BROKEN HOWL

Chapter 6: Simmering Tension

The eastern standing stone loomed under a sliver of moon, its surface etched with runes that glowed faintly in the darkness. Matilda arrived precisely at midnight, her attendant’s cloak swapped for a darker, nondescript one that blended with the shadows. The summit campfires flickered in the distance, their light barely reaching this secluded edge of the valley.

Elowen waited beside the stone, a small satchel slung over her shoulder. “You came alone. Good. Trust is rare at these gatherings.”

Matilda kept her distance, eyes scanning the surrounding trees. “What do you offer?”

“Safe passage back to Blackthorn if you need it. New papers. And information on Nightshade’s weaknesses, on Liora’s private dealings, even on the Alpha’s recent… restlessness.” Elowen’s lips curved. “But nothing is free. Favors breed favors.”

Before Matilda could respond, a low growl cut through the night.

Williams emerged from the treeline, his massive frame tense, eyes glowing with the edge of a shift. He had followed her. Of course he had.

“Matilda,” he said, the name rough on his tongue. “Step away from her.”

Elowen tensed, hand drifting toward a hidden blade. “Alpha Draven. This is neutral ground.”

“Leave,” Williams ordered, voice laced with command. His gaze never left Matilda. “Now.”

Elowen glanced at Matilda, who gave a subtle nod. The mediator melted into the trees without another word, leaving the two of them alone beneath the ancient stone.

The air thickened instantly. The rejected bond flared hotter than it had in years, pulling at Matilda’s core with insistent, unwelcome need. She hated how her body remembered him how her skin prickled and her pulse quickened at the mere sight of his broad shoulders and the way his chest rose with controlled breaths.

“You lied,” Williams said, stepping closer. His voice dropped lower, rougher. “About the child.”

Matilda’s back pressed against the cool stone as he closed the distance. She refused to retreat further. “You lost the right to know anything about me the moment you rejected me in front of the pack.”

He stopped inches away. Heat radiated from his body, mingling with the night chill. Pine and smoke and raw male scent wrapped around her, stirring memories of stolen nights before everything shattered. His eyes darkened, pupils dilating as the bond responded.

“I can still feel you,” he murmured, voice husky. One large hand rose, hovering near her waist without touching. “Here.” His fingers finally brushed the fabric over her hip, light but electric. “And here.”

Matilda’s breath hitched despite herself. The contact sent a spark straight through her, igniting a low throb between her thighs. She grabbed his wrist, intending to push him away, but her grip lingered. His skin burned under her palm hot, familiar, dangerous.

“Don’t,” she warned, yet her voice came out breathier than she wanted. “You don’t get to touch me.”

Williams leaned in, his forehead nearly resting against hers. His free hand braced on the stone beside her head, caging her without full contact. “Then why is your heart racing? Why does your scent change when I’m this close?”

She could feel the hard line of his body inches from hers, the restrained power coiled in every muscle. The bond urged her closer, whispering of completion, of surrender. Her wolf whined inside her, torn between fury and raw hunger.

“Because the bond is a curse,” she whispered back, eyes locking with his. “Not a choice.”

His breath ghosted across her lips. “Then break it completely. Or let me remind you why you once begged for my touch.”

The words sent liquid heat pooling low in her belly. Matilda’s n*****s tightened against the rough fabric of her tunic, a traitorous response she couldn’t hide. Williams noticed. His gaze dropped to her chest, then lower, dark with barely leashed desire.

He didn’t kiss her. Not yet. Instead, his hand slid from her hip to the small of her back, pulling her flush against him with deliberate slowness. The hard ridge of his arousal pressed against her stomach through their clothes, thick and insistent. A soft, involuntary sound escaped her throat.

“Feel that?” he growled, voice vibrating through his chest. “That’s what you do to me. Even now. Even after everything.”

Matilda’s hands fisted in his shirt, torn between shoving him away and dragging him closer. Her body ached empty, needy, furious at its own weakness. She tilted her head, lips brushing the corner of his jaw. “You rejected me, Williams. Humiliated me. Now you want this?”

He groaned, low and ragged, hips rocking once against her in a slow grind that made her gasp. “I was a fool. The pack… the elders… but every night since, I’ve thought of you. Of how you felt under me. Tight. Wet. Mine.”

The explicit words sent a fresh wave of arousal through her, slick heat gathering between her legs. She hated how her hips shifted instinctively, seeking more friction. Her scar itched above her eyebrow as anger and desire warred inside her.

“You don’t deserve me,” she breathed, even as one of her hands trailed down his chest, nails scraping lightly over the fabric.

Williams captured her wrist again, guiding her hand lower until her palm pressed against the hard length straining his trousers. “Then take what you want from me. Use me. Punish me. But don’t pretend you don’t crave this too.”

Their breaths mingled, hot and uneven. Matilda’s fingers flexed against him, feeling the thick pulse of his c**k beneath the cloth. The temptation to drop to her knees, to make him beg with her mouth, flickered dangerously in her mind. To reclaim power through pleasure and pain.

Instead, she squeezed once firm, teasing drawing a sharp hiss from him. Then she pulled her hand away and shoved at his chest with enough force to create space.

Williams stumbled back a step, chest heaving, eyes wild with lust and frustration. His lips were parted, a faint sheen of sweat on his brow.

Matilda straightened her cloak, willing her voice steady despite the throbbing need still pulsing through her body. “Touch me again without permission, and I’ll make sure the next time you feel this bond, it’s because I’m carving it out of you.”

She turned to leave, legs unsteady, but his voice stopped her raw, commanding, edged with desperate hunger.

“Matilda… don’t walk away. Not like this. Tell me the truth about the child. Tell me what you want from me.”