The Alpha's Witch

CHAPTER 3

I don't know how, but we end up in my house, the white colonial structure with its wraparound porch standing silent and dark against the night sky. I wonder how he knew it was mine, nestled at the edge of the werewolf territory where the forest begins to thicken, but I think he picked up my scent lingering inside—the faint traces of jasmine and herbs that cling to everything I own.

The second I unlock the door, fumbling slightly with the key as his proximity makes my fingers tremble, he pushes me against the wall. The cool plaster presses against my back as his mouth crashes onto mine, hungry and demanding. My gasp is swallowed by his lips as heat surges between us like wildfire, consuming everything in its path. At first, I freeze, the shock of his sudden passion rendering me immobile, but when his strong arms wrap around my waist and pull me flush against him, the hardness of his body meeting my softness, I lose myself in the feel of him.

His lips are firm, demanding. Consuming. They move against mine like he's starving and I'm salvation.

I clutch onto his broad shoulders, feeling the coiled strength beneath the expensive fabric of his suit, letting him deepen the kiss. His tongue slides against mine, tasting faintly of whiskey and something uniquely him. He grips my waist, fingers digging into my skin as though branding me, claiming me. Then, suddenly, I'm lifted into the air. A surprised noise escapes me as my legs instinctively wrap around his waist, the fabric of my dress bunching up between us. He carries me effortlessly, his strides controlled and confident, as he moves through the darkened hallway toward the living room.

The scent of wood smoke from the fireplace I'd lit earlier still hangs in the air, along with the faint aroma of the herbal candles I'd burned during my morning meditation. These familiar comforts seem alien now, transformed by his presence in my space.

I barely register the soft Persian rug beneath my back, its intricate patterns now hidden in shadow, before he pulls away, his breath ragged against my skin. But his lips don't leave me. He trails kisses down my neck, slow and deliberate, each press of his mouth sending shivers cascading through my body, while his hands find the hem of my dress. My pulse pounds against my ribs, a thunderous rhythm that drowns out all thought, as he tugs the emerald fabric upward, over my head, leaving me in nothing but my black lace underwear.

The dimness of the room, lit only by moonlight streaming through the sheer curtains, does nothing to hide me from his predatory gaze. He looks down at me, eyes glowing that impossible amber-gold, his breathing uneven, chest rising and falling rapidly.

For the first time since this whirlwind began, a flicker of hesitation grips me. He isn't just staring. He's staking a claim, memorizing every curve and dip of my body like he's committing it to memory. Or perhaps comparing it to an expectation.

Heat pools in my stomach as his gaze darkens to something almost savage. Then, a muscle in his jaw ticks, and he exhales sharply, like he's taming something wild inside himself—his wolf, perhaps, struggling for control.

His lips return to my body, pressing hot, wet kisses down my neck and across my shoulders. My back arches involuntarily at the pleasure, a soft moan slipping from my lips as his large hands roam lower, leaving trails of fire in their wake. His fingers unhook my bra with practiced ease, and then his mouth replaces the fabric, closing around my breast with a gentleness that contrasts with the hunger in his eyes.

My hands fly to his raven hair, silky strands sliding between my fingers as I grip him, anchoring myself as pleasure ripples through me like stones cast into still water. He takes his time, drawing out every sensation until I'm squirming beneath him, desperate for something I can't name. When he switches to my other breast, his teeth scrape lightly over my n****e, just enough for a jolt of something deeper, more primal, to rush through me. A small cry escapes my parted lips.

He chuckles, the sound low and satisfied. Like he enjoys my helpless reactions. Like this is going exactly as he planned.

I barely have time to process that thought before his lips travel lower, down the flat plane of my stomach, stopping just above my core. His breath fans against me, hot and damp, as he lets out a deep growl that vibrates through my entire body.

"Mine."

My entire body tenses at the sheer possession in his voice. It sends a thrill through me, setting every nerve ending alight, but something else lingers beneath it—something I can't quite name. Something that makes a tiny voice in the back of my mind whisper a warning.

Then he hooks his fingers under the delicate lace of my panties and drags them down my legs with excruciating slowness, his eyes never leaving mine.

Standing to his feet in one fluid motion, he removes his suit jacket, then unbuttons his dress shirt with deliberate movements. My breath catches in my throat as he slides it off his broad shoulders, revealing a body sculpted from strength and power. My gaze drops to his toned abs, the defined V disappearing beneath his waistband, and my fingers itch to touch him, to trace each ridge and plane.

He watches me, a knowing smirk tugging at his full lips. But there's something else in his eyes now. A quiet intensity. A calculation. Like he's waiting for me to realize something important.

He sheds the rest of his clothes with the same unhurried confidence, and my breath stutters at the sheer size of him, thick and hard and ready. I should be nervous. I should be scared. But all I feel is heat pooling between my thighs and a desperate need clawing at my insides.

Lowering himself over me, his powerful body caging mine, he positions himself at my entrance, placing his hands on either side of my head. The muscles in his arms flex as he holds himself above me, careful not to crush me with his weight. He stares into my eyes, his expression unreadable, something flashing in the depths of his gaze that makes my heart skip a beat.

Then, he pushes inside.

A sharp sting tears through me, pain blossoming outward. I cry out, my hands flying to his arms, nails digging into his skin.

His forehead presses against mine, his breath heavy and warm against my face. "I'm sorry." His voice is a whisper, rough and strained, as if my pain does something to him, affects him in ways I don't understand.

His hands tighten on the rug beside me, the fibers crushing beneath his grip, like he's holding himself back from something. His movements are slow, controlled, even as his muscles tremble with the effort.

The pain gradually fades, replaced by something deeper. A pressure. A heat. A need that builds with each careful thrust.

I moan softly as pleasure begins to overshadow discomfort, and something in him snaps. His restraint shatters like glass.

A deep growl rumbles from his chest, vibrating through his body into mine. His hips snap forward with new urgency, and his head drops to my neck, his breath hot against my pulse point. "Mine." His voice is raw, filled with something dark and possessive.

Then, without warning, his teeth sink into the sensitive juncture where my neck meets my shoulder.

I scream, my body arching off the rug as a sharp pain pierces me—different from before, more profound. It lasts only a second before a soothing warmth follows, spreading outward from the bite like honey. His tongue sweeps over the mark, sealing it, healing it with whatever magic the mate bond provides. But I know the mark remains. Permanent. Irreversible.

He marked me.

The realization hits me with stunning clarity despite the haze of pleasure clouding my mind. He marked me as his mate, an ancient ritual that binds us together forever.

I barely register the next few thrusts, too caught in the enormity of what just happened. When he pulls back, his face is shadowed in the moonlight, his breathing uneven, shoulders heaving.

But his eyes... they're no longer glowing with that otherworldly amber.

His wolf is gone. He's back in control.

Then his jaw tightens, his expression hardening into something cold and distant. The change is so sudden, so jarring, that confusion ripples through me.

"I, Alpha Kyler—" His next thrust is almost rough, causing me to gasp. My brows pull together, uncertainty creeping in where bliss had been moments before.

"Reject Ekaterina—"

A sharp crack splinters through my chest, as though my ribs are being pried apart. I stare at him, my lips parted in shock, my entire world tilting on its axis, crumbling beneath me.

"As my Luna and mate."

One final thrust, and then I feel it—something warm dripping down my thighs, a physical manifestation of the moment everything breaks. Inside and out.

He pulls out of me, and my body turns cold, as if all warmth has been leeched away, leaving only a hollow shell behind.

I hear rustling, the soft sound of fabric against skin, and when I blink through the first tears threatening to fall, he's already getting dressed. My vision blurs as reality crashes down on me. No. No. No.

He buttons his shirt with mechanical precision and turns to me, his handsome face now blank, voice cold as winter. "Accept it. Do us both a favor."

For a moment, I can't breathe. I can't think. My entire body feels numb, disconnected from my mind, as if I'm floating somewhere above this nightmare.

But then I realize it, a revelation that cuts through the fog of shock.

He knew my name.

Tears prick my eyes as the final puzzle piece falls into place, completing the picture of my own stupidity. He knew. He knew who I was all along. This wasn't fate. This was calculated.

My lips tremble as I lift my chin, summoning what little dignity I have left, my voice barely above a whisper but steady nonetheless.

"I, Ekaterina, accept Alpha Kyler's rejection."

Something flickers in his eyes—something unreadable, perhaps regret, perhaps satisfaction—but before I can process it, he turns and walks away, his footsteps echoing on the hardwood floor.

The front door opens. Closes with a soft click that sounds like finality.

Silence descends, heavy and suffocating.

Then it hits me, the full weight of what just happened crashing down like an avalanche.

I was never meant to be anything more than a mistake. A means to an end. A body to use and discard.

Tears slip down my cheeks, hot and unchecked. My shoulders tremble as a sob forces its way up my throat, raw and animal. I curl into myself on the rug, pressing a fist against my chest as if that can somehow hold me together, keep me from shattering completely.

I was so stupid.

I let myself believe in something that was never real. A fairytale. A lie. For one brief, shining moment, I thought I'd found what I'd always secretly yearned for—belonging. Connection. Love.

I hate you, Kyler.

The thought sears through my mind, white-hot and vicious. I want to scream it, to throw it like a weapon, to make him feel a fraction of the pain tearing me apart.

But the worst part?

A broken piece of me still aches for him. For his touch. For his warmth. For the promise of what could have been.

The mate bond doesn't care that he rejected me. It still pulls, still yearns, still whispers his name in my veins.

And I'll have to live with that forever.