REVENGE OF THE EXILED LUNA

The first night

Isla POV

After the presentation, the guards escorted me to the Alpha suite. It was Mateo's private quarters, where I would share his space, his bed and his life.

The suite was not what I expected. I thought there would be blood and chains, and I thought there would be evidence of the curse that had haunted the Reyes line for three generations. But there was glass and steel, and there was a view of the city that stretched to the horizon. The bed was massive and dressed in dark silks, and the headboard was carved with wolves running through a forest.

But when I looked closer, I saw the scratches.

There were deep gouges in the wood, and there were claw marks that were too many to count. Someone had been chained to this bed, and someone had tried to tear it apart. I turned away because I did not want to know whose claws had made those marks, or the truth of what had happened in this room under the blood moon.

The door opened behind me, and Mateo walked in. He was still in his formal clothes, but he had loosened his collar and rolled up his sleeves. His forearms were scarred with old and new wounds, and they were all telling stories that I did not want to hear.

He poured himself a drink, but he did not offer me one.

"There are rules," he said, but he was not looking at me. "You will accompany me to pack functions, and you will not speak to my mother without me present. You will not leave the compound without permission either."

"You mean I am a prisoner," I said, as I stared at him.

He looked at me then, and for a moment something flickered in his eyes. It might have been guilt.

"You are my Luna," he said. "Those are not the same thing."

I almost laughed. "They are in this room."

He set down his glass, and he walked toward me. Each step was slow and deliberate, and it was like he was giving me time to run. But I did not run.

He stopped inches from me, and his scent filled my nose. It smelled like pine and smoke and something darker, and it was something that made my wolf whine in my chest.

"You feel it too," he said. His voice was lower now and rougher. "Do not lie to me."

I should have lied. I should have looked him in the eye and told him that I felt nothing, and that he meant nothing. I should have told him that I would rather die than belong to him.

But I could not.

I nodded once, and I barely moved.

His hand came up, and I thought he would hit me. But instead, his fingers brushed my jaw, and he tilted my face toward the light. His thumb traced my lower lip, and the touch sent fire through my veins. I hated him for it.

I hated him, and my wolf was screaming at me to bare my throat. She wanted me to submit, and she wanted me to be his.

"You want to hate me," he said, and he was reading my thoughts like they were written on my face. "You want to resist."

He leaned closer, and his breath was warm against my mouth.

"But your wolf knows that I am yours, and mine knows that you are mine."

Then he kissed me.

It was not a gentle kiss, and it was not a lover's kiss. It was a claiming, and it felt like punishment and a test.

His hand tangled in my hair, and he pulled my head back. His mouth demanded that I open for him, and I could have fought. I should have fought.

But instead, I bit him. I bit him hard enough to draw blood, and I tasted copper on my tongue. I made him growl against my mouth, and the sound was so deep and so raw that it vibrated through my chest. It settled somewhere low in my belly.

He pushed me back against the wall.

His body pinned mine, and his thigh pressed between my legs. I could feel him, and he was hard and ready and wanting. My body betrayed me, and my hips rocked against him. I was seeking friction and relief, and I was seeking something that I had never wanted to crave.

His laugh was dark. "Your body knows what your mouth will not admit."

His hand slid down my body, and it went under my dress. I should have stopped him. I should have pushed him away, and I should have screamed. I should have called for the guards who were probably standing outside the door waiting for exactly this.

But I did not.

His fingers found me, and I was wet, ready and wanting. He made a sound like satisfaction, and it sounded like victory. Then he pushed one finger inside me, and I felt myself drip down around him. He added a second finger, and he worked me roughly and relentlessly.

I gasped, and my head fell back against the wall. He watched my face, and he watched the pleasure that he was forcing from me. His eyes were hungry, dark and endless.

"You want to hate me," he said again. "But you cannot. Not when your body knows what I am to you."

He brought me to the edge, and I was shaking. I was gripping his shoulders, and my nails were digging into his skin. I was so close, and I hated myself for wanting it. I hated him for making me want it, and I hated the bond that was pulling us together like magnets that I could not resist.

And then he stopped.

His hand pulled away, and he stepped back.

I stood against the wall, and I was trembling and aching and furious. He looked at me with cold eyes, and his voice was steady when he spoke.

"You will beg for it," he said. "When you are ready to stop fighting, and when you are ready to accept what you are to me, you will get on your knees and beg."

He turned and walked toward the door.

"Not before," he said.

The door closed behind him, and I slid down the wall because my legs were too weak to hold me. I pressed my forehead to my knees, and I tried to breathe.

My body was still burning, and my wolf was howling in frustration. Somewhere deep in my chest, in the place where the bond lived, I felt him. I felt his satisfaction and his hunger, and I felt his certainty that I would break.

I pressed my hands flat against the floor, and I pushed myself up.

"I will never beg you for anything," I whispered to the empty room.

But even as I said it, I knew that it was a lie.

I sinked down the wall where he had pressed me up against moments ago, and slowly my eyes shut, as i drifted to sleep.