Alpha’s Relic

She shouldn’t have been here—not with Declan, not with the man whose name could still silence a room—and whose family feud with hers made this more than a mistake. It made it dangerous. Memories of their last argument—nine years ago—flashed like warning lights, promising fallout she wanted neither then nor now, yet still she didn’t walk away. The door flew open, and suddenly he was there—heat, danger, and memory colliding. Quinn’s breath caught. Her wolf stirred the moment the door opened—recognizing his presence before her brain could. His mouth was on hers before thought could form, teeth grazing her lower lip in a bite that sent molten heat spiraling through her. Her instincts howled in recognition, the part of her she kept buried in city concrete and distance clawing to the surface. His grip on her hip was iron-strong, commanding, radiating the kind of heat that made her pulse stutter. His body hummed with Alpha energy, the kind that didn’t ask. It claimed. It filled the doorway like a challenge. In one swift, primal motion, he stripped her out of the formal dress, the fabric giving way beneath his hands. The fabric fell in a silky puddle at her feet, leaving her bare to the sweep of his gaze. His blue eyes dragged over her like a slow pour of whiskey—deliberate, intoxicating, and dangerous. She’d be lying if she said she hadn’t chosen her lingerie with him in mind—a wicked set of sheer black lace embroidered with roses curling over her curves like ink on skin. The bra barely veiled what he craved, the garter belt cinching her waist and sending satin straps trailing down her thighs. Tiny bows sat like whispered dares, each appliquéd rose an unspoken invitation. “Sweet hell,” he rasped, pinning her to the door so firmly she could feel the hard, insistent press of him. His fingers tangled in her dark hair, tugging until her lips parted. His tongue swept in to claim, to taste, to own—and for a heartbeat she thought of all the reasons she should stop, but the taste of him drowned out her common sense. “My shoes,” she teased, voice breathless, as her fingers tore at his shirt buttons, sending them scattering across the floor. The sight beneath made her pulse stutter—stacked muscle carved in light and shadow, swirling tattoos shifting with each breath, and that maddening trail of hair disappearing into his pants. “Leave them on,” he growled, sliding his palms up her sides, thumbs brushing over her hardened n*****s through the lace. Heat coiled low in her belly, slick arousal pooling between her thighs, her body betraying her need. “Kinky,” she breathed, just before his mouth crashed back onto hers. The kiss was rough and consuming, pulling her deeper under, every second knotting her want tighter with the warning screaming in her head. He caught her wrists, pinning them above her head, his body a solid, inescapable cage. His mouth trailed down the delicate slope of her neck, teeth scraping before his tongue soothed the sting. Quinn arched into him—instinctive, yielding—a primal sign of submission she couldn’t hide, one her wolf offered even as her mind screamed at her to hold the line. Her body remembered him. Her blood remembered him. And her wolf—betrayer that it was—had never truly forgotten. Her thighs pressed together as the ache sharpened, her resolve fraying with each pass of his lips. This was no boy. This was all man—everything she wanted, but nothing she could have. Not with the rift between their families and the ghost of past heartbreak between them. And yet, with his mouth and hands setting her skin alight, the truth blurred into something she could no longer resist. He bit along her collarbone and kissed her like a drowning man finding air. Declan was a vice—one taste and she was hooked, knowing the withdrawal would be a slow, exquisite agony. “Quinn, stop thinking,” he ordered, his voice a low growl that curled heat low in her belly. She met his gaze, chest heaving, before he freed her wrists and stepped back—not retreating, but giving her the space to choose him. “I want to,” she whispered, looping her arms around his neck and sealing her mouth to his in a kiss that promised sin. He hauled her tight against him, deepening the kiss until there was no air, no thought—only feverish heat and the knowledge that tomorrow would feel like a fall from a great height. *** The next morning, Quinn dressed in the gray light of dawn, her muscles aching in the most delicious ways, her skin marked with the proof of his mouth, his hands, his teeth. The faint scent of him clung to her—pine, smoke, and the impossible imprint of his skin on hers. Her wolf whimpered low inside her chest, restless and unsatisfied. The sight of his shirt buttons scattered across the floor made her chest tighten. She’d lost count of how many times he’d undone her, how many times he’d murmured her name like both a prayer and a curse. They’d collapsed into the tangled wreckage of the sheets, still joined in places her body would remember for days. Leaving felt like tearing away a piece of herself. She wanted to climb back into bed, curl against him, breathe him in—but staying would destroy them both. Silently, she gathered her things, then paused at the door. Slipping one of her favorite rings onto the table, she left it behind—a quiet, glittering brand on his home, a reminder that she had been his for the night and that she had chosen to walk away. The door clicked shut, and with it, the girl she had been—along with the life she once knew in Willow Ridge—was gone, leaving only the woman who had built something far from its reach.