Alpha's Forbidden Mark

Freya's POV

My ears perked at the sound of a car approaching. Not just any car—the distinctive purr of Ethan's Aston Martin. Panic shot through me. He wasn't supposed to be back for hours.

Shit. I jumped up from Ethan’s bed, frantically smoothing the covers—I shouldn’t be here. For three years, our relationship has existed only on paper: the mate of an Alpha in name only, never having possessed his body.

This secret ritual—sneaking into his room whenever he left the house—was my only taste of intimacy in three years as mates. With Ethan at his territory meeting with the Redclaw Pack, I should have plenty of time to indulge in this pathetic habit before returning to my cold, empty room across the hallway.

How come he came back early?

My heart hammered against my ribs as I heard the front door open, then close. Heavy footsteps in the foyer. Uneven footsteps.

I froze, listening. Something was off. Ethan's usual graceful, silent movements were replaced by clumsy, stumbling steps. I heard a crash—something knocked over in the hallway—followed by a muttered curse.

There was no time to escape. I stood in the center of his room, caught like a deer in headlights as the bedroom door swung open.

Ethan filled the doorframe, his broad shoulders nearly touching both sides. His normally perfectly styled dark hair was disheveled, his tie loosened, the top buttons of his shirt undone. But it was his eyes that made my breath catch—the silver flecks that normally dusted his green irises had overtaken them completely, glowing with an unnatural light.

"Freya?" His voice was rough, deeper than usual.

"I—I was just..." My mind raced for a plausible excuse, but came up empty.

He stepped into the room, moving with a predatory grace that contradicted his earlier clumsiness. Something was definitely wrong. I could smell it now—beneath his natural scent was something herbal and foreign. My nose wrinkled.

"You've been drinking," I said, taking a cautious step back. "The wolfsbane brew."

A slow smile spread across his face. "Just a little. Meeting ended early." He advanced toward me, and I retreated until the backs of my knees hit his bed. "You're in my room."

"I—I was just..." I swallowed hard, caught red-handed. What could I say? That I came here whenever he was gone? That I needed his scent around me to feel whole? That sometimes I pretended this enormous bed was ours, not just his?

"I was changing the linens," I lied, the words sounding hollow even to my own ears. "Olivia asked me to help with some of the chores today."

His eyes narrowed slightly, the silver flecks dancing in his irises. Even intoxicated, he could probably smell my deception.

"I was just leaving." I tried to sidestep him, but he moved faster, catching my wrist in his hand.

"Why are you always running from me, little wolf?" The question caught me off guard. In three years, we'd barely spoken beyond what was necessary to maintain our facade.

The heat of his skin against mine sent electricity up my arm. This close, his scent overwhelmed me, made my head swim. My wolf, Ember, clawed at my insides, desperate to be closer to her mate.

"I'm not running," I lied, my voice barely a whisper.

Ethan's eyes raked over me, and for the first time in our three years together, there was hunger in them. "You smell like wildflowers," he murmured, leaning closer. "Have you always smelled this good?"

My heart thundered in my chest. This wasn't real. This was the wolfsbane talking—a rare herb that, when brewed properly, could intoxicate even the strongest werewolf. It lowered inhibitions, heightened senses.

"You should rest," I said, trying to pull away. "Sleep it off."

His grip tightened, not painfully, but enough to keep me in place. "Stay with me," he said, his voice dropping to a growl that vibrated through my entire body.

I should have said no. I should have pulled away, reminded him of our arrangement.

His mouth claimed mine in a kiss that burned through me like wildfire. I pushed against his chest, trying to break free. This wasn't him—this was the wolfsbane. He wouldn't want this in the morning. He wouldn't want "me".

"Stop," I gasped, turning my face away. "This isn't you, Ethan. You don't want this."

His eyes stared down at me. "I do," he growled. "Need you. Right now."

I shook my head, still struggling. "You'll regret this tomorrow."

But inside me, Ember was howling, clawing, desperate for her mate's touch. "Ours", she insisted. "He's ours. Take what's ours."

His scent enveloped me, intoxicating as any wolfsbane brew. "Please," he whispered against my throat, and I felt my control slipping.

Ember surged forward in my consciousness, her need overwhelming my restraint. My eyes flashed gold as she took over, my hands no longer pushing him away but pulling him closer.

His lips slammed into mine, kissing me hard, like a fire burning me up inside. Three years of wanting him, of staring at my mate from far away, burst into a crazy, hungry need.

We fell onto his bed, legs and arms all mixed up. His body pressed me down into the mattress, heavy and hot. A small part of me screamed this was wrong—he was drunk on wolfsbane, and tomorrow he’d hate this. But my wolf didn’t care. She’d waited too long to feel her mate.

His hands were wild, ripping at my clothes. My shirt tore, buttons flying off, and I yanked at his shirt too, tearing it open to feel his hard chest. I should stop. I should stop. But when his bare skin touched mine, hot and rough, I couldn’t think anymore.

"Mine," he growled against my neck, his voice thick and messed up. I knew it wasn’t really him talking, but tonight, I wanted to believe it. Just for tonight.

His hands grabbed my hips hard, fingers digging into my skin with bruising force. There was no gentleness in his touch as he roughly pushed my legs apart, his movements urgent and demanding.

I gasped as his fingers suddenly thrust inside me, the invasion sharp and unexpected. He wasn't careful, wasn't gentle—the wolfsbane had stripped away any restraint he might have shown.

"Ethan, wait—" I pleaded, but he wasn't listening.

His fingers pumped in and out roughly, stretching me with painful efficiency while his mouth claimed mine in a kiss that stole my breath. I could feel him hard and ready against my thigh, his erection hot and intimidating through the thin fabric separating us.

When his fingers withdrew, glistening with the wetness he'd coaxed from my body, he growled against my throat.

"Wet enough now," he muttered, his voice thick with primal need.