The Alpha’s Sacred Taboo

Chapter 2: The Taste of Crimson

The morning after was always the loudest.

Camille sat at the head of the breakfast table in the Crimson Lakes' sunroom, the glare of the April sun bouncing off the silverware. Her father, Alpha Marcus Winters, was buried in a digital tablet, grunting about border patrols and the rising price of silver-lined containment units.

To her left, her mother, Elena, was delicately peeling a grapefruit. They were a family of singular children—lonely lineages that had produced a powerhouse like Camille.

"You look tired, Cami," Elena remarked, her eyes narrowing with a mother’s intuition. "The party went late. I didn't see you leave."

"I took a walk in the West Garden to clear my head," Camile lied smoothly, her "Boss Lady" mask firmly in place. "The AI integration for the firm’s Q3 projections is weighing on me. I needed the silence."

In reality, her thighs ached with a delicious soreness, and the scent of Guy—sandalwood and dark rain—seemed to be etched into her very pores. Beneath the table, she squeezed her legs together, a secret shiver running up her spine as she remembered the way he had looked at her—not as a niece, not as an ally, but as a feast.

The Witch’s Intuition

By noon, Camille was in her private office at the Winters Consulting firm. The glass walls overlooked the city, a sprawling urban jungle that her family helped stabilize.

The door didn't click open; it simply ceased to be a barrier. Tiffany, her lover of three years, drifted in. The witch looked no older than twenty-five, but her eyes held the swirling, ancient violet of someone who had watched empires crumble.

"You smell like him," Tiffany said without preamble, leaning against the mahogany desk. She didn't sound jealous—witches of her age viewed monogamy as a human frailty—but she sounded wary.

Camille didn't look up from her monitor. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Liar," Tiffany chirped, reaching out to pluck a stray dark hair from Camille's blazer. "You smell like the Moon Star Alpha. You smell like Lyle’s white-and-black fur. You’ve finally opened the box, haven’t you?"

"It’s a birthday present to myself, Tiff. Nothing more."

"A fated mate is never 'nothing more,' Camile. Especially one who runs the underworld and the airwaves." Tiffany leaned down, whispering in her ear. "Amara Jimenez landed at the private airfield an hour ago. The 'Chosen Mate' is in the territory. If she catches your scent on him, a winery won't be the only thing she’s crushing."

The Alpha’s Den

While Camille faced the witch, Guy was in a different kind of meeting.

The penthouse office of Lear Entertainment was a cathedral of chrome and glass. Guy sat behind his desk, his dual-colored eyes fixed on the woman sitting across from him. Amara Jimenez was stunning—regal, olive-skinned, and radiating the scent of fermented grapes and expensive musk. At forty-two, she was a woman who knew her worth.

"You haven't touched your wine, Damon," Amara said, her voice a smooth contralto.

"I’m working," Guy replied shortly.

"The Elder Council was very specific. Our union stabilizes the trade routes between the Azul Forest and the Moon Star Pack. My brothers are already preparing the dowry."

Guy stood up, his massive frame casting a shadow that seemed to swallow the room. Lyle, his wolf, was pacing in the back of his mind, snarling at the intruder.

"The Council can appoint whoever they want to my bed," Guy said, walking toward the window. He looked toward the Crimson Lakes territory in the distance. "But don't mistake a political contract for a claim. I don't belong to the Council. And I certainly don't belong to you."

"Is there someone else?" Amara asked, her voice sharpening. "One of your starlets? A musician?"

Guy thought of Camille—the way her crimson wolf, Alicia, had bared her throat to him in the moonlight. He thought of the way she wanted him to treat her like a toy, while he only wanted to treat her like a queen.

"There is no one else you need to worry about," Guy lied, his voice dropping to a predatory growl. "But stay out of my shadows, Amara. You won't like what you find there."

The Vicinity

That evening, Camille was leaving a gala for the Financial Sector’s Elite when her driver was waved off by a man in a black suit.

"The Chairman is waiting for you in the lounge, Ms. Winters," the man said.

Camille knew that 'Chairman' meant Guy. Her heart hammered against her ribs. She should go home. She should go to Tiffany. Instead, she followed the man into the back of the darkened lounge.

The door closed, and the world vanished. Guy was there, sitting in a leather armchair, a glass of amber liquid in his hand.

"I heard Amara is in town," Camille said, trying to sound indifferent.

"She is."

"Are you going to make sweet love to her, too? Or is she the one who gets the 'slut' treatment I asked for?"

Guy was across the room in a heartbeat. He didn't hit, but he slammed his hands onto the wall on either side of her head, trapping her. The power rolling off him was suffocating.

"Don't provoke the wolf, Camille," he warned, his blue and hazel eyes glowing in the dim light. "I told you. You are the only one who gets my soul. Everyone else gets the Alpha. And an Alpha is a cold, heartless bastard."

He leaned in, his lips brushing her ear. "You’re wearing the perfume I bought you. The one that smells like the night we first met when you were sixteen. You’re marking yourself for me, even if you won't admit it."

"I'm a grown woman, Guy. I don't belong to anyone."

"Lie to me again," he whispered, his hand sliding down to the hem of her skirt, "and I'll make sure you can't walk into your boardroom tomorrow morning."

Camille gasped, her hands flying to his chest. She was a CEO, a future Luna, a powerhouse. But here, in his vicinity, she was just a flame waiting for him to blow her out.

"Then make me a liar," she challenged.

The growl that left his chest wasn't human.