Chapter 14 - Zane

The instant her voice floods through the pack bond, my heart drops.

Zane, save me!

It feels like I’ve been punched in the gut, and before I even know what’s happening, I’m out of my chair, moving. The clinking of silverware, the low murmur of conversation, the music—it all fades into white noise as I push through the crowded dining room, almost knocking over a waiter carrying an ice bucket, eyes scanning for her.

Her fear curdles as it reaches for me, tugging me toward her. I weave out of the tables to the hallway leading to the bathrooms, my eyes narrowing, pulse pounding in my skull.

The second I turn the corner, I see him—tall, broad, and looming over her like a predator. He’s got her pinned against the wall, his face inches from hers, voice low, but I hear the threat in it even from here. The neckline of her blue dress is slightly askew, hair mussed and coming loose from its intricate topknot, pieces of it hanging around her face. She looks terrified.

Rage surges through me.

I want to break his neck.

My vision tunnels and I’m inches away from letting the wolf take over.

But I don’t. I can’t.

Stay in control. Act. Act, Zane, it’s all you’re good for. Act, and she stays safe .

I take a deep breath, forcing my pulse to steady. I’ve worn this mask for years—the calm, smooth-talking Zane who can charm his way out of anything. I slip it on now like armor.

I stride forward casually, with just enough of a swagger to seem like I belong.

“Hey,” I call out, my voice light but hard enough to be taken seriously. “Everything alright here, honey? Who is this?”

The guy freezes, his head snapping toward me. He doesn’t move from Maisie, his hand still too close to her for my liking. But he’s caught off guard. Good. That’s all I need.

“Back up.” His voice is low, a growl of warning. He’s sizing me up now, trying to decide if I’m a threat.

“That’s my fiancée,” I say obliviously, as if I don’t know the danger we’re in. “What’s going on, Sweetie?”

I step closer, casually placing my arm around Maisie’s waist and tugging her gently away from the wall. She melts into me, her whole body trembling like a live wire. But she plays her part, burying her face against my shoulder, acting the role of a shaken fiancée perfectly.

“I don’t know what he wants,” she wails—and damn, she’s good at it. “Just give him the money and let's go, please!”

“We were just about to head back to our table,” I say with put-on concern, keeping my eyes locked on his. “Do we have a problem, Dude?”

He doesn’t answer right away, his gaze flicking between Maisie and me. He’s weighing us up. I know, then, that he doesn’t have a clue who we are. He expected her to break.

Pride swells in my chest. She didn’t break.

“Look,” I say, my voice still too high, too carefree. I want to sound far drunker than I am. “We don’t want any trouble, man. Can you just back off my girlfriend?”

In the following moments, I realize something important: Maisie is a genius.

She pulls back from my shoulder and smacks my arm, hard. “ Fiancée ! You said you wouldn’t make that mistake anymore!”

I learned a long time ago that deep cover is just like improv. You have to think on the fly. “Baby, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean—you know I’ve been drinking.”

“That doesn’t change anything!” Her voice is about an octave higher than usual and so screechy that I think we’ll probably both go home with a headache. “Markus, you haven’t even changed your relationship status on your profile yet—”

The brutish man backs off silently as she cries, looking faintly repulsed. He nods once in my general direction and disappears down the hallway, mumbling something that might be an apology.

Yes. He’s convinced.

Maisie keeps arguing with me until we’re certain he’s gone, and keeps hissing about how I probably didn’t even want to propose to her until we’re back at our table, drawing stares. Neither of us cares. If we need to make a scene to get out of here unscathed, that’s what we’ll do.

“I’m so sorry,” I keep repeating as I call the cheque, pay, and tip. “Baby, you know I love you so much, don’t you? Of course I do, Sweetie…”

The second we step outside, the cool night air hits my skin, and I release a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. Maisie is still pressed against me, still shaking slightly. I can feel her pulse racing.

We walk silently to the car, but the tension between us is almost unbearable. I don’t let her go yet. We both know how close we came to disaster.

Once we’re safely inside the car, I glance at her, my fingers white-knuckled on the steering wheel.

“You okay?” I ask, my voice barely steady.

Maisie nods, though her face is pale. She’s not crying, but she looks like she’s holding it all together by a thread.

“Yeah,” she whispers. “I’m fine. I hit my head. It doesn’t hurt anymore.”

“I’ll check it out when we get back.”

She nods, folding her arms around herself, shuddering. On a whim, I wrap my jacket around her shoulders and crank the heating. She says nothing, not reacting. The smell of her fear drowns out the scent of her perfume.

I put the car in gear, pulling out of the restaurant’s parking lot. The city lights of Stratfell blur past the windows as it begins to rain.

I should’ve protected her better. I should’ve gotten to her sooner. Rage still simmers beneath the surface, but I bury it because there’s no space for that now. We survived—thanks to Maisie’s quick thinking and phenomenal acting, we kept the cover intact. That’s what matters.

Rain taps softly against the windshield as I drive. When we finally pull into our building’s parking garage, I turn off the engine but sit there for a moment, staring at the dimly lit space.

Maisie’s breathing beside me is shallow. I can sense the storm of emotions within her swirling, seeming to consume the inside of the car.

“Let’s get upstairs and check that head of yours,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady as I unbuckle my seatbelt.

She nods but doesn’t meet my eyes as we step out of the car. The cold air bites at my skin, but it does little to dull the heat of what just happened, the way it has burned us for good. Maybe now, Maisie will want to be done with this whole thing. Maybe now we’ll go back to being strangers.

I lead her to the elevator. Once inside the condo, I shut the door behind us, the weight of the world following us inside to settle in our space. I flick on the lights, and the glow reveals her pale face as she hovers at my side, the slight tremor of her hands.

“Sit,” I instruct, motioning to the couch. She obeys, perching on the edge as if the fabric might snag her.

I grab a damp cloth from the kitchen, running it under cold water before returning to her side.

“Let me see,” I say softly, gently tilting her chin up. My fingers brush against her skin, and the contact sends a jolt through me, igniting a spark I’ve been trying to ignore. There’s a small bruise on her forehead, a reminder of how close we came to losing everything, and the tiniest scrape.

“I’m fine,” she says, but the tremor in her voice betrays her. “Really, Zane.”

I press the cloth gently against the evidence of her ordeal. As I do, I feel the heat of her skin under my hands. It occurs to me that I’m too close to her now. I can hear the faint whistling of her breath in and out of her nose. Getting faster.

“Maisie,” I whisper, my heart pounding as I meet her gaze. There’s something faintly wild in her eyes, the wildness of someone pushed to the limits of their endurance.

When she leans in to kiss me hard, it isn’t a surprise.

I kiss her back. The wet cloth drops out of my hand and lands on the couch beside us. I run my cold hand through the back of her hair and feel her shiver, arching up into me. Her hot mouth opens, and I kiss her more deeply—

She pulls back sharply. My eyes snap open, and I see her shaking her head rapidly, reddened lips parted, overcome with something I can’t identify.

“Maisie,” I murmur. “Why’d you stop?”

She swallows hard. I see her gaze flick between mine and my lips.

“Because nobody’s watching,” she whispers, the words hanging in the air.

And I want her, I realize. I want her so badly that I’d kill to have her.

I surge forward and kiss her hard. Her hands flutter to my chest and she grips the front of my expensive shirt, pulling me in. I wrap my arms tight around her, smelling her soft perfume, sinking into the heat of her lips. Her fingers trail over my throat and down my chest, and suddenly, she’s struggling with the buttons of my shirt, and I’m hefting her into my arms as she gasps into my mouth, carrying her toward my bedroom.

The world narrows to just us, the sound of our heavy breaths and frenzied heartbeats. With a forceful kick, I shut the door behind us as we stumble into the dimly lit bedroom. My lips never leave hers as I lay her on the bed, her hair fanning out across my pillow like a dark halo. Her dress clings to her curves, accentuating every inch of her flawless body.

I can’t wait to take it off.

Maisie's ample chest rises and falls rapidly as she gazes up at me with longing and uncertainty in her eyes. One of her soft hands touches my face as I pull away. Her swollen lips and her bright, alert eyes are my entire world at that moment. She’s all I need.

She whispers my name, her voice rough with anticipation. I want to make her scream it.

I have to know. "Are you sure?"

Her back arches from the bed, and she kisses me again. I feel the press of her chest against mine, and it’s all the answer I need. Consumed by a ferocious lust, I reach up and tear her dress in half down the middle, down from the sloping neckline that has drawn my eye all night. The hissing of it splitting in half cuts the air, and Maisie moans openly as I squeeze her breast in my hand, nipping at her bottom lip, one of her hands lowering toward my ribs to hold me tight to her.

One of my knees slides between her legs. She buckles up into me. I almost come right there. She’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.

I do away with my shirt, then my pants. Maisie kicks off her high heels, and I sink back down into her, kissing her, then her throat, then her chest, which makes her gasp aloud.

"Yes," she groans as I nip gently at the side of her breast, then her nipple, hands caressing the soft skin of her chest.

One of her hands travels toward my crotch. Her warm fingers fiddle with the waistband of my boxers, splayed against my cold skin. I'm covered in goosebumps and cold sweat. Her body is warm in the chill of the space, the impenetrable cold of this place we've occupied as if living in separate worlds.

I touch her lower stomach and feel her flinch beneath me. "Maisie?"

"Don't stop," she gasps, though I can see the hesitation in her eyes. I let my fingers linger there, just barely touching her skin, but I stop moving, leaning back enough that I can look her in the face, though our faces are still so close that I can feel the gentle warmth of her breath against my mouth.

"You okay?" I ask.

Maisie shudders. For a moment, I think she might even cry. She looks thoroughly overwhelmed.

"I'm okay," she confirms, and her eyes are dry despite her clear emotion. "I'm not used to this."

Hell, I'm not used to feeling this way either. I can relate. "Tell me if you want me to stop," I make her promise. Then I kiss her again, slow and lavishing, hands firm around her hips, holding her lower body to mine. She sinks against the pillows, tongue against the back of her teeth, a soft, breathy moan in her throat.

Gently, I lower my hands to the front of her hips, then her entrance, grazing the soft skin there with my fingertips, feeling her shiver with the sensation.

“Go slow,” she murmurs against my lips. “It’s my first time.”

Fuck. I nod. I’ll go as slow as she wants. I'd stay here all night if she asked me to.

I swipe my thumb across her clit, rubbing her until she's wet, until the moisture of her has made my fingers sticky. Her soft, high moans are driving me crazy. She's so out of breath, these tiny, helpless sounds slipping from between her parted lips, head tipping back against the pillows. She has one hand braced against my hip, and as I touch her, she reaches into my boxers to touch me and the sight of her, flushed and taken apart beneath me, reaching to pleasure me, almost drives me to do something regrettable.

I bring her right to the edge, then back off, then slowly push one finger into her as gently as I can. I caress her chest with my other hand. I want to make this as pleasurable as possible for her.

"Zane," she moans my name, thick with need. I can feel it radiating off her skin, the scent of her need for me thick as gas in the room, filling the air between us. I know it in that moment: she needs me as much as I need her.

Just as breathless as her, harder than I've been all year, I sit back, pulling my boxers down, then lean low again to kiss her, her body braced between my knees, her chest pressed to mine. She kisses me enthusiastically, desperately, wantonly.

When we part, I pause and lock eyes with her, searching for any hesitation or doubt as I align with her entrance. But all I find is raw desire. Without needing to speak, we both know what we want.

When I make love to her, I go slow, even when it feels like torture. I want to treasure her, want to show her no one else will ever make her feel like I can. She’s everything, I think, as I watch her tip her head back and groan, shaking, eyes wide, face shining, nails digging into my back as I drive slowly inside of her. She’s everything I want.

I bring her to the edge, fingers rubbing slow, firm circles over her clit, kissing and nipping her neck with my teeth until she's gasping, begging. Just as she's on the edge of a shaking, screaming orgasm, I slow, holding her on the ledge of pleasure, and pump slow inside her, seating myself there, taking a moment to look down on her sweat-soaked face, the incandescent shine of her eyes in the darkness. I realign my hands around her waist, fingers sinking into the soft, supple flesh there, and kiss the top of her stomach softly, a motion with such tenderness that it even surprises me.

She moans my name. When I resume rubbing her clit, sticky fingers sinking between her legs with surety, she groans, then gasps, then lets out a sound like a yelp, mouth opening in a near-silent exclamation of bliss. At almost the same moment, bottoming out deep inside her, I climax, head falling into the hollow of her throat, her soft, dark hair tickling my face.

She clutches me as the last shuddering quakes of her orgasm tear through her, as I pull out and collapse at her side, arm thrown over her, holding her body to mine. After a moment, Maisie shuffles in the darkness to lie nearer to me, pressing her body tight to my chest. I hold her as we both come down, neither of us yet able to breathe evenly, lost in the scent and feel and sheer, unencumbered reality of one another.

In the darkness of my room, where I have spent all this time dreaming of her, I lie beside her, one arm under her, and listen to her breathing slowing until it evens out. I count each and every one of her breaths.

I stay up for hours like that, trying to believe she’s real, head spinning with regret, confusion, and a strange, empty sense of loss—as if something has gone away.