Chapter 7
1450 Words
**Chapter 7**
Celeste woke to the soft glow of morning light filtering through floor-to-ceiling windows. Her body felt heavy, warm, and strangely… sated. For the first time since the club, the burning under her skin was gone. Only a faint, pleasant ache remained between her thighs and across her chest.
She blinked slowly, taking in the unfamiliar luxury surrounding her. Dark silk sheets. A massive bed that smelled like cedar, spice, and something wild.
Just clarity, and with it, memory crashing down like a wave.
Oh god.
She sat up too fast — and gasped, a sharp hiss escaping through her teeth as her body screamed in protest. Every muscle in her ached, a deep soreness settling low in her hips and thighs, radiating up her spine.
Her neck throbbed faintly where his mouth had been, and when she pressed two fingers there, she could still feel the ghost of his lips, his teeth, the rasp of his voice against her skin.
She could still feel him. Everywhere.
Memory crashed over her like cold water. The club. The drug. His voice cutting through the chaos. Being carried away like something he owned. The way she had begged, shameless and desperate. The way she had shattered under his hands and mouth while he held himself back.
Her cheeks burned with humiliation. She had practically thrown herself at a man she barely knew.
She looked down at the faint bruises blooming across her skin and covered them with her palm, as if she could hide what had happened even from herself.
"You're awake."
Celeste's head snapped up.
Theron stood in the doorway, dressed in a dark shirt, hair still damp from a shower. He looked calm. Controlled. Far too composed for a man who had spent hours restraining himself with her the night before.
"Get out,” she said hoarsely.
His brow lifted slightly. “This is my room.”
“Then I’ll leave.” She yanked the sheet up around herself and swung her legs off the bed. The moment her feet hit the floor, her knees buckled. She caught herself on the nightstand, breath punched out of her lungs, thighs trembling.
Theron crossed the room in a blur, one strong hand closing around her elbow to steady her.
“Easy,” he murmured.
“I’m fine,” she snapped, even though she wasn’t. The soreness between her legs made her wince as she straightened. She hated how her body instinctively leaned into his touch for a second before she caught herself and pulled away.
He didn’t let go immediately. “You’re not fine. Last night took a lot out of you.”
“Then explain it.” She yanked her arm free and stood on her own, legs shaking. “Where are my clothes?”
“Ruined,” he said plainly. “I had new ones brought up for you.”
Celeste let out a bitter laugh. “Of course you did. You drag me out of that club, mark me up, and now you’re playing provider? Who do you think you are?”
Theron’s silver eyes darkened. “I saved your life.”
“You claimed me,” she shot back. The word still tasted strange and angry on her tongue. “You said it in front of all those men like I was already yours. Like I didn’t get a choice.”
Something flickered across his face — regret, maybe, or the closest thing he was capable of. “You don’t understand what’s happening between us.”
“Then explain it,” she demanded, grabbing the robe draped over a chair and pulling it on with shaking hands. “No more vague lines. No more ‘you’re mine.’ Tell me why any of this is happening.
He was quiet for a long moment, watching her with that intense, unreadable stare.
"That's not an answer." She whispered. "You don't get to say mine and expect me to just accept it. I'm not a possession, Theron. I decide who I belong to — not some strange pull in my chest, and not you.”
His jaw flexed. He crossed the room slowly, stopping just close enough that she had to tilt her chin up to hold his gaze.
“You’re right. You didn’t get a say last night. And I will never touch you again unless you ask me to. Drugged or not.”
The quiet sincerity in his voice made her chest ache. For a moment her anger faltered, replaced by something dangerously close to longing. She shoved it down.
He was dangerous. She told her herself.
“I need to leave,” she said suddenly, reaching for the folded clothes on the dresser. “I need to think. I need… space.”
Theron’s jaw tightened, he didn’t try to stop her as she dressed, but she could feel the tension rolling off him. The new clothes fit perfectly — another quiet reminder of how easily he had taken control.
A sharp knock sounded at the door.
Theron’s head turned, irritation flashing across his face. “What is it?”
Reis’s voice came through, urgent and low. “Alpha. You need to hear this now. Word of last night is spreading fast. It’s already reached the Draveth pack.”
Celeste froze mid-button, the name hitting her like a slap.
Draveth.
Her first thought was instant, automatic — Callum’s family. The quiet, well-paying jobs she sometimes did for them. The world Callum had always kept her at the edges of.
Pack.
The word didn't feel right. Too primal. Too strange. It didn't sound like a company nor like a family name. Pack. Like wolves? Like those men in the hallway? Or the way Theron had spoken and everyone obeyed.
She almost asked what it meant. Almost demanded answers right then. But something in the heavy silence that followed warned her not to. Not here. Not yet.
Maybe it wasn't him at all. Maybe Draveth was just a name, and her mind had jumped straight to Callum because he was the only version of safety she had left to hold onto.
But if it was him—
"Celeste," Theron glanced at her, his expression protective and fierce. “Stay here. Let me handle this.”
Celeste finished dressing, legs still unsteady beneath her. “No. You don’t get to decide that for me.”
She moved toward the door, ignoring the way her body ached with every step — a constant reminder of how vulnerable she had been last night. How much she had wanted him despite everything.
---
Theron watched her go, every instinct screaming at him to stop her.
Mine. is wolf inside him snarled. She doesn’t walk away.
He had spent years mastering control. But watching her walk toward another pack’s territory tested every limit he had.
“You don’t know what you’re walking into,” he said quietly.
“Then tell me,” she challenged, meeting his eyes. “Or let me find out myself.”
He didn’t answer. The silence stretched, heavy with everything he wasn’t saying.
“Reis will drive you,” he finally conceded, the words tasting like ash. “I’m not letting you go unprotected.”
Celeste studied his face, searching for answers she knew she wouldn’t get. Part of her wanted to stay. Part of her was terrified of what staying might mean.
She nodded once, sharp and final, and walked out.
Celeste sat in the back of the sleek black SUV, throat tight, watching the city blur past the tinted windows. Reis drove in silence, hands steady on the wheel, eyes occasionally flicking to the rearview mirror.
The quiet pressed on her until she couldn’t stand it.
“Reis,” she said, voice rough.
His eyes met hers briefly. “Miss.”
“The Draveth pack.” She tested the word carefully. “Tell me about them. Do they have a son named Callum?”
Something flickered across Reis’s face — there and gone too fast to read. His hands tightened slightly on the wheel.
“That’s not really mine to talk about.”
“I’m not asking you to betray anyone,” she pressed, leaning forward. “I just want to know who they are. What they really are.”
The silence that followed felt heavier than before.
Reis’s jaw ticked. He kept his eyes fixed on the road. “We’ll be there soon.”
Celeste stared at the back of his head, stomach twisting. He hadn’t lied. He simply refused to answer.
Whatever the Draveth pack was, Reis knew the truth.
And he had no intention of being the one to tell her.
- Writer
