Chapter 3

Gamma Rayder couldn't believe his eyes.The girl in front of him was too young, too fragile, freshly scarred by pain. But the bond was undeniable, throbbing beneath his skin like an ancient curse and a brutal miracle.

This was his mate. His second chance.

Her scent tore at him from within. It took only a few seconds of knowing her to know he would kill for her. The wolf inside Gamma growled, demanding, clamoring:

“Touch her. Claim her. Mark her.”

But Rayder held tight to the reins. Not now. Not like that.

The girl still smelled of another's pain. That bastard—the Alpha of the Crescent Moon—had done the unthinkable.

Gamma Rayder had been present at the Council meetings that same week, had heard the rumors about Kade's engagement to Selena, and now it all made sense.

Fate had broken Luara only to bring her before him.

And yet... she was so young, so confused. But her gaze burned. Steady, unbreakable. Luara did not look away.

Rayder took a step. His voice came out low, thick:

“Let's get out of here.”

He expected her to falter, to break down, but Luara lifted her chin, a strange gleam in her eyes.

“No.”

The word hit him like a slap. Luara raised an eyebrow.

“How about buying me a drink?”

Rayder stared at her. His blood boiled. Surprise flashed across his face for a second, but soon gave way to a restrained nod.

He pointed to a table in the back, isolated from the noise and away from the other wolves. Luara went ahead.

When Gamma walked away toward the bar, she finally breathed.

Luara sat down, trying to keep her hands steady on the table, her chest still rising and falling at an uneven pace. Her mind was in chaos.

Gamma Rayder.

Of course she remembered him. She had seen him at the Moon Assemblies, at the Alpha and Beta meetings—always silent, always watching, like a shadow made of steel. He was older, almost her father's age.

There was something about his restraint, the way he looked at her and didn't move. He seemed more like a warrior dealing with a trap about to explode than a wolf guided only by instinct.

And yet, nothing in Luara's body felt that as brotherly. Her blood pulsed as if it recognized him. The wolf, quiet until then, raised its head inside her.

“This one is ours,” murmured Nyssara, and this time, Luara did not disagree.

Rayder stopped the car. The engine was still vibrating when he got out, walked over to her side, and opened the door. Luara got out without saying a word. They didn't need words.

The house was large, with stone walls and tall windows. Masculine. Silent.

Gamma Rayder unlocked and pushed the door open, leaving space. Luara passed through, and the moment she crossed the threshold, he exploded.

The wood barely hit her back when his body collided with hers.

His mouth took hers with a raw, brutal urgency, nothing gentle, nothing asking for permission. His tongue invaded her mouth, hot and possessive. His large fingers tangled in her hair and pulled, exposing her neck, where he bit as if he had spent years starving.

She moaned, hot, desperate.

Luara's back hit the living room wall. His chest brushed against her breasts—hard, firm—and the dense, masculine scent of wolf clung to everything: hair, skin, soul.

Rayder slid his hands down to the hem of her shirt and pulled it up. A tear. Fabric giving way.

She didn't protest, didn't even blink. Her breath came in gasps, her belly pulsing, her nipples hard, her skin electric.

Rayder grabbed her waist and lifted her as if she weighed nothing. Luara wrapped her legs around his body. It was instinct. Hunger.

His mouth bit her left breast hard, sucking, teasing; his teeth scratched, licked, and bit again.

She dug her nails into his shoulders, wanting more—everything—wanting to forget.

Rayder's hands squeezed the flesh of her thighs, as if engraving his mark on her. His hips pushed hers against the wall, and even with the fabric between them, she could feel him—hot, strong, throbbing.

The zipper was brutally pulled down, and her pants fell.

His hands moved down her stomach until they found her panties, and a low growl escaped him when he felt how wet she was.

“Damn...” he murmured against her neck, “you're dripping all over me.”

She moaned, writhing against him, crying out, burning, needing.

Rayder turned her around, pressing her against the wall. His hands moved down again, and her panties were pulled down to her knees. He bent down behind her, licked, bit.

His tongue dove between her lips as if devouring a feast.

Luara screamed, almost falling to her knees.

“Stand up for me,” he ordered in a low, raw voice. “Hold on.”

She tried, but her body bent, begged. Each lick was an electric shock, and each finger squeezing her skin was a warning that he was still in control.

Then, out of nowhere, he rose.

She barely had time to turn her face away when Rayder penetrated her in a single stroke—deep, cruel, perfect.

Luara screamed; the wall muffled the sound. His hands held her hips brutally, and the thrusts came fast, long, possessive.

“Mine.”

The word sounded against the back of her neck, a growl, a sentence.

Their bodies collided, sweating and fitting together like fire and gasoline. Luara arched, begged, screamed his name without realizing it. Nyssara roared inside her.

“Yes. That's it. Now.”

He turned her over again, grabbed her thighs and lifted her into the air, burying himself inside her even harder.

She cried and moaned, not in pain, but in relief.

When the orgasm tore her apart inside, Luara bit his shoulder hard, and he roared, exploding together with her.

Rayder didn't let her go. He carried her to the bedroom.

There, again. And again. And again.

No words. No past. Just the night, the smell of wolf, the heat of sweaty skin, and bodies saying everything that words could no longer sustain.