(Quinn's perspective)
I stared at Luca like he'd just sprouted a second head. "You were eavesdropping?"
His eyes narrowed, a dangerous glint sparking in their depths. "I wasn't eavesdropping. You were talking loud enough for the whole damn pack to hear."
I snorted, folding my arms across my chest. "Oh, please. You're like a wolf with a guilty conscience—sniffing around for excuses to get mad."
His lips curled into a sharp smile. "Excuses?" He stepped closer, the heat rolling off him in waves. "Do I look like I need an excuse to call out that pompous ass for practically proposing to you in front of everyone?"
"You're exaggerating," I shot back, refusing to back down. "It wasn't 'everyone.' Just me, Alexander, and, apparently, your big wolf ears."
His jaw clenched, muscles twitching like he was holding back a growl. "Do you even hear yourself? Alexander is not right for you. What kind of Alpha just tosses out a proposal like it's a business transaction?"
"Oh, I don't know," I said with a shrug, "maybe the kind who sees value in partnership? You could take notes, Luca. I hear 'please' and 'thank you' go a long way in leadership."
His lips twitched, but there was zero amusement in it. "He's a snake in a suit, Quinn. And you—"
"What about me?" I moved to sit on his bed, leaning back on my elbows like I didn't give a damn whose room this was. My heart raced, but there was no way I was letting him steamroll me. "Am I supposed to swoon over you hauling me in here like I'm some damsel in distress? Newsflash, Luca—you're not exactly Prince Charming right now."
He tilted his head, voice dropping into that gravelly tone that always made my stomach flip. "Oh, I'm not?"
"No," I said, ignoring the heat creeping up my neck. "You're more like Prince Putz with possessive issues. Do you even know how embarrassing that was? Half your pack probably thinks I'm some kind of—of—"
"Mine," he interrupted, his voice sharp and sure.
I blinked. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me." He stepped closer, the air between us crackling with tension. "You. Are. Mine."
"Oh, my God." I laughed, mostly because I didn't know what else to do. "Luca, I'm not some chew toy or possession you can claim at will."
His gaze flicked to my lips for a fraction of a second before snapping back to my eyes. He was close now, too close, his legs brushing against mine where I still sat on his bed.
"You sure about that?" he challenged.
"Positive," I said, my voice shaking just enough to betray the bravado I was clinging to.
"Then why," he murmured, bracing his hands on either side of me, "are you still here? Still lying on my bed, arguing with me, instead of storming out?"
Damn it. Why was I still here? My heart was racing, and every instinct screamed for me to run—to get away from the magnetic pull that was Luca. But I didn't move. I couldn't.
"Cat got your tongue?" he teased, a slow, knowing smirk tugging at his lips.
"You're impossible," I muttered, looking anywhere but at him.
"Maybe," he said, leaning in just enough that his breath brushed against my cheek, "but at least I'm not Alexander."
"Oh, you wish you were Alexander," I shot back, glaring at him.
His eyebrows shot up, and then he laughed—a low, deep laugh that sent shivers down my spine. "Trust me, sweetheart, he wishes he was me."
I rolled my eyes, but the heat in my chest was impossible to ignore. "You're delusional."
"And you're stalling," he countered, voice dropping to a whisper.
"Stalling for what?" I asked, daring him to answer.
He leaned in closer, so close that I could feel the heat radiating off him. His hand brushed against my jawline, and I swore the room tilted.
"For this," he murmured.
Before I could process what was happening, his lips crashed into mine. The world tilted, then disappeared altogether. His kiss was raw and unrelenting, a heady mix of frustration and something deeper that neither of us wanted to name. I was caught between wanting to push him away and pulling him closer.
His hand slid up to cup my face, and my fingers curled into his shirt, desperate to anchor myself. He tasted like heat and danger as he pushed his tongue deeper into my mouth, and I was drowning in it.
"Quinn…" he whispered against my lips, his voice strained.
I didn't want him to fight it. Not anymore. Every coherent thought fled from my mind, replaced by the heat of his touch and the way his scent—earthy and electric—wrapped around me.
Just as his hand settled on my waist, a loud, sharp knock shattered the moment.
"Luca," Ethan's voice called from the other side, tight with urgency. "We've got a problem."
Luca didn't move at first. His breathing was heavy, his gaze locked on mine. For a second, I thought he might ignore Ethan altogether.
But then, with a frustrated growl, he pushed away, his jaw tight and fists clenched at his sides. "Stay here," he commanded.
"Like hell I will," I shot back, but he was already moving toward the door.
He yanked it open, revealing Ethan, whose expression was grim.
"What is it?" Luca demanded, voice clipped.
Ethan's eyes flicked to me before settling back on Luca. "It's Cale."
My stomach plummeted. The air in the room seemed to freeze.
"What about him?" Luca asked, his voice a dangerous mix of anger and anticipation.
Ethan's jaw tightened. "He's here."