Kieran storms into his mansion, slamming the heavy oak door behind him.
The sound reverberates through the empty halls, a sharp crack against the oppressive silence.
The servants look at him fearfully thinking that he is still angry with the rumours that have been going on about homosexuality in his pack.
His chest heaves with ragged breaths, his pulse pounding in his ears.
The usually tranquil sanctuary of his home feels stifling, the walls pressing in on him, heavy with the weight of what just happened.
He strides into his study, the familiar scent of leather and aged wood doing nothing to calm him.
His boots thud against the polished floor as he paces, his movements erratic, almost frantic.
"You're losing it," he mutters, dragging a hand through his hair. But the words ring hollow, a weak attempt to wrestle control from the chaos inside him.
His wolf is restless, snarling and snapping at the edges of his mind.
The bond hums, pulling at him like an invisible leash, a force he can neither see nor fight.
Go back to him. He's ours. He'll make us whole.
"Shut up!" Kieran growls aloud, his voice echoing in the dim room.
But his wolf refuses to back down, its presence surging with frustration and need.
You felt it. You know he's ours. Stop fighting it.
"No!" Kieran snarls, slamming his fist onto the desk. The sharp crack of wood splitting fills the room, but it does little to quell the storm inside him.
He rakes his hands through his hair, tugging at the roots as if the physical pain might drown out the mental torment.
The memory of Ace's hazel eyes haunts him. The way they locked onto his own, pulling him into a connection so deep, so primal, it made his knees nearly buckle.
That intoxicating scent—honey, cedar, and something wild—still lingers in his nostrils, seared into his brain like a brand.
"No," he whispers again, his voice trembling.
But the more he denies it, the stronger the pull becomes.
He collapses into a chair, his body heavy with exhaustion. Yet, sleep remains an impossible dream.
His wolf prowls inside him, its growls a constant reminder of what he's refusing to accept.
"You want this?" he hisses into the empty room. "A mate like that? A man?"
He's ours. The Moon Goddess chose him. You can't fight this.
"I don't care what she chose!" Kieran snaps, his claws unsheathing as anger courses through him. "I will not bring that kind of shame to my pack! I just asked them not to do it , so what happens if they here that I am doing it!? But that is not even the problem, my problem is that I can never mate with a man!"
But even as the words leave his mouth, they taste bitter. His wolf lashes out, furious and unrelenting.
He's ours. You can't deny it. You need him.
The truth of those words cuts deeper than any blade. Kieran's need is a raw, aching thing, clawing at him from the inside.
Nine years. Nine long years without a mate. Without the comfort, the warmth, the connection that only a mate can bring.
He feels the emptiness more keenly now, as if meeting Ace has opened a void he can't ignore.
The whispers of his pack—questioning his worth, doubting his strength—echo in his mind.
Without a mate, he's vulnerable, a leader without the foundation the Moon Goddess intended.
His hand trembles as he grips the armrest, claws digging into the leather. The urge to go back, to see Ace again, is overwhelming.
His wolf howls, its need raw and primal, and Kieran's body burns with a longing he doesn't understand.
But his pride, his fear, and his anger refuse to yield.
The hours drag, each one heavier than the last. The mansion is eerily quiet, save for the ticking of the old clock on the wall. Kieran doesn't move from his chair, his body rigid with tension.
His mind is a battlefield, the bond pulling him one way, his resolve dragging him another.
He thinks of Ace's delicate features, the way the golden café light kissed his skin. The memory sends a jolt through him, a mixture of desire and dread.
"No," he growls again, his voice barely audible now. "This is a mistake. It has to be."
But the bond doesn't feel like a mistake. It feels right in a way nothing else ever has.
His wolf growls, its tone softer now, almost pleading.
You're hurting yourself. You're hurting us.
"I don't care," Kieran snaps, though his voice wavers. "I can't... I won't..."
The night stretches on, sleepless and torturous. Kieran fights against his own instincts, against the bond, against the truth.
By dawn, he is still sitting there, his eyes bloodshot and his body trembling with exhaustion. The pull toward Ace hasn't lessened; if anything, it's stronger now.
The need is stronger. The heat is burning in his body irresistibly.
As stands up, willing to go on with his duties a usual , he confirms to himself...
"I don't need him," he whispers, though the words are empty.
The truth is, Kieran doesn't just need Ace. He craves him. Desperately.
And it's that craving, that undeniable need, that scares him most of all.