His Mate, His Prey

Don’t You Recognise Me Darling? [Pt. II]

[Violet]

"My... wife?" he murmured, brows furrowing as he stared up at me with narrowed eyes.

I nodded, lowering my hand to his face in a warm gesture that could at least sell the lie.

He flinched—not in fear, but like my touch caused a spark inside him. Thankfully, the mate bond came in handy in instances such as this.

Instead of pulling away, he leaned into my palm, eyes shutting as though the contact soothed him. His hand at my throat eased, then dropped to his side. When he lifted it again, it was only to hold my hand in place against his cheek.

My heart thudded violently in my chest.

Then he sniffed my palm.

Not like a man—but like some cub trying to recall the scent of its mother after being apart for years.

Slowly. Deeply. As though he could get enough of it.

When his eyes reopened, something in them had changed. The guarded front from moments ago had dulled and his expression was... softer. Almost reverent.

"Wife," he said again, quieter this time.

Then he kissed my hand—palm first, then knuckles and without breaking eye contact.

My fingers twitched in his grip, but I forced myself to smile—just enough to sell the act. Not too wide. Not too strained.

‘What a man. Even with his memories shot to hell, he still knows how to stir a woman.’

His thumb brushed slowly across the centre of my palm, and I tried not to react. But I could feel it. That spark. That heat.

The mate bond.

His scent—earthy, musky, clean—wrapped around me like smoke. It made it hard to breathe, hard to think.

And I became acutely aware of everything: the way my thighs straddled his, the stickiness of my wet clothes, the feel of the heat emanating from the bare chest inches below—still warm even after being submerged in water.

His second hand slid to my waist.

And then, without warning, he pulled me down against him.

I gasped, my hands bracing on his chest, but he didn't do anything else—just leaned in, burying his nose into the crook of my neck like he belonged there.

He inhaled once again.

Deeper, more possessively as if memorising my scent.

"Wife," he whispered against my skin in a low, husky tone. "You smell... good."

I exhaled deeply.

I couldn't move—not just because of his grip, but because my body refused to. My instincts screamed at me to stay still, to submit, even as my brain yelled otherwise.

His scent was too powerful. Too consuming.

Even the Alpha of my old pack hadn't smelled this overwhelming.

And one's scent spoke volumes.

Though I'd always been strong enough to be a Luna candidate in the Moonfall pack, in terms of rank, I was still at best a Beta. I knew what power smelled like.

And this man... he was dangerous.

'Dammit!' My jaw clenched in spite.

I hated it—how my body reacted.

The warmth that had no business being there. Not when I was soaked, injured, exhausted—and certainly not when the man beneath me had nearly slit my throat just moments ago.

But my body didn't obey.

His breath on my skin, the soothing sound of his voice whispering ‘wife’, and the way his lips brushed my throat—it stirred me in a way I didn't ask for.

My skin tingled where he touched me. My thighs clenched around him on instinct, and his groan was so soft I almost missed it.

I swallowed hard, telling myself that my body was only reacting this way because of the bond. And it was convenient to make the lie believable.

He nuzzled further into my neck, and I could feel the tips of his tongue graze my skin—just how far did he plan to go?

I shivered.

Not from fear.

From something much worse.

Desire. And that alone was frightening. Now I understood why so many others feared this bond.

My fingers curled against his chest, and I tried to push him away. But my body was aching from the fall and too bruised to put up much of a fight. I nearly forgot myself—forgot where we were, what we were running from, and who I was supposed to be.

But then he pulled back slightly, brows furrowing as his gaze flicked around. "Where are we?" he asked. "Why are we wet?"

And just like that, my mind was suddenly clear.

I had seconds to lie. Seconds to say something that could keep him from turning on me.

But before I could even open my mouth, a shot rang out in the near distance.

I flinched, ducking low out of instinct. He didn't flinch. He growled, wrapping both hands protectively around me.

"You're hurt," he said, noticing my limp and bruises as I tried to rise. "Who did this to you?"

"I—"

He didn't wait. With one smooth motion, he scooped me into his arms like I weighed nothing. Rain poured down around us, soaking us all over again, but he didn't stop. He just ran.

We didn't stop until we reached the shelter of a cave, dark, dry and thankfully empty. He set me down gently, but I could still see the fire in his eyes, the way his muscles tensed like he was ready to go out and rip someone's head off.

"I'll kill them," he muttered, already turning to leave.

"No!" I said quickly, reaching for him. "Don't go."

His head snapped to me, and a slow smile formed on his lips. "You're worried… about me?"

I gave him a tight smile and nodded once, letting him believe that was the reason. Not because I didn't trust him out of my sight. Not because I needed protection.

I sat back, exhaling softly. But the moment I looked down and saw the damn cuff still locked around my ankle, an idea came.

I had to make this make sense. Had to stay ahead of his questions.

"They took me," I said suddenly in a low, shaky tone, squeezing my upper arm. "You came to rescue me, but we were ambushed."

He stared at me, his jaw clenched. "Who? Who took you?" He demanded looking as annoyed as when we'd locked gazes in the crowd earlier. I touched his hand, steadying him.

"I'll be fine... if you can help me get this thing off."

He dropped to one knee before I could even finish the sentence, already scanning the cuff. "I'll break it." He reached for a rock the size of my head.

"Wait—" I blurted, yanking my leg back. "You'll snap my ankle off!"

He blinked, then tilted his head like he hadn't even considered that possibility. "Then..." He positioned me to sit and knelt across from me, his large frame arched forward, his hands moved to the cuff. He was leaving himself wide open as though he already trusted me a hundred percent.

I watched, unable to tear my gaze from the way his fingers curled around the metal. His arms flexed, veins prominent, and then—with a grunt—the cuff split with a clean snap.

I let out a shaky breath... just before he lifted my swollen ankle to his lips.

"What are you—"

I jolted as his warm mouth pressed a kiss just above the bone, then lower. His tongue licked over the swelling and I nearly screamed.

"Stop that!" I yanked my leg back, face burning.

But the pain... was... gone?

Or at least, fading quickly. I blinked, staring down at my ankle, then at him.

'What the hell...?'

His expression was steady in the dark as if he'd simply done it on instinct.

My leg throbbed less, his saliva still lingering like some kind of balm that I should have been grateful for.

But instead, I felt a surge of adrenaline. Now, I had to shift. It's the only way to stand a chance if we're attacked again—or if he turned on me.

I dragged myself a few feet away and shut my eyes, willing it.

But there wasn't a trace of a wolf.

So I tried again, pushing harder, gritting my teeth as my muscles seized. But there was nothing. No stir of fur beneath my skin, no snapping of bones, no power.

I blink rapidly and look down at myself, my chest rising and falling with growing panic.

Why couldn't I shift?

The trusting man before me tilted his head, sensing something. "Does it… hurt?" He said softly, half reaching out.

Instinctively, I avoided his hand.

I only realized the mistake when he looked surprised.

"I'm fine," I muttered, forcing a smile. "Just cold."

Lies. Again.

This time, he didn't seem to believe me.

Yet, I didn't understand it. The cuff was gone and my body should be healing.

So why couldn't I shift?

I punched the wall, my breath ragged and my eyes burning in rage. 'What the hell did they do to me?'