Danae’s POV
Until tonight, I had only seen the Hermes Hotel in magazines.
Marble.
Gold.
The city’s most luxurious address, reduced to glossy photographs I could admire without ever expecting to enter.
Now its manager was escorting us upstairs personally.
No identification, no registration questions.
Caspian’s matte-black card gave us access to the penthouse, and my heartbeat seemed determined to announce how far out of my depth I was.
Neither of us spoke in the elevator.
In the mirrored wall, I caught him watching me.
This wasn’t a polite glance or even simple appraisal.
His attention lingered until my skin tingled beneath it.
I wet my lips without meaning to, and when our reflected eyes met, a sharp awareness passed between us.
I felt like something being hunted.
What unsettled me most was that I wasn’t afraid of it.
Inside the suite, I went to the floor-to-ceiling windows.
The city glittered far below, its familiar streets made strange by distance.
A little dizziness moved through me as I looked down.
“Up here, it almost looks as if you own all of it.”
My voice wasn’t quite steady.
Behind me came the soft movement of cloth as he removed his jacket.
His cufflinks struck a table with a small metallic sound.
In the glass, I watched his shoulders shift beneath his white shirt, every movement controlled and unhurried.
“You can still say no.”
The gentleness in his voice surprised me.
I turned.
Moonlight outlined him in the middle of the living room; the open buttons at his throat revealed tanned skin.
My breath caught before I answered.
“I don’t want to.”
He approached slowly.
My pulse quickened with each step, until the sandalwood of his cologne surrounded me and I could feel his warmth before his hand reached me.
“Why did you choose me?” His low voice seemed to settle inside my chest.
“The name?
Or would any wolf have done tonight?”
He brushed my hair back.
Such a small touch, and still it made my skin burn.
Then the hurt I’d been trying to escape tightened around my ribs.
“Because you aren’t Galen Bryneholm.”
My voice broke on the name.
Caspian went still.
Several things moved across his face too quickly for me to separate them.
“Bryneholm.
The future Delta?”
I bit my lip hard enough to taste blood.
Too much.
I’d already said too much.
“Forget that.” I reached up, tracing the line of his jaw.
“Please.
I don’t want the past in here tonight.”
He moved with a speed that reminded me exactly what he was.
My back met the wall.
His arms enclosed me, his body close against mine, and the warmth between us became impossible to ignore.
“If this is about getting even with him,” he said, a growl beneath the words, “tell me what happened.”
“He cheated.” The confession came out on a breath.
“Our wedding is tomorrow.
Was that what you wanted to hear?”
Pain tangled with the awareness of Caspian pressed against me.
His eyes shone gold in the dimness, and I could feel his heart beating against my chest, fast as my own.
“You were going to be his mate?”
There was possession in the question, though I didn’t know what right either of us had to it.
I tugged my blouse aside to show the unmarked curve between neck and shoulder.
“Look.
Nothing there.
He hadn’t even completed the ceremony.
Apparently I wasn’t worth that much.”
Then Caspian kissed me.
The restraint I’d watched in him gave way to hunger.
His hands caught in my hair, angling my head as his tongue pressed into my mouth.
I held his shoulders, fingers tightening in the fabric, and a moan escaped against his lips.
Sensation ran through me until I could barely keep hold of a thought.
When we separated, we were both breathing hard.
His eyes had gone fully gold.
His gaze lingered on my swollen lower lip, and whatever reservations remained, tonight he wasn’t letting them stop him.
We made our unsteady way toward the bedroom, losing clothes as we went.
With each layer gone, there was less distance between the man from the lounge and the body I was reaching for.
When I stood naked before him, his gaze moved over me, dark with want.
I felt exposed.
I also felt wanted in a way that left no room for pretending otherwise.
His touch could be rough, then unexpectedly gentle.
My body followed his with an ease I hadn’t anticipated, as though we had somehow skipped the unfamiliarity that should have existed between strangers.
His mouth found my neck.
Teeth grazed my pulse.
A strange longing opened inside me, sharp enough that the question escaped before I could weigh it.
“Would you mark me?”
He stopped.
His chest rose against mine while he struggled for control.
I could see the effort in his face before he answered.
“No.
A mark is sacred.
You don’t use it to settle a score.”
“Then don’t hold back.” My nails drew down his back.
“Just help me forget.”
When he entered me, pain caught me by surprise.
I gasped and tightened around the unfamiliar stretch, my nails pressing into his back.
Tears gathered at the corners of my eyes.
A low growl left him, but he held still.
“So tight, little doe.” His voice sounded strained.
He brushed damp hair off my forehead with a tenderness that almost undid me.
“Your fiancé was a fool to give you up.”
He waited for me to adjust.
Shame and defiance warmed my face together; I didn’t want to be ashamed, didn’t want another part of tonight to belong to Galen.
“Keep going,” I urged.
I shifted my hips tentatively, then caught my breath at the sensation.
He moved more carefully after that.
We found a rhythm, his control allowing my body to follow until discomfort yielded to pleasure I hadn’t known how to imagine.
Our breathless sounds mingled.
Each kiss and touch seemed to reach further than it should, the connection between us bewildering in its intensity.
My release came in waves.
I pressed my cry into his shoulder while he shuddered against me, his teeth closing on his own wrist instead of my neck.
No mark.
And yet I felt something forming between us, something I had no language for.
It frightened me as much as it thrilled me.
I couldn’t understand how two strangers could feel so briefly, impossibly connected.
Morning returned me to a room I didn’t recognize.
Light filtered through the curtains and warmed my bare skin.
For a moment, I lay disoriented, aware of the soft sheets and the ache that made itself known whenever I moved.
Then memory began fitting the room around me.
I turned carefully.
Caspian’s back was toward me.
Broad shoulders narrowed to his waist, and red scratches crossed skin that otherwise looked flawless.
My scratches.
Heat spread into my face.
Images returned in quick, intimate fragments: my legs around his waist, his name leaving my mouth, his teeth close to my shoulder.
“Awake, then.”
He hadn’t turned.
His voice was rough with morning and unmistakably amused.
I pulled the sheet higher, my heart accelerating.
“I thought you were asleep.”
Even my voice sounded different, husky enough to embarrass me.
He rolled toward me.
The sheet slipped low on his hips.
His face was serious, but his attention traveled over my exposed shoulders and collarbone with a hunger that made last night suddenly feel very near again.
“Werewolf hearing,” he said.
“With your heart going like that, you could wake the dead.”
I tried for composure.
The warmth creeping down my neck made the attempt feel hopeless.
“I should probably leave.”
His gaze moved to the blood on the sheets.
His nostrils flared faintly, and surprise crossed his face as he drew his conclusion.
“Was last night your first time?”