He stands, his muscles tensing, the struggle plain in his posture. “I think... I need to clear my head. I should check on the club and handle some things in the city.”
“Go, then,” I spit out, feeling the sting of tears in my eyes. “I wouldn’t want you to be caught with jailbait.” Not that I am. Legally, I am an adult; it’s just an unspoken law for she-wolves to wait until they have their wolves, a way of ensuring women remain pure while the men can do what they want. He knows it, and I know it. They say it’s law, however it’s not written formally. If I can vote on city stuff and within the pack councils, I am a legal adult. Getting your wolf is kind of like hitting puberty, or in our case, adulthood, in a sense. It’s frowned upon since the exchange of fluids can influence she-wolves just like saliva can force a sire bond when healing. Yet I never sired to Deacon, and now being with Zayn for the last few months, I know my feelings for him are real, so is it so wrong?
“Damn it, Cleo, that’s not fair,” he growls, the sound almost inhuman, his wolf clearly close to the surface.
He turns toward the door, and my hand shoots out to grab his arm, a desperate attempt to get him to stay.
“Zayn, please—”
He spins around with such force, I lose my footing, and it’s not just Zayn who faces me—it’s Zarek, too. His wolf is there, just beneath the surface, with silver eyes blazing with an intensity that nearly knocks the breath from my lungs.
“Let go, Cleo,” he growls, the deep rumble resonating with a power that’s both terrifying and enthralling.
“Zayn…” The word escapes as a gasp, my fingers still clutched around his firm bicep, feeling the tremors of the beast within him.
He shakes his head, a shudder rippling through him, a battle unfolding before my eyes. “I can’t stay. I’m struggling to keep control.”
“Wait.” My plea hangs between us, drenched in desperation.
“No. It’s better if I go. There’s something I need to do, anyway. I need to check on the club after the rogue attack.” His voice is strained, coated with the effort of restraint.
“Take me with you,” I insist, the thought of being left behind adding another layer to the rejection already weighing me down.
“Damn it, Cleo, I need to be away from you for a damn moment.” He pulls away, and the absence of his touch feels like ice spreading through my veins.
“If you want me to leave, just say it.” I spit the words out, anger unfurling.
“That’s not it,” he says, yet the conviction I crave isn’t there. “Right now, I can’t trust myself around you, not with Zarek, this close to the edge. He marks you, there is no going back; I have already marked you. Isn’t that enough until you get your wolf?”
“Fantastic.” Bitterness taints my tone—a cocktail of hurt and defiance. “So I’m to be punished because your wolf can’t handle proximity?”
“Dammit, Cleo, it’s not like that!” Frustration creases his brow. “I’m trying to protect you.”
“From what? From you?” My laugh is hollow and void of humor. “Or are you protecting yourself from me?”
“Stop twisting my words!” He’s shouting now, the walls echoing with the sound of his annoyance.
“Fine!” The finality in my voice scares even me. “Go check your club. Do what you have to do.” I wave him off, moving toward the bathroom to finish my shower.
“Enough, Cleo. I get your wolf is close to coming forward, and it’s making you unreasonably angry, but I have mine,and you’re pushing his buttons.” It’s a warning wrapped in resignation, and it stings more than any rebuke.
“Just go, Zayn,” I tell him, and he moves toward the walk-in closet to get changed.
He pauses at the door, his silhouette a dark reminder of everything we’re on the brink of losing. Without another word, he walks out, and I’m left with the echo of our heated argument and the fear that this time, he will tell me to leave. The moment I hear the door slam shut downstairs, guilt and humiliation slam into me violently, and I wish I could take back everything I said.
Chapter 18
• Zayn •
The thumping bass of the club vibrates through me as I push my way through the sea of bodies. The club’s neon lights are a pulsating heartbeat. My wolf, Zarek, snarls beneath my skin, restless, yearning to go back to our mate.
“Zayn!” Vance’s voice cuts through the noise as I reach the bar and order a drink. His dark hair is a stark contrast against the shimmering backdrop of our club. I nod at him, signaling to talk in private. I down the drink in one go, feeling the burn trail down my throat, and the girl behind the bar slides me another one, before I head toward the VIP section upstairs, where my office is.
We weave through the crowd to the quieter back office, the scent of musk and alcohol clinging to the air. Once the door shuts, the sound muffles into a distant throb.
“You alright? You look furious,” Vance says, leaning against the desk. The dim light casts shadows across his concerned face. “What happened?”
I sink into a chair. The weight of my restraint is heavy on my shoulders. “Cleo and I had a fight.” He crosses his arms. “I want her to see the bond for herself. To feel it, to recognize it, without me forcing it upon her.”
