Chapter 7

Briar May

They stopped for the night, not at some rundown motel in the middle of nowhere, but at a five-star high rise in the middle of Omaha.

She had to trust that Hades knew what he was doing. He’d ditched their stolen car in an alley in the middle of the city, but not before a stop at a gas station to clean up and buy a large tote bag to hide his axes in. He might look like a warrior from a bygone age, but it didn’t help to advertise the fact that he actually was—a warrior that is. From his city knowledge and organizational skills, he was clearly a man of the twenty-first century. Then they popped into a shopping mall, and he bought them both outfits. They’d found another huge gas station and changed in the massive restrooms.

Hades cleaned up well.

He didn’t seem the least bit exhausted or worse for wear, but that stuff was reserved for mortals, and Hades was proving that ink on his chest wrong again. He didn’t seem the least bit human, not even when he undid his braids and combed his hair to either side and neatly secured it in a ponytail at the nape of his neck. His hair covered the tattoos on the side of his skull and the black suit he’d purchased did the rest. The beard even looked half respectable. The overall appearance was hipster Viking, which surprisingly enough, didn’t look too out of place in this part of town.

She’d done her best to finger comb her hair. The skirt, blouse, and heels Hades bought were all exactly the right size. It was appearances that got them through the front door. She’d sat on the red velvet sofa in the ritzy hotel lobby with its gold and red carpeting, massive chandeliers, and all the wood paneling, as Hades smoothly presented a credit card and photo ID, both of which were obviously fake, unless he really was called Mr. Brandon Smith.

Their hotel room was on the top floor. She’d expected the same ritz and old Hollywood style glamour of the lobby and was taken aback at the stark white and black modern minimalism. The room didn’t have anything more than any regular room did, but it was pristinely clean, with huge windows, thick black velvet drapes, white tiled floor, a California king bed with one of those upholstered headboards built right into the wall that went far past the borders of the bed, two square nightstands and crystal lamps in the same shape, and a huge TV mounted to the wall. There was an ultramodern looking bar on the other side with assorted waters, sodas, and beers. The bathroom was a monstrosity, larger than her whole cabin back at home. It had a walk-in glass shower with water that fell from the ceiling, a huge square bathtub, two sinks, and a separate area for the toilet that closed off from the rest of the bathroom.

The first thing Hades did was stalk around the room, checking every corner and cupboard, and then he yanked the drapes closed at the windows. The hotel had fourteen floors and they were right at the top. He’d splurged on the penthouse suite, no doubt hoping that would keep them safe, or at least that they’d be able to see their enemies coming. The elevators used a keycard to gain access to all floors, and all the doors were locked in the stairwell—Hades checked that before they’d even gone into the room—but she could tell he was still worried it wouldn’t be enough.

Honestly, she should have been afraid, but she was so exhausted it was hard to do more than throw herself on the bed fully clothed and let out a moan because the mattress and all those layers of sheets and a huge feather duvet felt so good.

It seemed like forever since she’d been taken captive—she’d been missing for almost three days now. What would her brother Kieran, the pack alpha, be doing? The twins would have made it back safely and told everyone about the band of marauders. Would they have a search party looking for her?

Her eyes glanced around the room and alighted on Hades, who appeared to be staring off into the distance, lost in his thoughts. Once more she took in his figure, even dressed in a suit she could see his hard, muscled form and the way the jacket clung to his arms.

Once more her body betrayed her, and she felt a flush of heat run through her.

What was it about this man?

She knew they’d only stopped for the evening because she couldn’t go any further.

Hades made no mention of it, but he’d clearly noticed how exhausted she was from walking half the night and the rest of the morning when he’d caught up with her. Her feet might not have been shredded, but they were aching. She’d never felt so exhausted in all her life.

His stopping even when he wanted to keep on indicated he was human despite everything.

“Have a bath,” he instructed over his shoulder. He pulled out a chair in front of the desk area that was part of the dresser thing along the wall and sat down. He was still graceful, but she sat up when she saw his shoulders slump inward slightly on his bad side. “I’m going to sit here and get a plan together.”

“The plan is to go back to my pack. I’ll make sure you’re okay after that.”

She felt like he wanted to laugh at her or mock her naivety, but he didn’t. His large, rough hands came together on the surface of the desk. He didn’t question whether he could trust her or not, but maybe whatever her family would do to him was still better than what his pack would do.

His rough sigh caught her off guard. There was definitely something wrong with his side. He was hurting and he was so used to hiding it, he wasn’t even going to look after himself.

She’d watched him sleep in that little farmhouse, and while he didn’t look comfortable, he did look peaceful. He lost the scary edge he’d perfected when he was awake. In those hours while she ran through scenarios and ended up changing her mind and deciding that fleeing was better than staying with him and fighting it out together, she’d memorized every scar on his chest, every muscled detail, every vein and every tattoo.

She hadn’t been able to stop looking at him.

No matter what excuses she gave herself, she knew that was the real reason she’d fled. She was supposed to be afraid of Hades. She was supposed to hate him. She wasn’t supposed to stare longingly at his body until she was burned to ash with her desire to touch him, to taste him, to teach him that a touch could be tender and sweet instead of brutal and breaking. She thought she could make her way home, so she’d fled out into the night, trusting her sense of the stars to put her on the right path. If only she could have found a house and begged to use their phone. She could have called her family.

She was stupidly relieved now that Hades got to her before she found anyone. Stupidly glad that he’d picked a place so remote and so far removed that it was hours of walking before they’d seen another house.

But now she was in a room with a phone. She could place any call she wanted.

She knew she wasn’t going to. Her brother was understanding, but understanding only went so far. If she called, then he might think she was coerced and increase whatever measures he had taken to find her, putting both herself and Hades at risk. Better to just arrive so he could see her, and sense that she was unafraid of this man, that they had both returned willingly. She was going to trust this man to get her back home and he had to trust that she’d do right by him when she did. That was their fate. That and that alone She had no right to be looking at his tense position now, the muscles straining to keep him upright when he was clearly in pain.

She stood up, but she didn’t go to pour water into the bath. She walked to him instead. He spun around before she got there and caught the hand she’d innocently extended to set on his shoulder by the wrist. His grasp wasn’t light, and she winced. He released her immediately but didn’t apologize.

“You’re still hurt. Let me see.”

He shook his head, dismissing her. “Go bathe. You’re filthy.”

She ignored the cutting words and the tone meant to wound. “Please. Hades. Let me see.” She reached out again and this time he didn’t shove her hand away. She saw all the pain in his eyes that he couldn’t hide. Was he really even trying? He let her pull the hem of the expensive button-up shirt out of his suit pants. They rode on his muscular hips like they were tailored just to show off the ridiculous V of his lower abs.

The stitches were still holding, but the whole thing looked inflamed, an angry slash of bright pink against the blacks and grays of the ink.

“It still hasn’t healed.”

“Shifters don’t heal wounds of this magnitude that quickly.”

She wouldn’t know. She’d never seen anything like this. If someone in her pack hurt themselves badly, they went to their healer, their new alpha’s mother-in-law, Brooke Wind. She’d been healing the wolves in the area for decades and she was so good that most of the time, a hospital wasn’t needed. Hospitals were dangerous. Pain, the drugs, being in the hands of humans who didn’t know their secret, being operated on or knocked unconscious—it all made it very hard to keep the wolf in check. It also made it hard to keep their secrets, while a wound like the one on Hades’s stomach looked regular, any doctor would have noticed that the healing was accelerated. That’s if they hadn’t already noticed the abnormal heart rate or bloodwork.

“You’ve been rough with your body before. You should know, I guess. You’d tell me if something was wrong on the inside, wouldn’t you?” She looked back up into his face and saw the too bright way his eyes shone. Yes, he was in pain.

“I’m fine. It’s holding together. It’s just going to take time.”

She should have lowered his shirt and taken that bath she so desperately longed for. Instead, the dormant sparks that had been building inside her for what felt like a lifetime burst into flame at the sight of his body. He didn’t have a vulnerable spot on him, but she was staring right at one of the body’s most vulnerable spots.

Briar May planted her hand on Hades’s hip and leaned forward. Her lips met his skin right near the wound before either of them knew what she was doing. He jerked like he’d been stabbed again. His fingers fisted in her hair, both hands, dragging her face up.

“What do you think you’re doing, little wolf?”

“I…” She didn’t know. She had no answer for him. Except that she wanted more. More of the dark spice of him on her tongue. More of the salty sweat she tasted. He hadn’t showered, but she wanted him like that, craved him, musky and masculine and dirty.

The way he was looking at her was dirty. It was fucking filthy. He didn’t even bother to hide it. The raw desire. He was a hard man, barely human. He was a killer. Trained like he’d been born that way. There wasn’t anything soft about him right down to his heart and spirit. His wolf was probably a rabid thing, bloodthirsty and vicious. And there she was, sweet and innocent little Briar May. She wanted the words from him she knew would be dirty. She wanted him to command her to touch him. She wanted his permission in the form of harsh words spoken in guttural tones, she wanted to be dominated by him—and she had no idea where this came from. Despite how they had met, despite the fact that he had taken her captive, she knew deep inside that he would never harm her, and she could trust him with her life.

She wanted to dominate him too, own his body and soul, mark him, and take him as her own.

At thirty-nine she was a virgin and she literally had never been kissed. She only knew half of what she imagined because she’d read it in books.

She pushed back the burning humiliation she felt at her own innocence and gave in to what she wanted to do most, what her very instincts were guiding her to do.

She dropped down to her knees. Her hands bracketed his hips, her fingers splayed over warm skin and hard muscle. His hands weren’t soft, but he was soft there, at his sides. Still rigid and rock hard, but his skin was velvet smooth.

What she was going to do was wrong. Sinfully wrong. This man was the devil, but then, wasn’t she already living in hell? She might not even make it back to her pack. Did she want to die knowing that she’d done nothing at all in her life?

That’s not true. I’ve done everything anyone expected of me. I’ve helped, healed, listened, and followed instructions. I’ve been a good girl, a good woman, a good daughter, sister, and friend. I’ve made sure my wolf is always perfectly under control.

She’d done all the things she’d ever been asked, everything everyone ever wanted of her, but she’d never done a thing for herself. She barely left her pack lands. It felt like she hadn’t truly lived a minute in her life until this man stormed into it and took her. He should have taken her choice and her free will, but he hadn’t. He wasn’t truly her captor. She’d feared he would hurt her, but he’d sacrificed his own body to keep her safe.

She wanted him. It was that simple. She’d known it immediately. He might not have been the mate she ever imagined, and maybe he never would be her mate, but fate had already decided. Her body already decided. The magical parts of her knew that whatever time they had together had to sustain her for the rest of her life.

She didn’t love him. Maybe she never would. He didn’t love her. But this wasn’t about love. Tonight was all about need and instinct.

Briar May undid the button of his pants. Hades’s hand stopped her immediately, covering hers with his rough palms in a firm grasp. The other stayed in her hair and he tilted her face back up to his. She tried to resist, but he kept tugging at her hair until her scalp burned.

“Did I say you could touch me?”

She flushed immediately, her hands trembling under his.

“You think you know what kind of a man I am. You think you’re prepared. You’re not. You’re a tiny mouse and I’m a battle-hardened predator. You start this now and there is no stopping it, you understand?”

“You would take me against my will?”

He cursed under his breath. “I didn’t say that. I’ve never touched a woman unless she wanted me to.”

The thought of him with another woman sent a punch of straight jealousy to her stomach that nearly bowled her over. She couldn’t keep it from her face. He stared hard down at her, clearly seeing it, but not commenting.

“What do I have to do?” She blinked quickly, willing away the heat from her face. She had pale skin, and she could feel the crimson flush burning. “You said you wouldn’t touch me unless I begged. Is that what I have to do? I’m already on my knees.”

“I’m a man, little wolf, not some boy. A man you can’t even begin to comprehend. You’re not ready.”

“I am,” she insisted.

“You have no idea how depraved I am. I kill for money. Did you know that? It started out as something ordered, something I did for my country, but now it’s a job. It’s my profession.”

“If you’re trying to scare me, you don’t. If you’re trying to change my mind, you won’t be able to accomplish that either. I know what I want.”

His hand curled in her hair until she wanted to cry out. “I’m a bastard, Briar May.” The sound of her name on his tongue drawn out like that was so sensual, that she was instantly wet and hot between her legs. “I don’t just like it rough. You can’t comprehend what I like or what I want from you.” He swiped a tear off her cheek and let out a savage groan. “Ah. You see? I like this.”

She watched half in horror and half in fascination as he popped his finger into his mouth and sucked it clean. He watched her carefully as he pulled it away. It came out shiny with his own saliva. Her mouth dropped open. She wanted to take his finger like that. To suck on it. To take him inside her.

“That doesn’t scare me.”

“No?” He inhaled deeply, nostrils flaring, the animal in him more than apparent. “You aren’t just trying to be brave in the hopes that I’ll suck your clit and finger that sweet little pussy and let you call it a night as soon as you come? I can smell how wet you are. Show me.”

“Wh-what?” She tried not to foolishly gape at him.

“Put your fingers in your cunt, Briar May, and show me how wet you are.”

Who talked like that? It should have shocked her, but she found herself reaching between her legs, under her skirt and doing as he asked. She pushed the soaked gusset of her panties out of the way and slipped two fingers through her wetness. She was scared to put them inside herself. She’d never touched herself that way. Instead, she ran them past her entrance. It would be more than enough. She could feel her arousal coating her fingertips.

It made her squirm when she pulled then away and held the glistening evidence up to the light for him. Hades’s grin was nothing short of feral.

“Undo my pants and take me out.”

If that was some kind of test, apparently, she’d passed. She hurried now to follow his command. He looked like a pent-up storm. His eyes were so dark now they were like the angry depths of the ocean. It shouldn’t be possible for them to change like that. It seemed almost unholy.

He fisted her hair again and stared down at her. She was struck by how gorgeous he was. Feral and ungodly, unrealistically, unfairly gorgeous.

She knew real fear when she unzipped him. She pushed down his pants and his boxers, trying not to shake, trying not to let him know that she’d never done this before. She didn’t want to show fear. Her mouth was already watering. She was screaming between her legs, so empty, so wet, throbbing so violently that there was zero doubt she wanted this. She didn’t want him to stop her because he knew she couldn’t handle it.

There was a second of doubt when his cock sprang free, hard and huge. He was thick all around, not just at the tip, ridged with veins. He was glistening wet at the end. She must have hesitated because he used his free hand to stroke down his length.

“Open that sweet mouth.”

She did, trying not to close her eyes, trying not to betray her sudden fears that it was far too big to fit in there, let alone anywhere else.

She opened for him, and he guided himself there. His head rested on her lower lip. He didn’t push in slow and sweet. He didn’t command her to lick him or ply the tip of him or taste him. He surged forward, filling her entire mouth. She felt him hit the back of her throat in the next instant and she was so afraid that this was how she’d die. She’d choke and die. There was no air. There was just him, invading her, choking her until she gagged.

She did, and he pulled back. She stared up at him, unbidden tears streaming down both sides of her face. Not tears of sadness or pain, just her body’s reaction to being invaded. Her heart was racing, and her clit was throbbing. She actually liked it.

He hummed low in his throat. “Beautiful, little wolf.”

He was a bastard, but she could see the genuine pleasure in his face. He could feel. He wasn’t a god. He was just a man. A man who did bad things. He lived rough and hard, and it made sense that the only way to reach him like this was to be equally as rough. If this was the only way he could feel pleasure, then so be it. She tempered the urge to be tender with him and instead touched him the way he wanted.

She took the base of him in her hand, curling her fist around him fiercely, surely it must hurt? But she felt his cock jump in appreciation. His eyes widened a fraction and when she grabbed his balls, carefully balancing them in her palm, his head tipped back. She licked him there first, the skin so soft and almost fragile that she had to hold back the absurd urge to laugh. She sucked one into her mouth. He made a feral noise that encouraged her that whatever she was doing felt good. She made her way to his cock again, licking along the base of him, then all the way down his shaft. She lapped the salty precum from his tip and then she wrapped her hands around both his hard thighs and took him deep again. She sucked him right to the back of her throat, gagging herself this time. She swallowed the urge to choke. It was her natural reaction, but he made that sound again, that feral noise of pleasure, and she realized he liked that.

His hand clamped down on the back of her head and he wasn’t shy about moving. He fucked in and out of her mouth, her nails digging into the skin of his thighs. She took him over and over, swallowing when she felt the urge to gag. She ignored the drool pooling at the corners of her mouth and running down her chin. He’d like that, she thought. She wouldn’t wipe it away.

She used her tongue on him, eager to please, but also because she couldn’t stop herself. She needed more. More of the taste of him. More of those wicked sounds of satisfaction let loose from his throat. The more he moaned and made those noises, the wetter she could feel herself getting. She ran her tongue along the underside of his cockhead, licked him along the slit there, sucked and flicked and took more of him and less and then more of him again as he fucked her deeper, all the way to the back of her throat, over and over.

He pulled out before she was ready for it to be over. Her face was wet with her own saliva and tears. “Where do you want this cock, little wolf? In your mouth? Do you want me to come down your throat? Or do you want it inside that sweet, tight little cunt, fucking you until you’re screaming?”

“I want… I want you inside me.” Fuck, she wanted him more than she had ever wanted anything before. She was feeling things she’d never imagined possible and there was a fire building up in her that somehow only he could extinguish.

His lips curled in a mean, hard grin. “Beg for it, then, little wolf.”

If she’d expected him to be anything less than a bastard about this, she’d been wrong. He’d warned her. She’d wanted to believe there was some kind of softness there. Some kind of humanity. The worst part, the sickest part, the most terrible and humiliating part, was that she still wanted him inside her. She was so empty between her legs, aching so fiercely, that she thought she might die if she begged, and he denied her as part of some twisted game.

“Take off your clothes, Briar May. I’ve decided that you can beg me with your body.”

“H-how do I do that?” she stammered. Too late, she wished she would have said nothing, because that wicked grin only curled up a little higher. He was stupidly beautiful staring down at her. No man should be that cruelly and brutally gorgeous.

“By getting naked and parting your legs. I want you to get on your knees and hold yourself open so I can see how much you want my cock splitting you apart.”

Was it just shock that he was going for? His filthy words worked their way straight to her core and made her tingle. Maddeningly, her fingers were already moving to undo the buttons of her blouse.

“Hades,” she whispered, her tongue so thick that it tripped over the words.

“No.” His hands grasped her blouse and pulledit off. “No, I want my real name on your lips.” There was a split second of indecision, the slightest hesitation. He was trusting her with more than his body and more than his fate. He was going to trust her with his real name. How many people even knew it? Probably none outside his pack, and his pack sounded more like a den of wolves than it did a place of brotherhood. “Castor.”

“Castor,” she repeated, feeling the word leave her lips as if it had been spoken all her life. She was going to ask the significance, but then he suddenly hauled her off her knees and set her down on the bed. She scrambled to her feet, but he was faster. He unclasped her bra and practically tore her skirt down. He stood back and snappedhis fingers right in her face.

“Take off your panties. Let me see how much you desire me.”

As if he didn’t already know. Her cheeks flamed with the knowledge.

He was completely naked, and it was very obvious that he wasn’t the least bit shy about his body. His cock was so hard it stood straight against his hard abs, leaking long, clear strands of precum.

She squirmed out of her panties and got back onto her knees.

“Hold yourself open.”

She didn’t know what he meant. He took her hand and parted her fingers, guiding her hand between her legs. He spread her own hand around her folds and forced them into a V, splitting herself wide. He hadn’t even taken his hand away before he brushed the other over his cockhead, gathering the wetness there and painting it along her lower lip. She couldn’t help but open her mouth. Couldn’t help but squirm and grind against her own fingers and his as she sucked those two hard fingers into her mouth. They were salty against her tongue and almost sweet at the end.

“Beg,” he commanded, his face a harsh picture, eyes boring into her and blazing hot, his fingers still in her mouth.

She did, half choking on him, the sound of her pleading absurd. “Please.” How could he even tell what that word was?

She sucked his fingers harder, rolling her tongue over them, tasting the raw sweetness of him until she was soaking her fingers and his, dripping all over the thick feather duvet on the bed.

“Good little wolf,” he said as he trailed his fingers down her neck, over her collarbone.

She felt a shudder at his words of praise, and he let out a dark chuckle. He traced a path to her breast and circled the nipple standing on end. Of course he wasn’t content just to touch her. He had to pinch her. She gasped and her head tilted back as the pleasure flowed through her. There seemed to be a straight line drawn from her nipple to her core. It was like she’d been lit on fire by a match.

She was still holding herself open for him, but she wasn’t embarrassed. Not even though her entire hand was pretty much soaked with her own juices.

He came back as he pinched her nipple again, fire in his eyes as he bent his head close to her and claimed her mouth. She was ready for him, open to him. Panting and flicking her tongue against his. She challenged him and battled him. His kiss was every bit as hard as him. He grasped her waist and she let him. He laid her back down on the bed and she allowed him to guide her.

He picked up her hand and while he loomed above her, slowly licked and sucked every single finger clean. She couldn’t breathe, it was like he’d cut off her oxygen while she watched him feast on the taste of her. He closed his eyes, making that soft humming noise of pleasure again. And then his eyes opened, and he looked down at her. They burned hot with lust. Desire. He wanted her and she wanted him to take her.

She’d been taught that she should be proud and free. Wolves didn’t own other wolves. A mate stood beside you. But she wanted him to own her in this. She wanted his complete and utter dominance.

He wasn’t a good man. She knew that. He’d stolen her. Kidnapped her. He was impossibly hard, cold, and unfeeling. He wasn’t going to suddenly change into a prince charming with true love’s first kiss. He was still just as gleaming, wicked, and feral. Then again, they weren’t in love. Did true love even exist? Did she want that fairytale crap, or did she want this dark, brutal, inked-up, scarred-up, battle hardened man?

Castor.

“Are you sure, little wolf?” He stared down at her, still perfectly in control.

She let her eyes rake over every inch of his body. He was mortal, but he was also a god. His muscles, his strong limbs, the roped veins, his proud cock, even his scars, they were all gorgeous. She was definitely making a mess of the duvet beneath her, throbbing harder just looking at him.

Good girls didn’t suck a near-strangers cock and yearn for it to happen again.

The Briar May she knew, wouldn’t sell her soul for just five minutes with this devil.

But so what? So what if she wasn’t good or virtuous? She’d been scared all her life. It felt like she’d lived under a shell and in a cage of her own fears and her family’s happiness and love and protection, all without anyone ever meaning to turn her life into one. So what if she was nearly forty and was only just now figuring out what she liked and wanted, and so what if it wasn’t goddamn vanilla flavored?

The fact that Castor asked her if she was certain, before he even made a move to touch her below her bellybutton combusted the remaining shreds of her self-control.

She propped her feet on the edge of the bed and let her knees fall open. She put herself on display for him. He watched every move, his pupils blowing wider and darker. He ran his tongue along his lips like he wanted to devour her, the wolf from those horrible fairytales. In those, the wolf is always the bad guy, the monster, the one to be avoided at all costs.

Well, she was a wolf too, and she knew that no one was all bad or all good.

This man had blood on his hands and on his soul, but she was still going to take him into her body, or at least try. She didn’t know very many things for certain, especially not since she’d been kidnapped, but she knew she was going to die if it didn’t happen.

“You have to tell me, Briar May. I won’t touch you otherwise.”

“You mean beg.”

“I mean give your consent. I want to hear it loud and clear. I want to hear that you understand that what I’m about to unleash on you is going to hurt as much as it’s going to be good. That my brand of pleasure is tainted. It’s dirty and filthy. I’m going to make you come until you beg me to stop, so if you can’t handle that, if you can’t handle a warrior between your legs and inside you, then don’t ask me to start. You go get your clothes and you take yourself into the bathroom and you lock the door, and you stay there until I tell you that I’m myself again and it’s safe to come out.”

He looked so in control. Nothing about him said that he was on the brink of something. She nearly lost her mind and climaxed at his scorching look and those words. The knowledge that she’d already driven him to a point he wasn’t used to reaching was empowering.

“I want you between my legs, Castor. I want you inside me. I want you to fuck me. You have my permission.”

“Do I have your permission to destroy you and remake you?”

Holy shit. Her whole body trembled at that dark, powerful statement. “Are you playing at being a god after all?” He didn’t respond. Just kept his laser focus locked straight on her face. On her lips. Waiting for her response. She nodded and bit down on her lip, then remembered what he’d said. “Yes.”

He was like a whirlwind of ink and muscle and fury, knocking her legs even further apart, dragging her down to the edge of the bed and then arranging her ankles over him as he stood between her spread thighs. She clamped her heels into the muscles of his back and ass, thinking a little manically that she hadn’t even seen what his back looked like.

She barely knew him, and she was already going to do the most intimate thing a person could do with another. He covered her with his torso, so broad and huge that she felt absurdly small beneath him. Whenever he moved at all, it was a treat, watching the rhythms of his body.

Just looking at him made her core clench. She mewled and grabbed his shoulders, scratching red marks into his skin. She was so eager to be filled. He nipped her neck and then her chin, her lips, before he took her mouth in a kiss that felt more like it was meant to punish and destroy, but she wanted to be punished. She wanted to be destroyed and rebuilt like he’d said.

She clung to him when she felt his cockhead at her entrance. Wriggling against him didn’t help. He was huge, a blunt weapon that was going to tear her in half. She thought he’d proceed with some caution, that he’d allow her time, but she said nothing, just kept grinding against him, hoping she was doing the right thing, feverish and eager even if she was scared.

He thrust inside, filling her in one swift movement.

It was like being torn in half.

She beat at his back with her fists, dug her nails into his shoulders, tucked her face into the crook of his neck and bit him there, right on his bearded skin, so that she wouldn’t scream.

He grunted at the sting of pain, but didn’t slow. He pulled back and filled her again. It felt like glass shards against her torn flesh. A hot brand shoved inside her that she hadn’t been prepared for. She tried to breathe through the tide of pain, but it kept mounting. She waited for the pleasure that all the books she’d read said would happen, but there was nothing.

She needed him off her. She put her palms against his shoulders and shovedwith all her strength. He let out another grunt. She clawed him, but that only drove him harder inside her.

“You’re hurting me!” she yelped, balling her hand and hitting him just below the jaw.

Castor froze above her. His eyes tore open and the shock in them quickly replaced the blown-out look of pleasure he’d lost himself to. She wanted to fight him, to scratch his eyes out the way she first had when she’d met him.

All of this had been so wrong. She knew it. Her wolf might have wanted him, but her human body didn’t.

“I…” He pulled out with more care than he’d entered her. He kept his eyes on her face, hovering above her. “I’m so sorry. Briar May. You know I would never- that I- I would rather die than hurt you, especially like this. I thought you wanted this. I…” He looked so lost. The pain flashing in his eyes was proof that something could hurt him. She could hurt him. “What’s happening here?”

What was happening? How could he not know?

“I didn’t know it would be like this,” she said quietly. She was still trapped under his weight, in the cage of one strong arm at either side of her shoulders.

“I thought… I thought you were eager to fuck like this. That you liked it rough.”

“How would I know what I like? I’m a virgin! I was a virgin.” Tears welled up and spilled over. She hadn’t felt shame at wanting him so unabashedly, she hadn’t felt shame parting herself so he could see how wet she was for him. But admitting that she’d never been touched by a man, that her body had failed at the one thing that was supposed to be instinctive—this was shame.

She thought she could do it, she’d wanted to do it, but she couldn’t.

He reared back like she’d shot him point blank. “No.” His hand travelled down her body. He didn’t touch her, just hovered it over her skin, his fingers shaking. She was trembling all over, both from shock and the feeling of invasion. He stopped at her thighs and gently, with so much care and tenderness urged them apart.

She looked down too. She saw the smears of red on her thighs at the same time he did. He cursed violently. Loudly. It sounded heartbroken.

The stupid thing was, he looked stricken.

He carefully rearranged his features, but he couldn’t slam that uncaring mask back into place. There was a big crack right down the center of it. The center of him. “I didn’t know. Christ. You’re…you’re…”

“Yes, probably the oldest virgin in the world,” she spat out. Shame was burning her skin, there was an ache between her legs. But it couldn’t match the gaping hole she felt in her chest. All she wanted him to do was to take her into his arms and stroke her back and her hair and make it better. But he wasn’t going to do any of that. He didn’t have the first clue at how to be tender. She couldn’t blame him… He’d told her what he was going to do? Had she been expecting fucking doves and hearts and flowers?

What was that saying? When someone shows you who they are, believe them.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He blinked fast. Furiously. He looked ruined. Like he was actually dangerously close to breaking down.

Watching the first true emotion play over his face, naked and uncertain, her heart wept. She didn’t know enough about him, anything really, but she did realize that he’d grown up in the sort of environment that didn’t produce lighthearted individuals. Had he ever known love or tenderness? While she’d been raised on kind words, hugs, understanding, visible tokens of love and in a time of peace, that clearly wasn’t so for him.

She was half ashamed that the tears kept coming. The other half of her just wanted to let them flow. She wasn’t just weeping for herself any longer.

Warrior or not, no matter how hard he was or what happened to him in his life, or what his motives were for taking her in the beginning, he would never have intentionally hurt her. She believed him. If only she’d warned him. If she had, would he have touched her at all? He might have treated her like she was fragile and breakable, and she didn’t want that either. She just honestly hadn’t expected it to hurt so badly. Maybe there was something wrong with her besides being a virgin. Sometimes, that happened. People had pain during sex. She’d read about that. Medical conditions.

“I don’t know.” She swiped some of the tears away. “I thought it would be okay. I read all this stuff in books. About this. Everyone talks about it like it’s such a good thing.”

He swept a hand through his hair. “It can be, but I wouldn’t have ever, ever just gone in like that if I had known. I would have been gentle. Taken care and time with you. I would have prepped you with my fingers first.” He blew out a frustrated breath, but he was only frustrated with himself. “I was half mad for you. Like an animal. I can’t ever tell you how much I regret that this is your first experience. That I’m your first. You deserve so much more. You deserve a man who can talk to you about feelings and hold you and give you a future not a heartless bastard.”

But he wasn’t a heartless bastard, the fact that he could show empathy and regret, showed her that there was the potential for tenderness inside him. She wished she could make him believe that he had good in him, that with a little care and attention it could be nurtured and could bloom.

They stared each other down, him breathing like he truly had just been to battle. She hadn’t seen her brother Rome’s face when he’d learned that his mate was killed. She hadn’t seen him, gory and bloodied after taking vengeance on his enemies. She’d been asleep when it happened. No one came to get her. Kieran and her father handled all of it. She’d been debriefed only after Rome was gone, banished from the pack for bringing the wrath of the Rangers upon them. She hadn’t had a chance to say goodbye. She hadn’t been brave enough, like Kieran, to go to the city to find him.

She couldn’t imagine what he would have looked like, how he’d nearly been driven insane with grief. There were different kinds of sorrow, and she was seeing a stinging, sharp one now. A brutal regret etched into the lines around Castor’s strong mouth.

Her lips wavered so she bit down on the bottom one. It stung where her teeth hit a bitemark. She’d wanted all of it, the pain included, this man’s special brand of brutality and pleasure all twisted up, right until it hurt too much. What if he could make it hurt less? More pleasure mingled with the sting?

She pushed her shame and regret to the side, she had to know. “Can you still make it better?”