mask the venom. “She’s human. She reeks of deceit.”
Whispers rippled across the room like wildfire.
Human.
The word hit like a slap. I wasn’t entirely human, but Lucien hadn’t told them that. Probably because he didn’t know. And if he did, he sure as hell hadn’t warned me he’d be parading me into the lion’s den without backup.
“Enough,” Lucien said coolly, but I saw the fire in his eyes. He leaned forward, deadly calm. “You forget yourself, Gavrik. She’s my fiancée.”
Gavrik bared his teeth. “Prove it. Or I’ll challenge your right to even be here tonight.”
The entire room went still. The kind of stillness that came before bloodshed.
Lucien glanced down at me. For a fraction of a second, I saw hesitation.
Then his expression went blank.
Predator-blank.
He pulled me closer. My chest pressed against his suit, and I opened my mouth to protest—but he didn’t give me the chance.
Before I could register what was happening, he pushed my hair aside and sank his teeth into the curve of my shoulder.
The pain was sharp and fast, a hot flash of agony that made my knees buckle. I gasped and clutched at his coat for support as his fangs pierced through skin, through nerves.
I tasted blood. My own blood.
His grip on me tightened as he anchored me in place as the symbolic mating bite seared into my body. A claim, ancient and primal. A mark of possession no council could argue against.
When he finally pulled away, the room had gone silent.
Lucien faced them, his mouth still stained with red.
“She’s mine,” he said, voice deep and final. “Now and always. Anyone who questions her again… questions me.”
No one spoke.
Gavrik sat down.
It was done.
But not for me.
Not even close.
LUCIEN didn’t say a word as he slammed the bedroom door behind us. The echo boomed down the cold marble hallway, sealing me in with him—and everything I wasn’t ready to feel. I stood there, frozen, heart pounding, my shoulder burning where his mark still throbbed beneath my dress.
Nothing about this was fake anymore. Not the mark. Not the public performance. And definitely not the way I hated how his touch still lingered like heat in my skin.
And yet... I hadn’t stopped him.
He stalked toward me like a storm in tailored clothing—his jacket already gone, shirt half undone, black tie hanging loose like a noose he could snap tight at any second. His eyes weren’t fully human anymore. Just glowing faintly silver, wolfish and wild. Alpha.
“You shouldn’t have stepped in,” I snapped, trying to claw back some kind of control before he could strip it from me again.
He stopped barely a breath away. “He was disrespecting my mate.”
My laugh was sharp, bitter. “We both know that’s just a label. One, you branded me without asking.”
His jaw clenched. “You were about to be torn apart—politically and maybe literally. That bite bought us time.”
My spine straightened. “You bought time, or you claimed me?”
The silence between us crackled. Our breathing was too loud. Too close.
He stepped in again until my back hit the wall. I refused to flinch.
“I warned you,” he murmured, voice low and dangerous. “This game has consequences.”
“So does touching me without consent,” I shot back, even as my body betrayed me—shivering, leaning in, wanting.
His hand came up beside my head, boxing me in. His gaze dropped to my mouth. “You kissed me back at the gala.”
“You kissed me first.”
“I’d do it again.”
And then he did.
There were no cameras this time. No audience. No lies. Just us.
His mouth crashed down on mine—rough, hot, searing—and I let him take. I let myself give. I grabbed his shirt and yanked him closer until there was no space left between us. His control slipped, and I could feel it in every desperate touch, every growl against my throat. The predator in him wanted to devour me. And the fire in me... wanted to burn us both.
Clothes tore and fell in frantic layers. My dress hit the floor with a whisper. His hands slid across my bare skin like he’d been imagining this since the first moment I lied my way into his world. He growled low when I scraped my nails down his back, kicking off my heels as he pressed me into the mattress.
His lips moved down my neck. I felt the hesitation before his mouth hovered near the bite mark.
“You’re bleeding again,” he murmured, and for a second, I heard something strange in his voice. Reverence. Regret.
I gasped when his tongue brushed over it—soft, soothing. Too tender.
“You don’t get to play gentle now,” I whispered, voice cracked and fragile.
He pulled back just enough to look me in the eye. His expression... it was raw. “You think I want to care? That I want this to feel real?”
That broke something in me.
Then he kissed me again.
His hand hovered near my cheek, then pulled back, like touching me might burn him. But then he did. His knuckles brushed my skin like a whisper, and his fingers trembled as they cupped my face.
I’d seen him destroy a man with a single glare. But here, now, the most terrifying alpha in the realm was shaking.
“Celina,” he whispered, almost broken. My name, from his mouth, sounded like something fragile. Not a weapon. Not a challenge. Something sacred.
His lips found mine again—not with the brutal urgency from before, not a claim, but something gentler.
I answered with my body. My fingers threaded through his hair, pulled him closer, pressed our skin together like I could fuse us—erase the lines, the lies, the war outside this bed. For a moment, he let me.
Our bodies moved slowly. Not power against power, but rhythm against rhythm. Breath for breath. He didn’t pin me down this time. He held me like I might vanish. Like I was something he’d never deserved.
His mouth kissed a line down my throat, over the hollow between my breasts, reverent, aching. Every part of me he touched, he lingered, as if memorizing. Not to conquer. To keep.
When he slid inside me, it wasn’t the rough, punishing kind of need. It was desperation masquerading as gentleness—each thrust deep and slow, a silent plea neither of us could voice. I arched into him, gasped his name, and he groaned like it hurt him to hear it.
“Say it again,” he begged, forehead pressed to mine. His voice cracked. “Say it again.”
“Lucien.” I didn’t whisper it. I let him hear it, raw and real, like I wanted him to feel it carve into his bones.
His hands clutched at my hips, fingers bruising, but still—still trying to be gentle. Like this was the first time he’d made love to someone instead of just f*****g them.
I came undone beneath him with a cry I couldn’t hold back, legs shaking, mouth open against his neck. And the second I broke, he followed—biting down softly on my shoulder as his body shuddered against mine, chest heaving, breath catching like he was choking on everything he couldn’t say.
In the silence afterward, he didn’t move. Just stayed there, inside me, his face buried in my neck like he was trying to hold onto the moment. Or maybe delay the guilt.
For a second—just a second—I let myself believe this was more than a performance.
But then... he pulled away.
The bed shifted. Cold air rushed over my skin.
Lucien sat on the edge, facing away from me. His shoulders were tense. Hands braced on his thighs. He didn’t look back as he pulled his shirt on.
“This was a mistake,” he said flatly.
My stomach dropped.
“A mistake?” I whispered, not sure I’d heard right.
“You and me.” His voice was all steel again. All mask. “We don’t mix. Don’t mistake lust for meaning.”
I sat up slowly as my heart pounded for a whole different reason now. My body still ached with the memory of him. “Right. Of course,” I said, voice hollow.
He didn’t respond. He just stood and walked into the bathroom and shut the door without a glance.
The click of it felt like a lock sealing over my chest.
I stared at the space where he’d been, then forced myself to rise. My legs were shaky. My throat burned. I walked to the mirror, still naked, still marked, and stared.
The bite was red and raw and real.
Crimson streaked my shoulder. My lips were bruised. My eyes are too bright.
I raised my hand to the mark and touched it gently, and the whisper came before I could stop it.
“This was supposed to be fake.”
But nothing about it felt fake anymore.
Not even a little.
- Writer
