Chapter 4

A week had passed since that first night. Rayder still hadn't marked her—not for lack of desire, but out of respect—and waited, watching, allowing her to heal at her own pace, even though his eyes said it all: he wanted her, and every day he wanted her more.Luara woke up feeling the warmth of his body on her back, his heavy arm around her waist, and his scent clinging to her. That morning, after her shower, she put on one of his loose T-shirts and walked barefoot through the house, picked up her cell phone, took a deep breath, and called.

Her father's voice answered on the third ring:

“Luara... daughter... thank Goddess... where are you?” She closed her eyes, her throat locked up, but replied, “I'm fine. I found my... my second chance partner.”

Silence; then, a deep, cautious voice: “Luara... about what happened... Kade—”

“If you say that name, I swear I'll cut all ties with you.” The words came out cold, sharp, deadly.

“Daughter...”

“I'll visit as soon as possible. But only if he's not mentioned. Never again.”

She hung up. Her hands were shaking and her eyes were burning. Rayder appeared behind her—his chest bare, his hair wet, his eyes attentive—and, without saying a word, wrapped his arms around her shoulders, pressing his body against hers. The embrace was warm and firm, a shield. He kissed the top of her head and whispered in her ear:

“Come on. Let's go out. Buy some things. You need clothes... and I need to see you choose whatever you want.”

She turned her face, staring into his amber eyes.

“It's going to be weird seeing you in a mall, Gamma.”

“Then let's find out together.”

The mall wasn't exactly neutral territory; there were other wolves there, from other packs and other ranks. Luara walked between store windows, her fingers absentmindedly running over the clothes racks, and Rayder stayed close, stealing kisses between sections — quick, wet kisses full of intention.

In a lingerie store, he approached her from behind, pressed his chest against her back, and whispered:

“Take this one. The red one. Like it.”

“Are you going to wear it on me?” she teased, the corner of her mouth turning up.

Rayder let out a hoarse laugh and kissed her neck:

“I'm going to tear it off you.”

After shopping, in the food court, while Luara was drinking a milkshake, a group of wolves at another table looked at her; a young male kept his gaze on her for too long. Rayder growled—loud enough for the sound to vibrate in her chest and low enough to be just a warning—and the wolf looked away.

Luara turned, her eyebrow arched.

“Gamma, seriously?”

“I don't like it when they look at what's mine.”

She smiled and let it go, because deep down, she wanted to be his too. Really.

On the way home, the car seat became a field of tension; the silence between them was charged with electricity, and Rayder drove with one hand on the wheel and the other on her bare thigh, slowly moving upward.

“You didn't take any of that red lingerie,” he commented, without taking his eyes off the road.

“You're really going to tear it...”

Rayder turned his face, and the look he gave her almost made her moan. “Then I'll choose another color. One you'll never want to take off.”

Luara bit her lip and let his hand move up.

The door had barely closed and Luara's breath was already being swallowed by Rayder. He pushed her against the wall with his body, his hands sliding under her blouse and lifting it with brutal delicacy, while his hungry mouth found hers with fierce impact—tongues intertwining, teeth scratching lips, and the taste of desire dripping between broken sighs.

Rayder's hands grabbed her thighs, lifting her off the floor with ease; Luara wrapped her legs around his waist, her hips pressed against him with primitive urgency, and they both growled together—he with possessiveness, she with hunger.

“Rayder...” she gasped against his mouth.

Rayder responded by pushing his hips against hers, making her moan with the brutal friction; he walked to the sofa, sat down with her straddling his lap, and pulled Luara's shirt down hard, exposing her breasts, which he bit mercilessly. She threw her head back, arching against him.

“Let me mark every part of you...” Rayder's wolf growled.

His hands explored her shamelessly, sinking into her hips and squeezing the flesh of her thighs; Luara felt him hard beneath her, throbbing, threatening to burst out of his pants. She leaned down, her nails scratching his chest as she descended, her eyes fixed on his, challenging and begging at the same time; she unbuttoned his pants with her teeth and freed him.

Nyssara howled inside:

“We want him whole...”

Luara rose and sank slowly, feeling every inch tear the emptiness inside her; her head fell back and a wild moan escaped her lips. Rayder held her waist firmly and began to guide her—the movements rough, intense, without compassion—while the sound of skin against skin filled the room along with hoarse moans, growls, and wordless promises.

She writhed, her fingers digging into Rayder's broad shoulders; he licked, bit, and marked her neck and shoulders with fiery kisses. The wood of the sofa creaked beneath them, as if the house itself could not withstand the fury of the act. He turned her onto her back and laid her on the upholstery, pinning her wrists above her head, and entered her with a single thrust—deeper, fiercer. Luara screamed, and he swallowed the sound with his mouth, sucking her cries with his tongue.

“He's ours... only ours...”

She arched toward him, asking for more and begging without words; the climax came like an earthquake. Luara trembled beneath him, her body shaking in uncontrollable spasms; Rayder came soon after, with a guttural grunt, burying himself in her to the end and marking his name on her soul.

They both lay there, panting, skin sweaty, hearts beating like war drums. Still gasping, Luara let her body fall back against the sofa.

Then a chill ran down her spine: a girl standing at the door stared at her with narrowed eyes, arms crossed and fists clenched. Luara's scream did not come from her throat, it came from instinct — a restrained growl, a warning that was more Nyssara's than hers — and the heat of orgasm turned to ice in a second.

Rayder moved quickly, covering his own body and saying in a tense voice, “Aurie... I didn't know you were back.” The girl hesitated, and as if she were wearing another skin, the anger in her eyes dissolved; her hard face melted into a sweet, almost childlike expression, and her voice came out small, ashamed: “I'm sorry, Uncle Rayder... I just... came a day early. I wanted to surprise you. It's your birthday tomorrow, remember?”

Her voice was sweet, gentle, innocent—but the smell...

“She's lying,” growled Nyssara inside Luara. “She hates us.”

Luara bit the inside of her cheek.

“Wait in the kitchen, Aurie. We'll be right there,” said Rayder with a calm smile, though his eyes were still alert.

The girl left. Rayder sighed, stood up, and reached out to Luara carefully, as if she would break.

“She... wasn't supposed to arrive today.”

Luara sat down, her heart racing.

“Who is she?”

Rayder pulled his shirt over his head and, with a sincere look, began to explain:

“Aurie is the daughter of two warriors from my pack. They died defending the territory in an attack by the Sons of Blood when she was five. Since then... I've raised her as my own.”

Luara finished fastening her bra; her eyes were colder now.

“What are you to her? Father?”

Rayder nodded.

“Like a father. At least that's what I've always tried to be.”

“She doesn't see him as a father,” Nyssara growled in her mind with sudden anger. “Her eyes... don't lie.”

Luara crossed her arms, trying to keep her voice steady.

“Enough. We have no reason to distrust a girl who grew up with him.”

But even as she forced herself to think rationally, a restless shadow grew inside her; not because of Rayder's words or his past, but because of the way Aurie looked at him.