To Claim A Sinner

Ethan Luxe

Catherine’s POV

I knew that voice!

My heartbeat wouldn’t slow down. It slammed against my ribs hard enough that I felt it in my throat, loud inside my own head, louder than the rain hammering the ground.

No. Impossible! How is he here?

Fear shot through my chest in quick, painful bursts as I struggled to breathe past the hand covering my mouth. The arm around my waist didn’t budge, no matter how I twisted.

“Shhhh…” he murmured, his hand still firm over my mouth. “If you don’t stop twisting, I’ll tie you up myself and hand you over to my dear older brother. He can decide how to punish you.”

His voice was low enough to scrape along my spine, his breath hot against my ear. I bit down on my lower lip hard, praying he didn’t notice the way that sound made something inside me shiver.

It was definitely him!

Ethan Luxe.

My mind uttered his name before I could force myself not to think it. The Ethan Luxe! Simon’s younger brother. The one people whispered about when they thought the Alpha’s family could not hear them. The one they said handled problems personally instead of sending guards. The one whose temper did not follow rules, whose decisions no one could predict.

What is he doing here? Why is he here of all nights?

I tried to swallow, but my throat barely worked. The fear of being caught by Simon and dragged back inside had drained everything out of me. Now I was pressed against Ethan Luxe, soaked and panting under his hand, while his body stayed steady and unbothered behind mine.

“Stop fighting,” he muttered, his palm shifting just enough to keep my lips covered. “You are not making this easier for either of us.”

I forced myself to go still, muscles trembling, lungs dragging in air through my nose in shaky pulls. His arm around my waist felt like a band of steel, holding me flush against him. My spine fit against the firm line of his chest, and each rise and fall of his breathing brushed along my back.

I hated myself for noticing that.

The voices from the balcony drifted through the rain. Someone called for more patrols on the eastern side. Another demanded that the guards check the perimeter. Every sound of their boots on the stone made my body tense again, but Ethan’s hold did not loosen.

If anything, his arm tightened, drawing me closer, keeping me pressed deeper into the shadow of the wall and the hedge as if he were shielding me with his own body.

Then he leaned in before I could process that thought.

My breath stuttered when he lowered his head and brushed his nose against the back of my neck, right where my damp hair clung to my skin. He inhaled slowly, taking his time, dragging in the scent of rain, mud, fear, and whatever else clung to me after tonight. I felt that breath all the way down my spine.

A shiver ran through me and I knew it had nothing to do with the cold.

I swallowed again and finally felt how dry my throat was. I wanted to jerk away, to elbow him, to do anything that might put space between us, but my body chose that moment to remember how tired it was. My legs felt like they were made of wet sand. My hands still shook from the jump. The only solid thing I could feel was him.

He made another soft sound in his chest, low enough that it almost blended with the thunder overhead.

“I like how you smell,” he said near my ear.

The words did not make sense. Not at first.

I smelled like rain and mud and panic. My dress was soaked, my hair was a mess, and my heartbeat was still trying to climb out of my body through my ribs. How could he possibly like—

His mouth moved closer to the shell of my ear.

“It turns me on…” he whispered.

The bluntness of it hit harder than the storm.

Heat flooded my face so fast I thought I might actually pass out. My chest tightened, not from lack of air this time, but from the shock of hearing those words spoken in that tone, at that distance, by that man.

Ethan Luxe, who was supposed to be dangerous and distant and above this kind of thing, had his arm locked around my waist, his hand over my mouth, and was calmly telling me that my scent aroused him.

As if on cue, I felt something firm press against the small of my back, through the soaked layers of my dress and his clothes. It was solid enough that my brain supplied the only explanation it could find, and the realization made every muscle in my body seize.

I knew I should tell myself it was a weapon, a belt buckle, anything else. My mind did not cooperate.

The thought of what it might be snapped the air from my lungs. I went rigid in his hold, heat roaring into my cheeks even as the rain kept pouring down on us.

No. Absolutely not.

I tried to deny it, to shut the idea down before it rooted itself in my head, but the more I tried not to think about it, the more aware I became of every place we touched.

He felt my body freeze. I knew he did.

He let out a quiet exhale that almost passed for amusement.

“That got your attention,” he murmured, his thumb shifting slightly against my cheek. “Good. Now me a good girl and only move when I tell you to.”

My eyes widened. Humiliation burned all the way down my neck. I wanted to spit a retort at him, to tell him he was sick, to tell him he was disgusting, to tell him that there was nothing about me worth being turned on by. Instead, the only sound that came out of me was a muffled, useless noise against his palm.

His grip did not change.

“Do not waste your breath,” he continued, his tone calm in a way that made it worse. “You'll need it later.”