5. THORNE

Chapter 5

THORNE

I'm not thinking. No, I'm thinking, but I'm not thinking of the important things.

I can't. Not with my mate in my arms, kissing me and making such sounds for me. Not with the scent of her arousal for me thick in the air.

She tastes of strawberries and champagne, and I can't get enough.

Mine. She's mine.

My tongue dances with hers as she moans into my mouth, her hands weaving through my hair, gripping tightly and pulling hard. I groan my pleasure into her mouth, my body hardening almost painfully in response to her.

Of course, I can't think straight. She's all I can see, feel, breathe, taste, think.

Elowen.

Her body melts into mine, and her hands wrap around my neck as our tongues dance together. I feel her swollen breasts against my chest and let out a low moan.

My hands slide down to her ass, pulling her against my hips as she slowly, sensually grinds against me.

I can feel her wetness through our clothes.

Fucking hell.

It's driving me crazy.

With a growl, my hands wrap around her thighs, and I hoist her on my hips. She quickly wraps her legs around me, a startled yelp leaving her as I slowly lay her back on the bed and start to pull her clothes off, leaving her naked before me. I pull back to stare at the sensual hotness she is.

Perfection.

My mate is perfection. Her fiery hair and sensual eyes only encourage my desires.

She has beautiful full breasts with hard nipples that are begging to be sucked.

"Goodness, Elowen." I lean down and take one in my mouth, sucking on it while my hand kneads the other.

"Please…" She moans and arches her back, her hands running through my hair. I move to the other nipple, sucking on it hard while my hand tweaks the other.

I move down her body, kissing and licking as I go. I look up at her from between her legs, which she has spread wide open for me, waiting for my touch.

I look up to see she's looking down at me, her eyes dark with desire. "Please," she begs, "please touch me." I smile and slowly run my tongue over her clit, causing her to moan loudly.

I take her clit into my mouth and suck on it hard, causing her to buck her hips. I slip a finger inside of her, finding that she is soaking wet.

For me, all mine.

I start to move my finger in and out of her, slowly at first, then faster as she moans and rocks her hips.

I can feel her getting closer to orgasm, so I slow down, teasing her. She whimpers and tries to grind against my hand, but I hold her still.

"Please," she begs.

"Please, what, darling?" My voice is low, guttural, and almost unrecognizable, even to me.

Her eyes widen and grow dark. "Please make me cum."

"Good girl." I smile and start to move my finger faster, curling it upwards to hit her G-spot.

She moans loudly, and her back arches as she orgasms, her juices flowing out of her. I continue to pump my hand through the orgasm, causing it to last longer.

When she finally comes down from her high, I slowly pull my finger out of her and lick it clean.

Goddess!

My fangs itch in my gums. I need to claim my mate immediately.

She looks at me, her eyes smoldering. "I want you."

And who am I to say no?

I'm crawling over her when we both suddenly freeze.

That scent. Someone is coming.

I snarl toward the door, wanting to scream at whoever it is to leave, but she grabs my arms and shakes her head with wide eyes.

"Elowen, are you here?"

"Y-yes, father." Her voice is soft and breathless, and I finally understand.

I growl with frustration and push myself from her with great reluctance and then stalk toward the window, my hard-on painfully obvious in my dark jeans.

I swing open the window, and just before I jump out, I turn to Elowen. "I'll be back for you."

And then I jump into the cold night.

Sunlight spears through a gap in the curtains, painting a golden stripe across my bare chest.

I groan, blinking it away. My muscles protest as I stretch, a pleasant ache lingering from the previous night.

Elowen. My Elowen.

Her name rolls off my tongue, a secret shared only between me and the rising sun.

Her silky, cascading hair, the scent of wildflowers clinging to her skin, the way her soft moans filled the room...

Then it hits me—the prophecy.

The weight of it settles in my gut like a leaden stone.

And when it's time for the race to come to an end, there will be a savior. The mate that would bear the golden mark of the moon goddess. The new hope for the existence of werewolves.

Only this alpha with the prophecy shall find her…

Elowen is my mate, undeniably so. There's no mistaking the pull, the way my wolf whimpers in agreement whenever she's nearby.

But the prophecy… Can this woman who fills my every thought, whose touch sparks a firestorm within me, truly be the one destined to save the world?

Could she be the fated mate as well?

Throwing back the covers, I pace the room, the knot in the pit of my stomach tightening with each step.

A part of me wants to believe, desperately, that the prophecy and my desires have aligned. That somehow, impossibly, Elowen is both. But another part, the more cautious one, urges me to tread carefully.

I need answers. I need to find out if the woman who stole my heart is also destined to be the key to our survival.

I pad to the bathroom, kicking away my clothes as I go.

The steam from the hot water carries away the remnants of sleep and the lingering scent of Elowen on my body.

I'm not sure I like that.

It washes off her scent but not the memory of her.

My mind keeps replaying her soft, satisfied smile after her orgasm and the way her eyes crinkled at the corners.

Shit.

I scrub harder.

Emerging from the bathroom, I throw on some clothes and, pushing open the heavy oak door, step into the bustling courtyard.

The crisp morning air bites at my skin, a refreshing reminder of the responsibilities waiting for me.

First stop, the healers' den.

Along the way, a gaggle of pups and their chaperone tumble across my path, their playful nips and yips earning a chuckle from me.

They spill over my feet, yipping playfully. I ruffle a few heads, earning me sloppy kisses and excited whines.

Their boundless energy is a welcome distraction.

"Hello, Alpha Thorne." The bigger wolf greets. "My name is Bash. Headed somewhere?" A wolfish grin splits Bash's face.

He's somehow ended up sprawled on a sun-drenched rock, a couple of pups playfully gnawing on his boots.

"Hello, Bash, yes, please, could you show me the way to the healer's den?" I reply, offering a curt nod.

The pups yelp and scatter as I approach. The ones around my feet follow me, their tails wiggling in excitement.

My heart soars with joy at the sight of them. Strong, happy, and playful pups mean a prosperous future for the pack.

"Those darn pups," Bash mutters, brushing dirt off his boots. "Always after my shoelaces." He gives a playful swat at one daring pup who lingers too close.

"The healer is that way." He points and then smiles at me again. "I heard the injured are mending well. The healer said a few more days, and they'll be back on their feet."

"That's good." Relief washes over me, a temporary distraction from my internal struggle.

Thank the goddess.

We can't exactly afford to be down two enforcers with that rogue pack sniffing around like fucking viruses.

And this is why I can't afford to fucking waste time. I need to find the fated mate as soon as possible.

I give a small nod. "Thank you, Bash, you have my gratitude."

Bash claps me on the shoulder, his touch surprisingly gentle. "You're welcome, Alpha Thorne." A glint enters his eyes. "In the meantime, you might want to consider a little stress relief. Anya, our pack's baker, has been baking her sweet honeycakes again, enough to feed the whole pack twice over."

A wry smile tugs at my lips. "Tempting, but duty calls."

"Alright, alright," Bash throws his hands up in mock surrender. "Just looking out for our fearless Alpha. You know, a stressed Alpha makes for cranky pups."

I chuckle, and it lifts the weight off my chest momentarily. "Thank you, Bash. I'll definitely ask around for Anya soon."

"Sure." Bash grins.

Feeling left out of our conversation, the pups whine in annoyance, and I chuckle.

"Careful there, little ones," I say, ruffling a messy head of fur. "Wouldn't want to get yourselves wounded."

One pup, bolder than the rest, bares his tiny teeth and throws himself at my ankles in a mock attack.

I laugh again, the sound echoing through the training grounds. It's a good sound, a reminder of life beyond the looming prophecy.

A few- not so few- minutes later, I finally reach the healers' den, a cozy log cabin nestled amongst the trees. Inside, the familiar scent of herbs mingles with the acrid smell of my two warrior's wounds. Viktor and Bjorn's injuries are taking long to heal.

The old healer, Ellie, fusses over them with gnarled hands. "Slow healing, these Silver Crescent boys," she grumbles, throwing me a grumpy glare.

I freeze, tension flowing through my veins. What does she mean?

But my enforcers don't seem to feel the same tension. Viktor, ever the jokester, even with a bandaged arm, shoots me a sly grin. "Silver Crescent boys know how to fight, dear Ellie, unlike some brooding forest folk who get lost in their thoughts."

She rolls her eyes and smacks his bandage, making him yelp in pain. "Proud, overfed pups, all of you."

"Oww, Ellie!"

What exactly is going on here?

She turns to me and puts her hands on her hips. "Well, are you going to stand there and watch like a creep?!"

I start to see red, "how dare—"

"Forgive her, Alpha. This is Ellie, and this is the way she shows her love. Don't mind her grumpy behavior." Bjorn quickly defends her.

I raise my eyebrows, but the healer seems unimpressed with my reaction to her.

"Well?" she says, "Come sit so I can clean your wounds, or do you need me to baby and coo you to take a seat and stop crowding my space?"

I feel the urge to remind her that the space is big enough that ten more people added couldn't crowd her, but I bite my lips and sit where she points.

She tuts and shakes her head. "Silver Crescent pups…"

"I'm an Alpha, not a pup." I remind her, and she just makes a sound in her throat and removes my shirt.

Her hands are very gentle and nimble compared to her sharp tongue, and the way she massages my shoulders and tends to my wounds makes me tolerate her foul mouth.

By the time she's done, I'm already bantering with her right back.

"When do you think they'll be ready to fight again, pretty Ellie?" I ask, and she scoffs.

"With how lazy they all are, I'd say a whole year."

I snort. "I can only give a month. My lazy Silver Crescent boys need some pampering."

Later that night, the moon hangs beautiful and bright, but frustration claws at me like a ravenous beast.

The day offered no answers and only deepened the tangled mess in my head.

Elowen's smile keeps flashing before my eyes, and there's nothing I can do about it.

She's my mate, and I want her with my every breath.

I run my hands through my hair, tossing and turning in bed. Dear goddess.

I need to clear my head—to feel the wind whipping through my fur and the earth pounding beneath my paws.

Reaching the edge of the forest, I find a secluded clearing bathed in moonlight.

Clothes discarded and folded neatly—a habit ingrained from countless transformations—I focus on the raw, primal energy that courses through my veins. The shift is always exhilarating, a rush of power and heightened senses flooding my being.

Within seconds, fur sprouts, bones crunch and reshape, and I am no longer Thorne in human form but a magnificent midnight black wolf, a creature of pure instinct.

The world explodes in a symphony of scents—damp earth, pine needles, the distant musky tang of a deer.

And then, I take off.

The run is a blur, a joyous release as I tear through the undergrowth, the wind a welcome caress against my fur.

Time stretches and compresses, defined only by the rhythm of my powerful strides. The cool night air soothes the simmering turmoil, offering a fleeting sense of peace.

Then, I catch it—the scent of rushing water. My wolf whines, a playful yearning replacing the earlier urgency. A sudden craving for a swim asserts itself. With an easy lope, I follow the scent, arriving at the base of a moonlit creek.

I hesitate, a human yearning interrupting the primal flow. But the call of the water is too strong. With a mental shake, I shift again. The transformation is smoother this time, almost a dance between human and wolf.

Barefoot, I start to pad toward the water, relishing the cold forest floor and how the water will feel on my body.

And it feels so fucking perfect.

I wade deeper into the brisk pool, the sting a welcome distraction from the churning thoughts in my head.

Elowen's smile flashes in my mind.

The moon dips below the horizon, casting long shadows across the water, and a new scent hits me. It's faint at first, carried on the night breeze, but unmistakable—Elowen.

My wolf stirs within, a low growl rumbling deep in my chest.

The next moment, a figure bursts from the water not ten feet away.

My breath catches—Elowen, her skin glistening with moonlight, a vision of breathtaking beauty.

My body reacts instinctively, a surge of heat flooding my brain and going straight into my groin.

"Thorne?" she gasps, eyes wide with shock. A blush creeps up her neck, mirroring the heat rising in my own cheeks. Her voice, usually so confident, trembles slightly.

"Elowen," I manage, my voice rougher than intended. "I... I didn't know you were here."

She opens her mouth to speak and then stops abruptly, turning, likely to flee. A primal urge to keep her close grips me. "Wait," I blurt out, hand hovering awkwardly near her arm. "May I join you for a swim?"

Well, shit.

My voice sounds pathetic even to my ears, but the alternative—letting her disappear back into the night—is even more unbearable.

Hesitation flickers across her face, then a grudging nod. Relief floods me, a warm wave washing away the initial awkwardness.

Slowly, I wade closer, the cool water a barrier between the burning need in my core and the woman I long to know better.

Tentatively, I reach out, my hand hovering near her arm.

Despite the water temperature, her skin is warm and smooth beneath my touch. Her breath catches at the contact, and for a moment, the only sound is the gentle gurgle of the creek.

Her eyes, the color of twilight, meet mine, holding apprehension and something else—a spark of awareness that I feel myself.

"You shouldn't be here," she whispers, her voice barely audible above the night sounds.

"Perhaps not," I admit. "But fate seems to have other plans." My hand dips lower, brushing against the small of her back. The touch is electric, and her skin prickles.

She takes a step back, but I counter by stepping closer, caging her between me and the rocky bank.

The air crackles with unspoken desire, the moonlight a silent witness to the rising tension. I lean in, close enough to feel the warmth of her breath on my lips.

"Elowen," I murmur huskily.

Her eyes widen a flicker of fear battling with a dawning awareness. Her lips part slightly to speak, but before any words can escape, I close the distance between us.

Our kiss is tentative at first, a brush of lips dotted by the creek water. Then, as if a dam has broken, my control shatters.

I deepen the kiss, exploring the sweetness of her mouth, the taste both innocent and intoxicating. Her body melts against mine, a silent surrender that ignites a firestorm within me.

The cool water laps around us, a stark contrast to the heat building between our bodies. My hands explore the smooth curve of her back, tracing the line of her spine, sending shivers cascading down her skin.

A soft moan escapes her lips, a sound that fuels my desire even further.

But just as quickly as it begins, I pull away. The urgency in her kiss, the way her body presses against mine, is a stark reminder of what I need to do.

I need to check for the mark of the fated mate.

I don't say a word. Instead, I stretch my hand to her and slowly, she takes it.

Then we drift in the cool embrace of the creek, the conversation flowing easier than I expected. Gone is the initial shock—gone is some of the arousal. It is replaced by a sense of comfortable companionship that surprises me.

Elowen speaks of the forest's flora with an infectious passion. She identifies each plant, rattling off their medicinal properties with a confidence that makes my chest swell in pride.

"This nightshade," she points to a cluster of delicate white flowers with dark purple stems, "can be deadly in the wrong hands, but a skilled healer can use it to create a potent pain reliever."

"And this?" I ask, brushing my hand against a spiky thistle.

"Burdock root," she replies softly. "Excellent for treating infections. Ground and mixed with honey, it's a staple in any healer's pouch." Her words spark a memory – pretty Ellie tending to my injured men, the pungent scent of a similar poultice filling the air.

Intrigued, I lean closer. "You seem to know a lot about healing plants. Isn't that typically a healer's domain?"

Elowen meets my gaze, a glint of defiance in her eyes. "Knowledge isn't reserved for a select few, Thorne. Especially when it comes to protecting those we care about." Her quiet strength washes over me.

We continue our conversation, the night deepening around us. She speaks of wolfsbane, its deadly effect on werewolves, and the delicate balance of moonflower, its ability to soothe the savage urges during a full moon.

With every word, my admiration for her grows. She's not just beautiful; she's intelligent and resourceful, and she possesses a quiet strength that hints at a deeper connection to this world, one that might intertwine with the prophecy gnawing at my soul.

As dawn paints the sky with the softest blush of pink, a shiver runs through me.

Not just from the cool water but from a deeper chill that settles in my gut.

We've been talking for hours, it seems, lost in a world of moonflowers and healing poultices.

Elowen's knowledge is vast, and her passion for the forest's secrets is infectious.

The worry gnawing at me since waking has faded, replaced by a sense of comfortable companionship that surprises me.

Suddenly, she glances towards the rising sun. "Oh dear, Thorne, I completely lost track of time. I promised Elara I'd help with the morning bread."

I try to hide my disappointment.

"Of course," I force a smile. "Duty calls." The words sound hollow even to my own ears.

She hesitates, then leans in, brushing a kiss against my cheek. The touch sends a jolt through me, and I groan my pleasure.

"Thank you, Thorne," her whisper is warm against my ear. "For the conversation, and for the... swim." Her cheeks flush a charming pink, and I can't help but grin.

She has to be the fated mate.

As she turns to leave, a primal urge to stop her grips me. But then, with a casual gesture, she pushes her hair aside, revealing the nape of her neck.

My breath catches.

This is it.

Finally. The moment of truth.

The fated mark, a crescent moon swirling with intricate markings, should be there, a beacon on her pale skin.

But it's not.

There's nothing. Just smooth, unmarked flesh. The world seems to tilt on its axis. Disappointment crashes over me, a cold wave threatening to extinguish the embers of hope that Elowen had kindled.

What the fuck is happening?

Elowen is not the answer, after all?

Elowen does not bear the mark, but the pull between us is undeniable.

Is the prophecy a lie, or is there another way to interpret it—one that doesn't negate the powerful connection I feel with my mate?

The path ahead may be shrouded in uncertainty, but one thing is clear – Elowen is not the fated mate I need.