THE BLOOD THAT WOKE THE WOLF

THE FIRST KISS

"Don’t move."

Draven’s voice was barely above a growl.

I stood there—frozen—just staring at the bloody words smeared across the wall.

AURELIA, YOU SHOULD HAVE STAYED ASLEEP.

Something shifted deeper in the house.

My head turned, trying to track the sound.

Draven caught my wrist before I could move.

"Stay here," he said.

"No." The word just tumbled out.

His eyes narrowed. "Aurelia."

"I’m here to find my mother."

"And someone knew we’d come."

"That’s not stopping me." I jerked my arm. "I’m not hiding behind you."

He nearly ground his teeth. "You really don’t get what we’re dealing with right now."

"Then explain it," I snapped.

He clamped his jaw shut.

"You need to leave," he said quietly.

I just stared at him, not believing it. "What?"

"You’re going back."

"No," I replied, just as firm.

"Yes."

"You don’t get to decide for me."

"It’s not an order."

"Kind of sounds like one."

His face hardened—stone-cold Lycan King mode.

"You nearly collapsed today."

"And? I’m still here."

"You were attacked. Twice."

"And I’m still standing, aren’t I?"

"Your wolf almost tore apart a hall full of people."

"I didn’t know what was happening."

"Exactly."

He took a step closer.

"You don’t understand what you can do."

"And you do?" I couldn’t help it; I was shaking.

"I know enough," he said.

I had to laugh. "This is what you always do."

He looked confused. "What?"

"You choose what I can know, decide where I go, what I do—always what you want."

He held my gaze. "I’m trying to keep you alive."

"And I’m trying to find my mother!" My voice rang through the empty place.

Draven’s hands curled into fists at his sides, but he said nothing.

He looked like he was about to lose it—and honestly, so was I.

"You can’t treat me like I’m fragile," I said, softer, tired.

"I never said you were."

"You don’t have to."

He dropped his eyes for a second.

I stepped up, almost toe to toe.

"You think just because you’re the Lycan King, everything’s yours to control."

"No."

"Then stop," I told him.

His eyes snapped to mine.

"You think I like watching you risk your life?" His voice wasn’t cold anymore. He just sounded... scared.

"Then stop acting like I can’t handle myself," I whispered.

His chest heaved. "You don’t get it."

"Help me get it," I said.

We both just stood there for a long, thick moment.

Draven moved closer.

His eyes searched my face—almost desperate.

"Every time you get hurt..." There was a crack in his voice. "Every time, I remember what it felt like to lose you."

My anger vanished. Just gone.

"You lost me before?" It barely made it out.

He looked away, jaw clenched. Pain all over his face.

"Draven," I whispered.

He wouldn’t answer.

"You did," I said.

He closed his eyes. "I spent years thinking you were dead."

I swallowed, hard.

"And now?"

He opened his eyes. "Now you’re here," he said. "Right in front of me."

He closed the distance, closer than he should’ve been.

"I watched you get rejected. I watched them laugh at you." His jaw worked, like every word cost him. "I watched someone try to kill you."

He was so close that I felt the heat of his breath.

"And every time you get hurt, I remember losing you."

My chest hurt. I’d always believed I was alone. Forgettable. But this man had spent years grieving for me.

Me.

I reached up—couldn’t help myself—and touched his face.

Draven went utterly still.

His eyes shut for a heartbeat, then opened again. All the control he tried to hold onto—gone. There was no power in him now. Only a silent question.

"If you want me to stop," he whispered, "say so."

I didn’t.

He covered my hand with his and I swear, my heart was pounding so loud he could probably hear it.

I should’ve pulled away.

Instead, I leaned in.

Our foreheads touched. We stayed like that—breathless—for a second that felt longer.

Then he kissed me.

Soft. Like I’d shatter. Like he was afraid I’d vanish if he moved too fast.

Everything fell away—the pack, the hunters, the blood on the wall. Even the secrets.

It was just us.

His hand slid up to the back of my neck.

We only lost ourselves for a moment. Then he pulled back, breathing hard.

I opened my eyes.

He was watching me, like he suddenly realized what he’d done.

"This changes everything," he murmured.

I felt a cold shiver. "Why?"

His face shifted. He stared past me—at the dark hallway.

"Draven?"

He didn’t answer.

I touched his arm. "Why?"

He turned toward me, and the look in his eyes nearly stopped my heart.

He was scared. Not of the house. Not of whoever had left the message.

Of me.

His voice came rough and broken:

"Because the last time we kissed, you killed me."