CHAPTER 10: THE COLD SHOULDER STRACTEGY
639 Words
I was furious. I stood in Zane's room, my hands gripped tight behind my back, pacing the length of the rug like a caged animal. The air still held the faint, sweet trace of Andre’s scent from two nights ago, and it was driving me insane.
"You're a fool, Zane," I hissed, turning to face my brother, who was sitting at his desk, pretending to review financial statements.
"I claimed her, Zakk," Zane countered calmly, without looking up. "The bond is active. The secrecy is necessary. She needs time."
"Time?" I scoffed, throwing my hand out in exasperation. "We're not running a charity! I pushed her in the kitchen this afternoon—she was practically vibrating with need. She's ripe. She is ready to complete the bond, and you’re sitting here filing taxes!"
"I'm trying to ensure our entire lives don't collapse when Father finds out," Zane replied, finally meeting my gaze. His eyes were tired, showing the strain of carrying the s****l tension and the guilt. "If you burst in there like a lunatic, you'll terrify her into shifting prematurely, and that will expose us to everyone."
I knew he was right. My aggressive pushing was forcing her to hide, which was counterproductive. The Mate Bond demanded acknowledgment, not forced entry.
"She runs every time we look at her," I muttered, conceding the point. "She ran from you after the first kiss, and she's running from me now. We are treating her like a prize, and she's treating us like a curse."
Zane pushed back from his desk, rubbing his temples. "Our current methods are failing. Aggression makes her run. Softness makes her feel guilty. We need a new approach."
He stood up, walking over to the window. "We know she feels the pull. We know she's confused about her nature. What if we stop chasing?"
I stared at him, skeptical. "You want to ignore our Mate?"
"I want to starve her wolf," Zane corrected, a cold, calculated strategy entering his voice. "She is relying on us to initiate the contact, to break down the walls. We need to cut off the supply. No lingering glances, no physical contact, no speaking unless spoken to at the dinner table, and absolutely no late-night visits."
The idea was painful. To have her in the house, smelling her faint, addictive scent, and yet to offer her no acknowledgment—it was a form of self-torture. But I understood the wolf psychology behind it.
"She feels the bond," I analyzed, turning the strategy over in my mind. "If we go completely cold, she won't be able to blame our touch or our flirting. She'll only feel the absence of the connection. That absence will force her wolf to panic and seek the bond out."
"Exactly," Zane confirmed, walking toward me. "She needs to realize that the danger isn't us chasing her; the danger is losing us. She needs to initiate the claim."
I felt a fierce, possessive thrill run through me. This was a psychological trap, subtle and brutal. We were giving her the space she demanded, but we were filling that space with the agonizing emptiness of the bond unfulfilled.
"Fine," I agreed, a dangerous smile spreading across my face. "We freeze her out. We become polite, boring, distant step-brothers again. We let the silence drive her to our door."
"Starting now," Zane said, his eyes hardening with resolve. "No more games. We wait for Andre to break the silence."
I nodded, already feeling the heavy cloak of silence descending. The challenge was no longer about seducing her; it was about enduring the tension until she finally broke. The secret was safe, but the house was about to become an emotional ice box.
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