Pregnant With My Father-In-Law’s Baby

Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Amara’s POV

The neon sign of the local wine bar buzzed softly against the humid Italian night. I pushed through the heavy wooden door, the thick scent of oak casks, fermented grapes, and cheap tobacco hitting me all at once. The place was packed, a chaotic blur of locals laughing, shouting in rapid Italian, and swaying to a slow, sultry jazz melody that echoed from the corner speakers.

I navigated the crowd with numb steps, dragging my small leather suitcase behind me until I found an empty wooden stool at the far end of the dark, polished bar. I climbed up, my muscles aching, and slammed my remaining cash onto the sticky counter.

"The strongest red you have," I told the bartender, my voice hoarse. "Keep them coming."

He didn't ask questions. Within minutes, a heavy glass filled with deep, blood-red wine was placed in front of me. I didn't sip it. I swallowed half the glass in one burning gulp, letting the alcohol bleed into my system, desperately trying to drown the memory of the empty crypt and Michael's cruel face.

By the third glass, the world began to soften around the edges. The heavy, suffocating grief in my chest turned fuzzy, replaced by a warm, floating numbness. I rested my chin in my hand, my eyes glassing over as I watched the couples on the dim dim-lit dance floor. They were moving together, hips swaying, chests pressed tight, completely lost in each other.

I wanted to be lost. I wanted to forget I was a rejected Luna. I wanted to forget I was a grieving mother.

I reached for the glass to take another heavy swallow, but my fingers were clumsy. My coordination was entirely shot. As I tried to swing my legs off the stool to get closer to the music, my foot missed the bottom rung entirely.

"Whoa—" I gasped, my body tilting sideways.

I tripped forward, my dizzy legs failing to catch my weight. I flailed, my hands gripping the air, and the remaining contents of my heavy wine glass flew forward, splashing wildly into the darkness.

I didn't hit the floor. Instead, I crashed hard into a solid, unyielding wall of muscle.

A deep, dark scent instantly flooded my heightened werewolf senses. It wasn't pine or rain like the wolves back home. It was expensive leather, dark chocolate, and a terrifyingly dominant alpha aura that made my inner wolf, who had been hiding in the dark, suddenly lift her head and purr.

"Damn it," a deep, rich baritone rumbled right above my head.

I blinked against the dizziness, trying to stabilize my wobbling knees. I looked down. The entire front of the man's crisp, white linen shirt was soaked in a massive, bleeding stain of dark red wine, the fabric clinging tightly to the hard, defined ridges of his chest.

"Oh goddess," I slurred, my voice sounding distant even to my own ears. "I'm so, so sorry. Let me... let me fix that."

My hands were completely uncoordinated as I reached up, pressing my palms directly against his chest. The heat radiating off his skin through the damp linen was intoxicating. I started rubbing my hands over his pectoral muscles, frantically trying to wipe the wine away, but the motion only smeared the red liquid further into the fabric. His chest felt like solid marble beneath my palms.

"Easy, piccola," the man murmured. His large, warm hands came down, gently but firmly wrapping around my wrists to stop my frantic, messy scrubbing.

I forced my heavy eyelids open and tilted my head up.

My breath caught in my throat. He was beautiful. Not boyish like Michael, but matured, rugged, and intensely handsome. He had a sharp, aristocratically sculpted jawline covered in a dark shadow of stubble, and his eyes were a piercing, hypnotic silver-gray. But it was his hair that caught my attention—thick, dark, and heavily spiked with prominent streaks of stark white hair at the temples that gave him a dangerous, powerful look.

The heavy alcohol in my bloodstream mixed with the sudden, electric jolt of his proximity. For the first time in six years, a wild, needy ache bloomed deep in my lower belly. The grief was entirely gone, replaced by a sudden, shameless wave of heat.

I let out a soft, breathless giggle, leaning my weight completely into his chest. "I don't think it's coming out. How... how can I pay you back for the shirt, handsome?"

The man's silver eyes darkened, his gaze dropping to my lips before rising back to my face. A slow, wicked smirk stretched across his lips.

"With a dance," he whispered, his grip on my wrists loosening as his long fingers slid down to wrap around my waist.

Before I could reply, he pulled me flush against his body and guided me onto the crowded dance floor. The music had shifted into a slow, heavy, rhythm. I wrapped my arms around his neck, my head spinning as he moved us effortlessly through the crowd. Every time his thighs brushed against mine, a shockwave of electricity shot up my spine. My inner wolf was practically begging for his touch.

I looked up at him, my vision hazy but my focus entirely locked on his mouth. "You dance well for a stranger."

"I'm full of surprises," he murmured, his grip tightening on my hip, pulling me so close I could feel the hard line of his desire pressing against my stomach.

The heat between us was suffocating. I couldn't take it anymore. I leaned up on my tiptoes, my heart hammering against my ribs, and pressed my lips directly against his.

He didn't hesitate. A low, gravelly growl vibrated in his chest as he caught my upper lip, kissing me back with a slow, possessive hunger that made my knees completely buckle. His tongue parted my lips, tasting like the rich wine I had been drinking, demanding everything from me. I moaned into his mouth, my fingers tangling deep into the short hairs at the back of his neck.

He pulled back just an inch, his breathing rough and heavy, his silver eyes flashing with a predatory light.

"Come to bed with me, piccola," he growled against my lips, his voice tight with restraint.

A wild, uninhibited smile broke across my face. "Yes."

I kissed him harder, completely throwing away my past, my pack, and my pain. In one smooth, powerful motion, the stranger hooked his arms under my thighs and lifted me off my feet. I gasped, giggling drunkenly as I wrapped my legs tightly around his waist, my hands clinging to his broad shoulders for balance.

As he carried me effortlessly toward the dark exit of the bar, I pulled back to look at his face. My fingers reached up, playfully tracing the bright silver-white streaks framing his face.

"The spikes of white hair make you look so cute," I giggled, nipping playfully at his jawline.

The man let out a dark, deep chuckle that rumbled right through my chest. Without warning, he brought one large, heavy hand down and delivered a sharp, playful spank right across my ass.

"Watch your mouth, piccola," he whispered into my ear, his tone dangerous yet dripping with promise. "You have no idea what you've just walked into."