~Elara's Pov~
I didn't sleep that night.
Even after I walked out of that velvet cocoon of power and sin, even after I disappeared into the drunken chaos of the nightclub crowd and slipped out into the rain-slicked streets of the city, I still felt him. Like his presence had stitched itself beneath my skin. Like my body remembered him even when my mind begged to forget. My fingers trembled the whole ride home, and not from fear, but from a hunger that terrified me. I didn't want to see him again. I wanted to feel him again. And that was worse.
I kept replaying his words in my head. You're already mine. As if I belonged to him. As if I hadn't spent my whole life refusing to belong to anyone.
The apartment was too quiet when I walked in. I didn't bother with the lights. I just stood in the center of the living room, letting the dark wrap around me like armor. My boots still wet from the storm, my heart still racing with adrenaline and confusion.
Kade Strathmore wasn't real. He couldn't be. Werewolves? Curses? Mates? It all sounded like something torn from the pages of a gothic novel, something teenage-me might've scribbled in a journal after one too many nights under a full moon. But I wasn't that girl anymore. I was a survivor. A realist. A fighter. I didn't believe in monsters.
So why did I feel like one?
I curled onto the couch, pulling my knees to my chest, fingers pressing into the spot just under my rib where the crescent birthmark still burned. I'd spent years hiding it. Doctors said it was a pigmentation quirk, but I knew better. I'd always known. It throbbed sometimes, like a second pulse. Especially during storms. Especially during full moons. Especially when I was angry. Or aroused. Or dreaming of things I didn't understand. Sometimes I'd wake up panting, covered in sweat, with the sound of howling in my ears and blood under my fingernails. Once, I woke with claw marks across my sheets. I told myself I tore them in my sleep. Told myself a lot of things.
But Kade hadn't looked surprised when I told him about the dreams. He'd looked relieved. Like a man finding proof in someone else's pain.
I hated him for that.
I hated that part of me had leaned in when he stood close. That I'd imagined what his mouth might taste like. That my skin still tingled where he touched me, like static clinging to a live wire. I didn't want to want him. Not when I should've been running. Not when he admitted he might kill me. Not when everything about him screamed predator.
And yet...
Something inside me wanted to be caught.
I fell asleep with the taste of whiskey and rain on my tongue and woke just before dawn to a sound I couldn't explain. Not quite a knock. More like... scratching. Soft. Measured. Not on the door. On the window. My apartment was on the sixth floor. No balcony. No ledge. Just glass.
I crept forward, heart thundering, grabbing the fire iron from beside the hearth. I edged toward the curtains and yanked them back.
Nothing.
Just the city. Just the rain. Just the reflection of my pale face and wide hazel eyes in the glass. I almost laughed. Almost.
Until the lights behind me flickered.
Until I turned around and he was there.
Kade. Standing in my living room like he belonged there. Like he'd always belonged there.
I didn't scream. I swung the fire iron hard, with all the strength in my body, and he caught it midair like it weighed nothing. His fingers wrapped around the metal, eyes glowing gold in the dark.
"I knocked," he said softly.
"I live six stories up," I hissed, yanking the rod from his grip and backing away. "You climbed the wall?"
He didn't answer. Didn't need to.
I knew.
"You don't get to just show up," I snapped. "This is my home."
"I needed to know you were safe."
"I didn't ask you to protect me."
"No," he said, voice low. "But you will."
There was something terrifying about how calm he was. Like violence simmered just under the surface, waiting. He moved like a shadow, soundless, fluid and too graceful to be entirely human. And when he stepped forward, I didn't back away. I should've. But I didn't.
"I told you not to follow me," I whispered.
"You didn't," he said, tilting his head slightly. "You said 'try.'"
I flushed. Damn him. Damn me. "You said you might kill me."
"I won't," he said, stepping closer. "Not unless you make me."
I glared. "That's not comforting."
"I'm not trying to comfort you."
His voice was rough and ragged, like gravel and silk. He stood close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from his body. My pulse thrummed in my throat, and I hated how badly I wanted him to touch me again. Not gently. Roughly. Like he meant it.
"Why are you really here, Kade?"
His jaw clenched. "Because I can't stay away. Because ever since I saw you, I haven't been able to think straight. I've waited thirty-two years, Elara. I've lived through things that would kill most men. I've lost control of everything except this. You're the only thing the curse didn't take from me. Not yet."
I swallowed. "And if it still does?"
He stared at me, something raw in his eyes. "Then I'll burn with it."
His lips crashed against mine before I could answer.
And gods help me, I let him.