My Alpha Stepbrother’s Obsession

Control

The run didn't help.

Draven took me to the edge of the territory, just past the pine line where the trees thinned out and the wind picked up. He didn't shift. Neither did I. We ran on two legs until my lungs burned and my legs shook.

He didn't talk. He just set the pace and didn't let me fall behind.

When we stopped, I bent over with my hands on my knees, gasping.

"You're out of shape," he said. No judgment in his voice. Just fact.

"I've been living in a cabin," I shot back. "Not exactly a gym."

He handed me a flask of water. His fingers brushed mine. I jerked away.

"Don't," I said.

"Don't what?"

"Touch me. Look at me. Smell me. Just... don't."

He lowered the flask but didn't drink.

"You think that's easy for me?"

"I think you don't get to decide what's easy."

His jaw tightened. For a second I thought he'd argue. Then he turned and started walking back.

I followed.

The next two days blurred together. Meals in the hall where I kept my eyes down. Nights in Draven's bed where we didn't touch but the air between us crackled. He'd catch me staring sometimes, and I'd pretend I was looking at the wall. He'd catch me breathing too fast, and he'd clench his fist like he was holding himself back. The bond wasn't quiet anymore. It thrummed under my skin, constant. Like a second heartbeat that wasn't mine.

On the third night, the moon rose early.

I woke to a sound. Low. Animal.

Draven wasn't in bed.

I sat up. The room was dark except for the moonlight cutting through the window. And there he was, standing by the glass, shirt off, hands braced on the frame. His back was rigid. His shoulders shaking.

"Draven?"

He didn't answer.

I got out of bed. My bare feet hit the cold floor. "Are you okay?"

He growled. Not words. Just sound. Deep in his chest.

I froze.

The moon was still four nights away. It shouldn't hit him this hard yet. But it was. I could see it in the tension of his muscles, in the way his claws had half-shifted at his fingertips.

"Draven," I said again, softer.

He turned his head. His eyes weren't grey. They were black, ringed with gold. Wolf. Fully there, barely leashed.

"Stay back," he rasped.

I didn't.

I crossed the room. Slow. My heart hammered, but not from fear. From something else. The bond was pulling me toward him, hard.

"Talk to me," I said.

His chest heaved. "I can smell you." His voice broke. "Every breath. Every heartbeat. You're right here and I can't-"

He cut himself off. His hands gripped the window frame so hard the wood groaned.

"Control," he muttered. "Need control."

I reached out. My fingers hovered over his back. I didn't touch him.

"Then use it," I whispered.

He turned. Fast.

Before I could step back, he had me. One hand at my waist, the other cupping my jaw. He pulled me in.

My breath caught.

His mouth was inches from mine. I could feel his breath, hot and uneven. I could smell him, pine and sweat and something wild. My wolf surged, desperate for him.

His lips parted.

And then he stopped.

His whole body went rigid. He squeezed his eyes shut. "No," he said, barely audible.

He let go of me like I'd burned him. He stumbled back, hitting the wall.

"Get in bed," he said. His voice was wrecked. "Now."

I didn't move.

"Lila." He opened his eyes. They were grey again, but glassy. Pain there. "Please."

Something in my chest cracked.

I went to the bed. I pulled the covers up to my chin.

He didn't come near me. He went to the floor, back against the wall, head in his hands.

We didn't sleep.

When dawn broke, he was gone.

I found him hours later in the training yard. Shirtless again, punching a post until his knuckles bled. Marcus stood nearby, arms crossed, watching.

Draven didn't stop when he saw me. He hit the post again. And again.

"Alpha," Marcus said. "That's enough."

Draven ignored him.

I stepped onto the grass. "Stop."

He didn't.

So I walked right up to him and grabbed his wrist mid-punch.

His eyes snapped to mine. Wild.

"Stop," I said again.

He stared at me. Chest heaving. Blood dripping from his knuckles onto the dirt.

Then he dropped his hand.

Marcus cleared his throat. "Full moon's in three nights. You need to be sharp, not broken."

Draven pulled his wrist from my grip. He didn't look at me. "I'm fine."

He walked away.

Marcus watched him go, then looked at me. "You're making it worse," he said quietly.

"I'm not-"

"You are." He turned and followed Draven.

I stood there alone, my hand still tingling from where I'd touched him.

That night, the moon was brighter. Closer.

Draven came to bed late. He didn't speak. He lay down on his side of the mattress, leaving a foot of space between us.

But in the dark, I felt him shaking.

And I knew: the next time he almost kissed me, he might not stop.