Chapter 3

Caesar's POV

I had returned from Europe that morning after three weeks of alliance negotiations, threats, and enough political flattery to make my wolf want to bite someone.

Jackson said I needed a drink.

Marcus said I needed sleep.

Daniel said I needed to stop terrifying foreign Alphas into signing trade agreements before lunch.

They were all wrong.

What I needed was to stop looking for Viya Wilde in every crowded room.

Then I saw her at Moonlight Bar.

At first, I thought exhaustion had conjured her. Viya did not belong in that place, not in a crimson dress, not with whiskey in her hand, not with the broken, dangerous calm of a woman who had finally lost something she was tired of protecting.

Marcus followed my gaze. "Alpha?"

"Nothing."

But it was not nothing.

Viya had been my responsibility once. More than that, though I had been too much of a coward to name it. I had raised her under Blackwood protection after her parents' deaths. I had watched a frightened girl grow into a gentle, brilliant wolf doctor. I had also watched her look at me with feelings I had no right to accept.

Then three years ago, after her adult transformation ceremony, everything changed.

Her scent had called to me like fate.

Not strongly enough. Not clearly enough. The bond between us had flickered but not roared, and fear had done what enemies never could. It made me retreat.

I convinced myself I was protecting her. If I was not her destined mate, if the weak bond was only confusion, then claiming her would have been selfish.

So I let Lucius Wilde marry her.

Worst decision of my life.

Now she sat ten meters away, wearing a mask and looking as if one more polite word might shatter her.

When Sophia left her alone, several men began watching.

My wolf, Olsen, snarled.

I stood.

Jackson lifted a brow. "You said this wasn't our concern."

"I changed my mind."

I took a black mask from the bar and sat beside her, intending only to keep her safe. No touching. No questions. No reopening wounds.

Then she turned to me and smiled.

"Well, fancy meeting you here, stranger."

She did not recognize me. Or she wanted me to think she did not.

Either way, it nearly destroyed my restraint.

"You're drunk," I said.

"Not enough."

Her voice slid under my skin. The crimson dress beneath her coat made her look like temptation wrapped in heartbreak.

"You should call your husband," I forced out.

Her smile sharpened. "My husband is busy."

"With what?"

"Someone else."

Every instinct in me went silent.

"What did he do?"

She leaned closer. "You don't get to ask that."

"I do if you are in danger."

"You didn't care about danger when you sent me to marry him."

The accusation hit hard because it was true.

"I did not send you."

"No. You only stepped aside and let everyone else do it." Her eyes glittered behind the mask. "That was cleaner, wasn't it? You didn't have to reject me. You just let me become another Alpha's problem."

"Viya."

"Don't use that voice."

"What voice?"

"The one that sounds like you care when you've spent three years proving you don't."

I deserved that. Every word.

Then her hand touched my thigh, and all rational thought became a battlefield.

She was drunk. Married. Hurt. “Mine,” Olsen insisted, but not mine to take.

"Little wolf," I warned.

Her breath caught. For half a second, recognition flared in her eyes. Then pride buried it.

"Don't you want to play?"

My control snapped.

The kiss detonated through my system like an explosion. Her taste—whiskey and something uniquely her—sent fire racing through my veins. I devoured her mouth with years of pent-up hunger, my tongue sweeping past her lips to claim every inch of her.

She moaned against my mouth, her hands fisting in my jacket as she kissed me back with equal desperation. The sound went straight to my cock, making it strain painfully against my pants.

My free hand gripped her waist, pulling her half off her stool and against my body. I needed her closer. Needed to feel every soft curve pressed against me.

The evidence of my desire pressed shamelessly against her hip, and I didn't give a damn who might be watching.

I ached to claim her at once, mark her, and proclaim to the whole world that she was my Luna. Yet reason reminded me she was merely flirting with a stranger from the bar, and I was nothing more than her emotional outlet.

Jealousy seared through my sanity, yet I still pushed her away.

"Look at me," I growled. "Look carefully at who you are touching."

She stared at me, cheeks flushed, eyes bright with unshed tears.

Then I removed my mask.

"Alpha Caesar," she said with false surprise. "How embarrassing."

"Do not."

"Do not what?"

"Pretend that kiss meant nothing."

She laughed once, sharp and wounded. "You taught me how to pretend."

I stood too quickly. "You should go home."

"I don't have a home."

The words froze the air between us.

"What does that mean?"

She slid off the stool, swaying. "It means you're late, Caesar. As usual."

I reached for her arm. "Let me help you."

She jerked away. "No. You don't get to save me when it's convenient for your conscience."

"Viya—"

"Go back to your table, Alpha Blackwood. I'm sure you're very good at watching from a distance."

Then she walked away.

I let her.

Again.

Olsen's voice was a low, furious growl in my mind. "Something is wrong with Serena."

Only then did I realize what my wolf had been trying to tell me all night.

The bond was damaged.

Not weak. Not fading naturally.

Damaged.

Poisoned.

I turned to Marcus, my voice deadly calm. "Find out everything about Viya Wilde's marriage. Medical records. Pack reports. Household staff. Every rumor. Every purchase. Every healer."

Marcus straightened. "Alpha?"

"Someone has been harming her wolf."

His face changed.

"And Marcus?"

"Yes, Alpha?"

"If Lucius Wilde is responsible, he will learn why people fear my name."