Chapter 7 THE FIRST BREAK IN HIS ARMOR
1401 Words
The manor doors closed behind them with a thunderous echo, sealing out the chaos of the battlefield.
Inside, everything was still. Too still.
Calla followed Adrian down the corridor, her heartbeat a frantic drum beneath her ribcage. He walked ahead of her with rigid shoulders and fists clenched, muscles straining under the weight of anger, adrenaline… and something that made the air thicken between them.
He didn’t speak. Didn’t look at her. And somehow that made it worse.
They reached a secluded wing of the manor — darker, quieter, far from the eyes of guards and staff. Adrian pushed open the door to a dimly lit room lined with shelves and old leather furniture.
His private den. He stepped inside, stopping only when he reached the center of the room. His chest rose and fell in sharp, uneven breaths.
“Adrian—” Calla began.
“Don’t.” The word was low, dangerous.
He didn’t turn.
Calla swallowed hard. “You’re bleeding. Let me—”
“I don’t need a doctor.”
“That’s not what I said.”
She took a step closer. He stiffened.
“Calla,” he warned, “I’m trying very, very hard to stay in control after what just happened.” “You saved my life.”
He laughed — harsh, humorless. “Don’t make it sound noble.” “Why not? It was.”
He finally turned toward her — slowly, as if fighting his own body. The sight stole her breath.
Blood streaked his abdomen, his forearms, across the curve of his jaw. His shirt hung in tatters, exposing the brutally hewn muscles of a man forged for war — and something sharper, more primal beneath the skin.
But it wasn’t the blood that made her heart stutter. It was the look in his eyes. Gold flickered there, faint but undeniable.
Not rage. Not pain. Something far more dangerous - desire.
“Calla,” he said softly, “you don’t understand what you’re doing.”
“What you’re doing,” she corrected, stepping closer still, “is pretending that what just happened didn’t shake you.”
His jaw flexed. “It didn’t shake me.”
“You’re lying.”
He inhaled sharply, nostrils flaring — taking in her scent like it was oxygen. She saw his grip on control crack, just a fracture, but enough for her to feel it.
“You’re trembling,” she whispered.
He didn’t deny it. Instead, he closed the distance in two strides. Her back hit the wall.
His body pressed close — not touching, but caging her in with a heat that seared through the space between them.
He braced one hand beside her head, breath ragged. “I told you to stay inside. I told you to stay safe.”
“And you also told me to stand beside you,” she shot back. “Which is it?”
His eyes burned into hers, a storm of conflict. “Both. And neither.”
“Explain it.”
“I can’t.”
“You will.”
His other hand slammed against the wall beside her hip — not in anger, but desperation.
“Calla,” he breathed, voice trembling with restraint, “I nearly lost control out there.”
“You protected me.”
“That’s not what I mean.” His eyes lowered to her lips, lingering there like a man starved. “The wolf—he responds to you. Reacts to you.”
Her pulse skittered. “And?” she whispered. “And it’s getting harder to tell where his instincts end and mine begin.”
He was too close now. Close enough that she could feel the tremor in his arms. Close enough to smell the wild heat of him.
Close enough to know that he wanted her—badly enough that his restraint was a fragile, breakable thing.
She lifted her hand. Adrian froze. “Calla—”
Her fingertips brushed his jaw, tracing the line of stubble down to the blood drying on his neck. He shuddered, breath catching sharply.
His eyes fluttered. “Don’t,” he whispered.
“Why?” she murmured. “Because if you touch me like that…” His voice cracked, deepened, darkened. “I won’t stop.”
The warning should have frightened her. Instead, it curled heat through her, low and aching. “Then don’t stop.”
He groaned — a low, guttural, entirely inhuman sound. His forehead pressed to hers, his breath hot and uneven, as if he were restraining an animal inside him.
“I can smell your pulse,” he whispered. “Racing. Calling to me.”
Her knees weakened. “Look at me,” he murmured. She did.
The gold in his eyes glowed brighter, almost pulsing with her heartbeat.
“You don’t know what you’re asking for,” he said softly. “Then show me,” she whispered back.
He cursed under his breath — a dark, shredded sound — and his hand slid from the wall to her waist, fingers digging into her hip as if he needed her for balance, for sanity.
His lips hovered over hers. Not touching. “Calla…” he breathed, barely holding himself together. “You are the only thing that quiets the curse. The only thing that calms the wolf. Do you understand what that means?”
“No,” she whispered. “But I want to.”
Something broke in him. He closed the last inch between them. His mouth claimed hers in a kiss that was nothing like the one on the balcony — this one was deeper, hungrier, molten. His hand gripped her waist, pulling her flush against him. Heat roared through her like wildfire.
She gasped into him; he swallowed the sound, deepening the kiss with a dominance that unclenched every nerve in her body. His fingers slid into her hair, tilting her head as he devoured her like he’d been starved for a decade.
Her hands rose to his chest, tracing blood, scars, heat. He shuddered violently — the wolf reacting to her touch as much as the man was.
“Calla…” he breathed against her lips, voice wrecked. “I’m losing control.”
She pulled him closer. “Then lose it.”
His growl vibrated through her. He lifted her effortlessly, her back sliding up the wall as he pressed his body against hers, their breaths ragged, tangled, desperate. His lips traveled to her jawline, her throat, a reverent line of worship and hunger.
She moaned — soft, involuntary, devastating.
He froze. Every muscle locked. He pressed his forehead to her neck, shaking. “Don’t make that sound again. I swear—I won’t be able to stop.”
She wrapped her arms around him, fingers tangling in his hair. “I don’t want you to stop.”
He groaned, burying his face against her collarbone, breath hot and tortured.
“You don’t know what the wolf will do if I keep going.” “Then trust yourself, not the wolf.”
His grip tightened. “I don’t make that distinction anymore.”
She cupped his face, forcing him to look at her. “You’re not a monster, Adrian.”
He kissed her again — softer now, aching instead of hungry. “You don’t know how wrong you are,” he murmured.
And then— A violent spasm shot through him. He staggered back, chest heaving, teeth clenched as if suppressing a scream.
“Adrian?” she gasped. He shook his head, backing away from her.
“Go,” he rasped. “Before I shift. Before I—”
She stepped toward him. “Adrian—”
He roared. Not at her — at himself.
His hands slammed onto the desk, cracking the wood beneath his grip as he fought the tremors shuddering through him.
His eyes flashed gold, deeper and brighter than before. “CALLA,” he thundered, “LEAVE.”
Her heart ached. But she moved. Only when she reached the doorway did she look back.
Adrian was on his knees, body shaking, fists buried in the splintering wood, his back muscles rippling beneath the strain of holding the beast inside. He looked up at her.
And for a fraction of a second — just before the gold consumed him — he whispered: “Don’t give up on me.”
Then the shift tore through him.
- Writer
