Chapter Two
1195 Words
(Adeline's POV)
I forced myself to stay still. Show no weakness. Show no fear.
“My name is Cherry,” I said, keeping my voice calm.
His eyes showed a feeling I couldn't understand. He didn't trust what I said.
His fingers tightened a little around my throat, then relaxed.“A rogue?” His tone was slow, deliberate. “Then why do you smell like lies?”
I was tense.
Could he really sense the deception that easily?
Think, Adeline. Think fast.
I kept my expression neutral. He said, "I don't understand," but he still held on. “Rogues, they stink. You know, like dirt, blood, and they're always in a hurry. But you? ” You're different. He sniffed the air, and I felt like throwing up. I knew what he was doing. Scenting me.
He growled. “You smell different,” he said.
He squinted at me, and for a second, I thought he knew the truth. That I wasn’t just any rogue. That I had come here to kill him.
But then his expression shifted. His jaw tightened, and I saw the frustration in his face.
I felt it too—the connection pulling and twisting, pushing us together.
His hand released my neck. “You’re coming with me.”
No.
I stepped back quickly. “I swear I’m just looking for shelter. I don’t want trouble.”
Lie. I was trouble. The kind that left bodies in its wake.
His lips curled slightly. “You don’t want trouble?” His voice was almost mocking. “Then you should have chosen a different pack to walk into.”
Before I could react, he moved.
He acted before I could even process it. One second I was there, trying to find a way out, and the next, he was holding me, lifting me up.
I fought back, kicking, flailing, and screaming like something caught in a trap. “Allow me to leave!”
“Stop fighting,” he ordered, carrying me with ease as if I weighed nothing.
I did the exact opposite. My elbow shot out, aiming for his ribs. He evaded easily, but I succeeded in shifting my weight, almost losing my hold on him.
Nearly.
A growl echoed from his chest, and in an instant, I found myself pressed against a tree.
His body was against mine, keeping me in position.
Trapping me.
A sharp gasp left my lips.
Too close. He was too close.
I could sense each defined muscle line, each gradual breath he inhaled. I gasped, my wolf reacting to him in a way that made me want to scream.
“Try that again,” he said, “and I’ll make sure you won’t be able to run anymore.”
I despised him. I despised how effortlessly he dominated me, how his power rendered my own strength meaningless.
I looked up at him, my heart racing. "You wouldn't dare."
Something dark and amused flickered in his gaze. “Try me.”
The worst part?
A traitorous part of me almost wanted to.
The mate bond was a curse. A twisted, cruel joke from the gods. How could my wolf want the man I’d spent years dreaming of killing?
I clenched my jaw, trying to fight the pull. I had to escape.
I shifted slightly, testing his hold. His grip tightened. “Don’t,” he warned.
His voice was lower now, rougher. Like he was battling something too.
Was it possible that this bond unsettled him as much as it did me?
I wanted to believe it. But I knew better.
Alpha Damian was a warrior. A killer. A man who didn’t hesitate to destroy his enemies.
And I was one of them.
I forced myself to relax, exhaling shakily. “Fine,” I muttered. “You win. Just… don’t hurt me.”
The words tasted like poison. But I needed to survive.
His grip loosened, just slightly. “You listen when you feel like, don’t you?”
I bit my tongue. Don’t react. Play along.
“I simply don’t wish to die,” I murmured.
That aspect, at least, I wasn’t being dishonest about.
His eyes remained fixed on mine, inscrutable. To my astonishment, he chuckled. It was a deep, dark sound, infused with an emotion I couldn't fully identify.
Not amusement—something colder. Sharper.
"Don’t want to die?" he repeated, a smirk playing on his lips. "Then stop lying to me."
I made my fists tighter. I had to be careful. Every word, every move—I was walking on a thin sheet of ice over a lake of fire.
Damian studied me for another long moment, then stepped back.
I should have run. Should have bolted the second he released me.
His gaze held me there, unable to move.
"Follow me," he said, heading towards the packhouse.
I didn’t move.
His head snapped back at me, eyes flashing. “That wasn’t a request, rogue.”
I had two options. Run and risk death. Or follow and live—at least for now.
My nails dug into my palms. Patience, Adeline. Patience.
I forced my feet to move.
The walk to the packhouse was eerily silent. Damian didn’t speak. Neither did I. But with every step I took closer to the enemy’s den, a new kind of dread sank into my bones.
My plan was a mess.
I wanted to sneak in without anyone noticing, get close to Damian, and kill him.
Instead?
He had found me first.
And worse—he was my mate.
The gods were cruel.
Two fighters were positioned at the entryway, their bodies tensing as Damian approached. One of them, a large man with a scar on his face, regarded me with skepticism.
“A rogue?” he asked.
Damian didn’t even glance at him. “She’s mine.”
The words hit like a punch. My breath stilled.
I was his?
I was furious, but I held it in. Not here. Not yet.
The scarred warrior looked at me again, this time seeming genuinely curious. Then, without saying anything, Damian pushed open the heavy wooden doors and went inside.
I followed, each step taking me closer to the enemy's heart.
The moment we entered, I felt the eyes.
Warriors, pack members, ranked wolves—they all stopped to look. Some whispered. Others stared. But every single gaze held the same thing.
Suspicion.
Damian strode past them without a glance, as if he felt no fear whatsoever.
I stood tall, attempting to pretend that I was unbothered. I wouldn’t cower. Not in front of them.
At the conclusion of the grand hall, a staircase ascended to a higher floor. Damian carried them two at a time, gliding like a hunter in his own domain.
I trailed behind, my heart racing.
Upon reaching the summit, he guided me along an extended corridor. Next, he opened a door and entered.
I observed a large wooden desk, tall windows, and rows of shelves filled with books and weapons. This was his command center. The heart of his rule. This was his office.
He closed the door behind us.
Then he turned to face me.
- Writer
