Chapter Three – The One Who Watches
The forest didn’t speak to most men, but it whispered to him.
Caius moved like part of the land itself—barefoot on damp moss, sweat slick on his collarbone, the weight of the morning mist clinging to his skin. His dark hair hung in loose waves to his jaw, and a thick line of stubble shadowed his face. The world knew him only as a rogue, a beast exiled for defiance. But before the fall, he’d been royalty.
The true heir.
Born to the bloodline that once ruled the northern kingdom, Caius had been raised with power in his hands and obedience expected of his spine. But even as a boy, he had known the truth: he would never follow, and he would never bow. His wolf had always been wilder than the ones that groomed him.
When the elders tried to force a bond with a highborn female to secure an alliance, he snapped. Walked away from crown, court, and kin. Turned his back on the kingdom and disappeared into the woods with nothing but rage and instinct.
That was ten years ago.
And yet, the land still remembered him.
He knelt by a stream now, cupping water into his mouth, eyes half-lidded as he tasted the wind. Something was off. Something pressing against his instincts.
Not a mate. Not a bond.
Just the emptiness.
Caius had grown used to solitude. But there were nights—even now—when the silence made him grind his teeth. Nights when he ached for someone to touch without needing words. Nights when his wolf clawed at the inside of his skin with a need that had nothing to do with fate.
He left the forest just before sundown, heading toward the nearest village—the one place he still allowed himself to be known.
The house of ill repute stood at the edge of the crooked street, its lanterns glowing amber behind velvet-draped windows. He pushed the door open and nodded at the madam, who barely glanced up. She knew why he came.
She was waiting upstairs.
Cassia.
The only person who didn’t ask questions. The only one who didn’t flinch when his hands shook or when his voice dipped into something not quite human.
She sat cross-legged on the bed, bare skin glowing in the candlelight, eyes dark with knowing.
“Rough night?” she asked, tilting her head.
He didn’t answer. He crossed the room in two strides and grabbed her by the throat, pushing her back against the wall. Her breath caught—not in fear, but in anticipation.
“Tell me to stop,” he growled.
She smiled.
“Never.”
As he pinned her, he tore at his belt with one hand. The leather snapped loose, and he yanked his pants down with a growl. His cock sprang free—long, thick, angry. Even after all the times she’d taken it, Cassia’s thighs clenched involuntarily.
She braced for what she knew was coming.
Because Caius didn’t make love.
He obliterated.
He didn’t speak. Just gripped her hip, hauled her leg up, and shoved himself inside her in one brutal thrust that made her cry out, her back arching in a violent jolt of pain-laced pleasure.
His hand tangled in her hair, pulling her head back as his mouth found her throat, biting—not to mark, but to ground himself. To hurt something. She whimpered, her fingernails digging into his arms as he started to move.
Hard.
Unrelenting.
His thrusts had no rhythm—just punishment. Just grief. Just fire.
Her moans became broken, choked things. “Caius—fuck—”
He grunted, chest heaving against hers, every muscle in his body locked tight as he drove deeper, faster. He grabbed her throat again, pressing her against the wall until her toes barely touched the ground.
She gasped. “Don’t stop.”
He couldn’t if he tried.
His wolf had the reins now—feral, hungry, agonized. He fucked her like she was the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth, like his release would somehow hollow out the ache inside him.
The room filled with the sound of flesh, of snarling breath, of desperation.
Cassia’s climax hit like a snap of lightning, her scream muffled by his hand when she tried to cry out too loud. Her whole body shuddered as he kept going, chasing his own edge like a predator with nothing else to live for.
When he came, it wasn’t a release—it was a snarl, a brutal clenching of every bone, a war cry in the dark.
He stayed inside her, panting, forehead resting against her shoulder, sweat dripping down his spine.
Neither of them spoke for a long while.
Then her hand, gentle as breath, smoothed through his hair.
“You always come back to me like you’re dying,” she whispered.
He didn’t answer.
Because maybe, in all the ways that mattered, he was.
Cassia cradled his head for a moment longer, fingers combing through his damp hair. The silence between them wasn’t awkward—it never was. But tonight, it felt heavier, like the darkness in him was bleeding into the room.
"You don’t have to keep doing this alone, you know," she said softly. "Whatever it is you’re running from—whatever it is that eats at you—I’d stay. You wouldn’t even have to ask."
Caius shifted, pulling back slightly to look at her. His expression didn’t change, but his jaw flexed.
"I don’t know how to share what’s inside me," he muttered.
Cassia smiled sadly. "You don’t have to share it. Just let someone carry the weight beside you."
He shook his head once. "You deserve better. Not this. Not me."
"I’m not looking for better. I’m looking for real. And you—Caius—you’re the rawest, realest thing I’ve ever touched. Even when you come apart. Especially then."
He didn’t answer, but his hand brushed over her ribcage, slow and reverent. Something tender passed through his eyes, so quick it barely registered before his walls slammed back into place.
"You’d hate what I become in the light," he said.
"Then stay in the dark with me," she whispered. "At least there, I see you."
His throat bobbed, and for the first time in a long time, Caius wondered if maybe solitude was just another form of surrender. He pressed a kiss to her collarbone—soft, almost human.
But when he spoke again, his voice was hollow.
"This life only ends one way, Cass. And I won’t drag you down with me."
She didn’t argue. She just held him tighter.
Because she already knew—she was going with him anyway.