Chapter 4: The Pack Watches
Bria's legs were still trembling when Adrian pulled her out of the bathroom.
Steam curled off her skin in wisps, her hair dripping cold rivulets down the back of the borrowed sweater. She'd barely had time to catch her breath—barely had time to process the way he'd washed her, methodical and possessive, his hands sliding over every inch of her like he was memorizing the terrain. He'd knelt between her legs under the spray and made her come against the tile with his tongue, and she'd clawed at his shoulders hard enough to leave marks.
Now he was steering her down a corridor that seemed to stretch forever, past windows that looked out onto nothing but trees, past doors that were all closed and silent. The floor was cold stone beneath her bare feet. She'd forgotten shoes. He hadn't given her time.
"Where are we going?"
"Breakfast."
"I'm not hungry."
"You need to eat."
"I need to find my phone and call my editor before she files a missing persons report."
Adrian's hand tightened on her elbow. "Later."
"That's not—"
"Bria." His voice was low, patient in a way that made her teeth grind. "You're about to walk into a room full of wolves who've been smelling you on me since last night. They know what you are. They know what you mean. The only thing they don't know is whether you're going to run or stay."
She stopped walking. He stopped with her, turning to face her in the dim corridor. His eyes were gray now, no trace of the gold that surfaced when his wolf pushed close, and there was something almost gentle in the way he looked at her.
"And what am I supposed to do?" she asked. "Smile and wave? Pretend I'm happy about being kidnapped and claimed and—"
"You're supposed to be you." He caught her chin between his thumb and forefinger. "The woman who doesn't back down. The woman who told me to go fuck myself while I had my fingers inside her."
Heat crawled up her neck. "That's not—"
"That's exactly what you did." A ghost of a smile crossed his mouth. "They need to see that. They need to know the Alpha's mate isn't some fragile little thing who'll break under pressure. They need to see you're strong enough to stand beside me."
"I don't want to stand beside you."
"You don't have a choice." He released her chin, but his hand found hers instead, fingers lacing together. "Come on. They're waiting."
The dining hall opened up before her like the maw of some ancient beast.
She'd thought the bedroom was impressive. She'd thought the corridors were grand. But this—this was something else entirely.
The ceiling vaulted upward into shadow, supported by massive timber beams that looked like they'd been carved from trees older than the country itself. Antlers lined the walls—hundreds of them, maybe thousands, bleached white and brown and black, arranged in patterns that felt less like decoration and more like a warning. The long table that dominated the center of the room was carved from obsidian, so dark it seemed to swallow the light, and it groaned under the weight of silver platters piled high with meat.
Some of it was cooked. Most of it wasn't.
The smell hit her like a wall. Venison and blood and pine and something musky underneath, something animal, the combined scent of two dozen wolves who'd all turned to stare at her the moment she stepped through the door.
Bria's spine stiffened.
The room fell silent. Forks paused halfway to mouths. Conversations died mid-sentence. Every eye in the place fixed on her—some curious, some hungry, some openly hostile.
She felt naked. Exposed. Like prey.
Adrian's hand tightened around hers.
"Morning," he said, and his voice carried through the hall like a bell. "This is Bria. My mate."
The silence stretched. Bria counted her heartbeats—one, two, three—and then a low murmur rippled through the crowd. Not quite words. Not quite growls. Something in between.
Adrian didn't wait for a response. He pulled her forward, past the rows of watching faces, past the platters of meat and the silver goblets and the antlers that loomed on every wall. He walked like he owned the place, because he did, and Bria had no choice but to follow.
At the head of the table, a massive chair waited. It was carved from the same black wood as the table, its backrest inlaid with silver in the shape of a wolf's head. Adrian sat, and then he pulled her down onto his lap.
Bria's face burned. "What are you—"
"Shh." His arm wrapped around her waist, settling her against his chest. His other hand splayed over her thigh, fingers spreading possessively over the denim. "Eat."
"I'm not—"
He picked up a piece of venison from the platter nearest them. Raw. Bloody. He held it to her lips.
"Eat," he repeated.
She could feel every eye in the room on her. Could feel the weight of their attention like a physical pressure against her skin. She wanted to bite him. Wanted to slap the meat from his hand and storm out and never look back.
Instead, she opened her mouth.
The meat was cool and rich, gamey in a way that store-bought beef never was. She chewed slowly, swallowing past the lump in her throat, and Adrian's thumb stroked a gentle circle on her inner thigh.
"Good girl," he murmured.
"I hate you."
"I know."
Across the table, a chair scraped against stone. A man settled into the seat across from them—broad-shouldered, silver streaking the dark hair at his temples, with eyes the color of slate. He looked at Bria for a long moment, assessing, before turning his attention to Adrian.
"Alpha."
"Marcus." Adrian's voice shifted, dropping into something more formal. "Report."
"Eastern ridge. We've had three intrusions in the past week. Tracks suggest a scouting party from the Blackridge pack."
Adrian's hand stilled on Bria's thigh. "Blackridge. That's Halloran's territory."
"Was Halloran's territory." Marcus picked up a goblet, swirling the dark liquid inside. "Word is Halloran's dead. His son took over six months ago. Young. Ambitious. Looking to expand."
"Looking to start a war."
"Looking to test boundaries." Marcus took a drink. "The intrusions are small. Probing. They're trying to see how we'll respond."
Adrian's jaw tightened. Bria felt the tension ripple through his body, felt the bond pulse with something dark and dangerous. His wolf was close to the surface. She could sense it.
"Double the patrols," Adrian said. "I want eyes on that ridge twenty-four hours a day. And send a message to the boy—"
"Already done." Marcus set down his goblet. "I sent two enforcers to the border yesterday. They delivered your terms."
"And?"
"And he laughed at them."
The growl that rumbled through Adrian's chest vibrated against Bria's back. She shifted instinctively, trying to put space between them, but his arm tightened around her waist.
"Stay still," he breathed against her ear. "They need to see you're claimed."
His thumb slid higher.
Bria's breath caught. His fingers traced the seam of her jeans, light at first, almost innocent. But then he pressed harder, finding the heat between her legs through the denim, and she had to bite her lip to keep from making a sound.
"The Blackridge pack," Adrian continued, his voice utterly calm, "has been a problem for three generations. Halloran was a snake, but he was a predictable snake. His son is worse. Young. Reckless. Thinks he has something to prove."
"Agreed." Marcus's eyes flickered to Bria, then away. "We need to decide how to handle him. A show of force might provoke him. But ignoring the intrusions makes us look weak."
"Then we don't ignore them." Adrian's thumb found the button of her jeans. Popped it open. "We send a stronger message."
Bria's fingers dug into his thigh. "Adrian—"
"Shh." His hand slid beneath the waistband of her jeans, beneath her underwear, fingers finding her slick and ready. "I'm in a meeting."
She wanted to kill him. Wanted to scream. Wanted to shove his hand away and run from the room and pretend none of this was happening.
But his fingers were moving. Slowly. Deliberately. Two of them sliding through her folds, coating themselves in her wetness, and she couldn't think past the pleasure building in her core.
"We could set up a meeting," Marcus offered. "Neutral ground. Talk terms."
"Talk." Adrian's voice was flat. "You want me to talk to the boy who trespassed on my land and laughed at my enforcers."
"I want you to consider all options before you start a war."
"We're already at war. They just haven't realized it yet."
Adrian's fingers pushed inside her.
Bria bit down on her lip hard enough to draw blood. Her hips bucked involuntarily, grinding against his hand, and he made a low sound of approval in her ear.
"Stay still," he whispered. "I'm trying to have a conversation."
"Fuck you," she hissed.
"Later."
Marcus was still talking—something about patrol schedules and territorial lines and historical claims—but Bria couldn't focus. Adrian's fingers were fucking her slowly, deliberately, curling up against that spot that made her vision blur. His thumb found her clit, pressing in lazy circles, and she had to grip the edge of the table to keep from moaning out loud.
"Are you listening?" Marcus asked.
"Of course." Adrian's voice was perfectly even. "You were saying something about the northern border."
"The northern border is secure. The problem is the eastern ridge."
"Then we fortify it. Move more enforcers to the area. Make it clear that any intrusion will be met with force."
"And if Halloran's son escalates?"
Adrian's fingers pressed deeper. Harder. Bria's toes curled inside her sneakers.
"Then we escalate faster."
Marcus was quiet for a moment. His eyes drifted to Bria—her flushed cheeks, her parted lips, the way her hands were white-knuckled on the table. His expression flickered with something that might have been amusement or might have been exasperation.
"Alpha," he said slowly, "perhaps we should continue this discussion in private."
"No need." Adrian's thumb pressed hard against her clit. "We're fine."
"With respect—"
"Marcus." Adrian's voice was sharp. "The discussion is over. Double the patrols. Set up a meeting with the boy. And if he so much as steps one toe over the border before that meeting, kill him."
The hall had gone quiet again. Every wolf at the table was staring—not at Adrian, but at Bria. At the way she was trembling on his lap. At the way her breath came in short, desperate pants. At the way his arm was positioned, his hand buried between her legs.
They knew. They all fucking knew.
And Adrian didn't care.
"Actually." Marcus rose from his seat, his voice carrying through the hall. "I believe we're done here. Everyone—out."
Chairs scraped. Wolves rose. There was a flurry of movement as two dozen bodies filed toward the door, and Bria caught whispers—snatches of words she could barely process through the haze of pleasure clouding her mind.
"...she's human..."
"...didn't even flinch..."
"...smells like him..."
"...mate bond, must be..."
And then they were alone.
The moment the last wolf disappeared through the door, Adrian pulled his fingers out of her and stood, dumping her unceremoniously onto her feet. Bria stumbled, caught herself on the edge of the table, and spun to face him.
"You absolute—"
He bent her over the table.
His hand pressed between her shoulder blades, shoving her down until her cheek was flush against the cool obsidian surface. The wood was smooth beneath her palms, dark as a mirror, and she could see her own reflection in it—flushed and wide-eyed and absolutely furious.
"Adrian—"
His hands were on her jeans. Yanking them down. The denim scraped against her thighs, the underwear following, and then she was bare from the waist down, exposed and dripping and trembling with need.
"Do you know," he said, his voice low and rough, "how hard it was to keep my composure while I was fingering you in front of my entire pack?"
"Maybe you shouldn't have—"
"Shut up."
He kicked her feet apart. The stone floor was cold against her toes, and she had to arch her back to keep her balance, her ass presented to him like an offering.
"Do you know what they were thinking?" He gripped her hips with both hands, fingers digging into soft flesh. "Every wolf in that room was thinking about how good you smell. How wet you are. How much they'd like to take you from me and fuck you on this table."
Bria's breath hitched.
"They can't," he growled. "You know why? Because you're mine. And the whole pack knows it now. They saw you on my lap, biting your lip to keep from screaming while I fucked you with my fingers. They saw the way you couldn't stop yourself from grinding against my hand."
"I didn't—"
"You did." His hand came down on her ass with a sharp crack. "And now they know exactly who you belong to."
The sting radiated through her, warm and bright. Bria gasped, her fingers scrabbling against the table, and Adrian's hand smoothed over the reddened skin almost tenderly.
"Are you going to argue with me?" he asked.
"Yes."
Another slap. Harder this time.
"Are you going to tell me you don't want this?"
"Yes."
Another.
"Are you going to lie to me and pretend you're not dripping wet?"
"No."
"Good girl."
He shoved his cock inside her in one brutal thrust.
Bria screamed. The sound echoed off the vaulted ceiling, swallowed by the vastness of the empty hall, and she would have collapsed if his hands hadn't been holding her hips so tightly.
He was huge. Thick. Stretching her in ways that bordered on pain, and she loved it. Loved the way the breath left her lungs, the way her fingers slipped on the polished obsidian, the way he was already moving—pounding into her with a ferocity that made the table groan beneath them.
"You feel that?" he grunted. "Look at the table."
She looked down. Through the haze of pleasure and tears, she saw the wood beneath her hands—and beneath that, faint scratches. Claw marks. Long, deep gouges carved into the obsidian surface.
"There are more," he said, his voice rough and strained. "All over this table. Do you know how many times I've sat here, during meetings, during negotiations, staring at these marks and wishing they were from you?"
Bria couldn't answer. Couldn't think. His hips were slamming against her ass, and he was so deep—too deep—hitting something that made stars explode behind her eyes.
"Every time I sat in that chair, I imagined you bent over this table. Imagined fucking you while the pack watched. Imagined marking you so thoroughly that everyone would know—everyone—that you were mine."
"Adrian—"
"Eight years." His voice cracked. "Eight years, I watched you from a distance. Wanted you. Waited for you. And now you're here, and I'm never letting you go."
His hand found her hair, knotting in the wet strands, pulling her head back. The angle changed—deeper, more intense—and Bria sobbed with pleasure.
"Say it," he demanded.
"I—"
"Say you're mine."
"I'm... I'm..."
"You're what?"
"I'm yours." The words tore out of her, raw and honest and terrified. "I'm yours, okay? Fuck, I'm yours."
He roared.
The sound was inhuman—half-man, half-wolf—and it filled the hall like thunder. Somewhere in the distance, she heard answering howls from outside, the pack responding to their Alpha's call.
Adrian's hips never stopped moving. Never slowed. He fucked her through his own climax, spilling inside her, his cock pulsing with each hot pulse of seed, and then kept going. Kept driving into her sensitive flesh until she was sobbing, clawing at the table, scratching her own marks into the wood.
"One more," he snarled. "One more and I'm done."
"I can't—"
"You can."
"I can't—"
"Bria." His hand slid around her hips, fingers finding her clit. "Come for me."
She came.
It ripped through her like lightning, white-hot and violent. Her cunt clamped down around him, milking his cock, and her vision went black at the edges. She screamed—something that might have been his name or might have been nonsense—and her nails scraped deep grooves into the obsidian surface.
He collapsed on top of her.
His weight pressed her harder into the table. His breath was hot and ragged against her neck. His cock was still buried inside her, still half-hard, and he made no move to pull out.
"Fuck," he breathed.
Bria didn't answer. Couldn't. Her throat was raw, her body a ruin, and her mind was spinning in circles.
He kissed her shoulder. The side of her neck. The corner of her jaw.
"You did good," he murmured. "Proud of you."
"I hate you."
"I know."
"Get off me."
"When I'm ready."
She wiggled half-heartedly. He growled and bit her earlobe.
"Sore?" he asked.
"What do you think?"
"I think you're going to be feeling this for days." He pulled out slowly, and she winced at the sensation. "And I think you're going to remember exactly who did this every time you sit down."
"That's not—"
"It's true." He turned her around, pulling her into his arms. Her jeans were still around her ankles, her sweater rucked up to her waist, and she was absolutely wrecked. His hands smoothed over her hair, her back, her hips. "Come on. Let's get you cleaned up."
"Again?"
"Not like that." A pause. "Not yet, anyway."
She looked up at him. His eyes were gold now—the wolf standing close, watching her through Adrian's gaze. His face was softer than she'd ever seen it, open in a way that made something in her chest ache.
"I don't understand you," she said.
"Good." He kissed her forehead. "Because I don't understand you either."
"That's not helpful."
"Wasn't trying to be helpful."
She sighed. He pulled up her jeans, buttoned them, smoothed down her sweater. His hands lingered on her hips, her waist, her shoulders.
"We have a lot to do today," he said. "Meetings. Pack business. I need to deal with the Blackridge situation."
"Am I supposed to just follow you around like a dog?"
"You're supposed to stay close." He tilted her chin up. "Where I can see you. Where I can protect you."
"I don't need protection."
"You're human in a house full of wolves." His voice hardened. "Some of them don't trust you. Some of them see you as a weakness. They won't touch you—they wouldn't dare—but I'm not taking chances."
"Because I'm your mate."
"Because you're my everything."
The words hung between them. Bria opened her mouth—to argue, to deflect, to say something sharp—but nothing came out.
Adrian smiled. It was a tired smile, a human smile, and it made him look younger than the wolf coldness she'd seen in the forest.
"Come on," he said. "Let's get you some real food. You're going to need your strength."
"For what?"
"For the rest of the day." He took her hand, pulling her toward the door. "And the day after that. And the day after that. Forever."
She let him lead her. There was no point in fighting it—not now, not when her legs were still shaking and her core still ached and her body was screaming at her to find a bed and collapse.
But as they walked through the corridor, past the closed doors and the endless windows, she caught herself thinking about Marcus. About the way he'd looked at her across the table. About the way he'd dismissed the pack.
He knew. He'd known exactly what Adrian was doing. And he'd protected them anyway.
Her father's friend. The man who'd known her before she was born.
There were questions she needed to ask.
And Adrian wasn't going to like the answers.