THE MOON HIDES MY HEART

Chapter 5: Snow & Silence

The blizzard descended without preamble. One moment, the sky was a canvas of clarity; the next, the world was consumed by white. The wind howled a symphony of fury through the academy's corridors, and snow began to stack against the windows, a relentless siege. The building's ancient heating systems groaned under the strain, their lights flickering ominously.

"All students are to remain indoors," an announcement boomed, echoing through the speakers. "Do not leave your dormitories until further notice."

My intention was to comply. Yet, the walls of my room felt as though they were constricting, shrinking around me. The mark on my neck pulsed with a persistent throb. Nikolai's scent, a phantom lingering on my pillow, refused to dissipate despite my repeated attempts to erase it by changing the sheets. I craved air. Or, at the very least, a change of scenery.

The library was deserted when I arrived.

This sanctuary was my favorite place within the academy's walls. Three floors laden with ancient tomes, connected by graceful spiral staircases, and punctuated by windows that offered a panoramic view of the distant mountains. The grand hearth crackled with a gentle warmth, its flames casting dancing shadows, and the air was thick with the comforting scent of aged paper and worn leather.

I selected a book from the Balancer section—a privilege granted by the Headmaster following our recent meeting—and found solace in a threadbare armchair nestled near the fire.

The History of Balancers: Volume III.

An hour passed. Then two.

Much of the text was archaic, filled with speculation. The wolves who had penned these accounts possessed only a rudimentary understanding of what Balancers truly were; their fear of us was palpable in every word.

"The Balancer's scream can shatter a wolf's mind," one passage read. "It is said that the first Balancer brought down an entire pack with a single cry."

My fingers instinctively went to my throat.

Don't scream again.

The fire continued its soft crackle.

And then, the library door opened.

Before I even looked up, I knew it was him. The very air in the room shifted. The temperature plummeted. The fire's flames flickered as if seeking escape.

Nikolai Volkov entered the library with the unassailable confidence of a monarch. His white-blond hair was lightly dusted with snow, and his ice-blue eyes found me immediately.

"You're not supposed to be here," I stated, my voice steady.

"Neither are you."

"The announcement explicitly stated we were to remain in our dormitories."

"The announcement is for weak wolves who can't handle a little snow," he countered, approaching me. His boots made no sound on the stone floor. "I am not weak."

"I never said you were."

He stopped before my chair, his gaze fixed on me. The firelight carved shadows across his face, lending him an older, harder appearance.

"What are you reading?"

"None of your business."

He plucked the book from my hands, flipping through its pages with a disdainful curl of his lip.

"Balancer history. Trying to figure out what you are?"

"Trying to understand what you want from me."

He dropped the book onto the floor. It landed with a muffled thud.

"I want you to stop being inside my head."

"I'm not inside your—"

"You are," his voice sharpened, laced with anger. "Every moment since you touched me, I feel you. Your heartbeat. Your breathing. The way your blood moves beneath your skin." He ran a hand through his hair, agitation evident. "I can't sleep. I can't eat. My wolf won't shut up about you."

"That sounds like a personal problem."

"Don't," he warned, pointing a finger at me. "Don't do that. Don't pretend this isn't happening."

"What exactly is happening, Nikolai? Because from my perspective, you broke into my room, marked me without my consent, and are now following me to the library."

"I didn't follow you."

"Then why are you here?"

He opened his mouth, then closed it again. For the first time since I had met him, he was without an answer.

"I hate that I need you," he finally admitted.

The words hung in the air between us, heavy and fractured.

"What?"

"I hate it," his voice softened, becoming almost gentle. "I've never needed anyone. My father beat that out of me before I could walk. My mother died when I was seven. My brother was the only one who ever—" He paused, swallowing. "And now you. A human. A girl who should be prey. I need you like I need air, and I hate you for it."

"Then leave."

"I can't."

"Yes, you can. The door is right there."

He remained motionless.

"Leave, Nikolai."

"No."

"Then stop complaining."

A laugh escaped him, a broken sound, hollow and sharp. "You have no idea what you've done to me."

"Then explain it."

"I can't." He stepped closer. "Because I don't understand it either."

The fire snapped, a sudden burst of embers.

The wind howled its relentless song outside.

And something shifted between us.

"You're shaking," I observed.

"I'm always shaking now. Unless you're touching me." He held out his hand. "See?"

His fingers trembled, a fine, rapid vibration that seemed to make the air around them shimmer.

"Take my hand," he urged.

"No."

"Elif—"

"You marked me without asking. You don't get to touch me just because you want to."

His jaw tightened. "You're going to make me beg?"

"Would that be so terrible?"

A dark flicker ignited in his eyes, something far worse than anger.

Hunger.

"You have no idea what you're asking for," he warned.

"Then show me."

He moved with impossible speed. One moment, I was seated in the chair; the next, my back was pressed against the cold stone wall, and Nikolai was a solid presence against me. His hands pinned my wrists above my head, his hips trapping me, his face mere inches from mine.

"If I kiss you," he said, his voice a low, dangerous rumble, "I'm not going to stop."

"Who said I wanted you to stop?"

His eyes widened for a fleeting second, revealing a flicker of surprise beneath the hunger.

"You're playing with fire," he stated.

"I'm from Istanbul. We invented fire."

He stared at me, then a laugh, deep and warm and utterly unexpected, escaped him. "God, you're infuriating."

"I know."

He leaned in, his lips brushing my ear. "If I close your mouth, are you going to scream?"

"Maybe."

"Maybe?"

"Depends on how good you are."

A growl, low and resonant in his chest, vibrated through my entire body. "That's it," he declared. "I'm done talking."

His mouth crashed down on mine. It was not gentle, not soft, but desperate, hungry, and furious. He kissed me as if trying to consume me, to crawl beneath my skin. I returned his kiss, my hands still pinned, yet his body was a sufficient connection. The heat of him, the weight of him, the groan that escaped him when I bit his lower lip.

He pulled back just long enough to meet my gaze.

"Say my name."

"Nikolai."

"Again."

"Nikolai."

He kissed me again, harder, deeper. His tongue slid against mine, carrying a faint metallic taste – blood, though I couldn't discern if it was his or mine. He released my wrists, his hands finding my waist, lifting me, carrying me to the nearest table. Books tumbled to the floor. I paid them no mind.

He laid me down on the cold wood, the surface rough against my back. The fire still crackled somewhere behind us, but my focus was solely on him. His hair fell across his face, his eyes burned into mine, his chest heaved as if he had just run a marathon.

"Tell me to stop," he commanded.

"No."

"This is your last chance."

"I said no, Nikolai."

His hands found the hem of my shirt. He didn't pull it off; he ripped it. Buttons scattered across the floor, fabric tore. I gasped.

He froze. "Too much?"

"Not enough."

His eyes darkened.

He pulled the torn fabric away, exposing my skin to the cool air. My n*ppl*s hardened instantly. Nikolai stared at me as if he had never beheld a woman before.

"Beautiful," he whispered. "So beautiful."

His hands cupped my breasts, his thumbs brushing over my n*ppl*s, sending a jolt straight to my core. I arched my back, pressing into his touch.

"Please," I heard myself say.

"Please what?"

"Please more."

He lowered his head, his mouth closing around one n****e. His tongue circled the sensitive peak, and I cried out, my fingers tangling in his hair. He suckled gently at first, then with increasing pressure, his teeth grazing the tender flesh. Pleasure and pain intertwined, blurring into an indistinguishable sensation.

His other hand slid down my stomach, past my navel, beneath the waistband of my skirt.

"Wet already," he murmured against my skin. "And I've barely touched you."

"Shut up."

He laughed, then his fingers found me through my underwear. He pressed, circled, pressed again. I moaned, a loud, involuntary sound.

"Quiet," he admonished. "Unless you want the whole academy to hear."

"Maybe I do."

His eyes flashed. "You're going to be the death of me."

He pulled my skirt off. Then my underwear. I lay naked beneath him, spread out on the cold wooden table like an offering. He sat back briefly, simply to look at me.

"Perfect," he declared. "Every inch of you. Perfect."

"Stop staring."

"Never."

He stood, unbuckled his belt, and his pants fell to the floor. His erection sprang free, thick and heavy and ready. My mouth went dry.

"You're sure?" he asked.

"I've never been more sure of anything."

He positioned himself between my legs. The head of his c*ck pressed against my entrance. I was so wet that he slid in easily, but the stretch still made me gasp. He stopped halfway.

"Breathe," he instructed.

"I am breathing."

"Breathe slower."

I tried, and failed. I tried again. He pushed deeper, my walls clenching around him. The sensation was overwhelming – fullness, heat, and pressure all at once.

"Look at me," he commanded.

I opened my eyes.

"Don't look away."

He thrust.

I cried out. He filled me completely, every inch, every nerve. I felt him in my throat, in my chest, in the tips of my fingers. He began to move, slow at first, deep strokes that made me see stars behind my eyelids.

"Faster," I gasped.

"No."

"Nikolai."

"Not yet." He leaned down and kissed me, soft, almost sweet. "I want to feel every part of you first."

His hand slid between our bodies, his thumb finding my cl*t, circling it in time with his thrusts. The pleasure built, slow at first, then accelerating. My legs wrapped around his waist, my heels pressing into his lower back, pulling him deeper.

"That's it," he murmured. "Take all of me."

I was close, so close. The pressure in my core coiled tighter and tighter, ready to snap.

"Please," I begged. "Please, Nikolai, I'm going to—"

"Not yet."

"Please."

"Not until I say."

He was cruel, deliciously, wonderfully cruel. He slowed down just when I needed him to speed up, pulled back just when I needed him deeper.

"Look at me," he said again.

I did. His eyes were human now, warm, brown. Mine.

"Now," he said.

And he thrust.

The orgasm crashed over me like a wave. I screamed – not a Balancer scream, but a normal one – as my body convulsed around him. My nails raked down his back, my teeth found his shoulder. He groaned, his hips stuttered, his rhythm broke.

"That's it," he growled. "That's it, Elif. Take it. Take all of it."

He thrust twice more, three times, and then he came. I felt him pulse inside me, hot and thick. His body shuddered, his forehead dropping to mine. We stayed like that for a long time, wrapped around each other, breathing together.

Finally, he pulled out. Gently, slowly. I winced at the loss of him. He helped me sit up, his hands still trembling, but differently now, softer.

"You're bleeding," he said, looking at his shoulder.

"You bit me first."

He smiled. "Fair."

He found my torn shirt and wrapped it around me. Then he pulled me into his arms and held me against his chest.

"This changes nothing," he stated.

"Of course it doesn't."

"I still hate that I need you."

"I still don't care."

He kissed the top of my head. "Good."

We sat in silence for a while. The fire crackled, the wind howled, the snow piled higher against the windows. Nikolai traced the mark on my neck with his fingertip.

"If you forget this night," he said quietly, "I'll kill you."

"That's romantic."

"I'm not romantic."

"You just had s*x with me on a library table."

"And I'll do it again. And again. Until you're sick of me."

"I'm already sick of you."

"Liar."

He kissed me, soft this time, almost sweet.

"Stay with me tonight," he requested.

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"Because if I stay, I'll forget why I'm supposed to hate you."

"And why are you supposed to hate me?"

I looked at him, truly looked. "Because you're dangerous," I said. "Because you take what you want without asking. Because you marked me like I was property."

"And?"

"And…" I touched his face. "Because I'm starting to not mind."

He smiled. It was the first genuine smile I had ever seen from him, transforming his face, making him look almost human.

"One more hour," he proposed.

"One more hour."

He pulled me back into his arms. And for one hour, I allowed myself to pretend this was normal, that we were simply two people in a library, waiting out a storm.

The door creaked. I froze. Nikolai tensed beneath me. We both looked toward the entrance. No one was there. But the door was ajar, just a crack, enough for someone to have been watching.

"Did you hear something?" I whispered.

Nikolai was already on his feet, his eyes scanning the shadows, his body coiled, ready to strike.

"I smell someone," he said. "Someone who isn't supposed to be here."

"Who?"

He didn't answer. But his hands were shaking again. And not from cold.