My little fierce mate

All I could think was — mine.

My guards opened the door, their eyes questioning. I ignored them, slid into the car beside her, and the silence between us became unbearable.

She was trembling — not in fear, but in exhaustion. The kind of exhaustion that only comes from heartbreak and exile. She wouldn’t meet my eyes.

So I didn’t push her. I just drove.

When I pulled up in front of my estate, the night was still. The moonlight danced across the marble columns, and the guards at the gate stepped aside immediately. She didn’t seem impressed by the grandeur — she barely even looked around.

Her silence said more than any words could.

I parked the car, turned to her, and before I could speak — she moved closer. Her gaze locked onto mine, searching for something, maybe a lie, maybe comfort.

Then her lips brushed mine.

It wasn’t a gentle kiss.

It was desperate. Hungry. Reckless.

Like someone who’d spent her whole life locked out of warmth, finally finding it and refusing to let go.

And for the first time in years, I didn’t think — I felt.

Her softness. Her defiance. Her trembling breath.

I kissed her back.

She gasped softly against my lips, as though the air itself had turned sacred. And suddenly, reason became a forgotten language.

I lifted her — effortlessly — and carried her through the mansion’s hallways. The servants might’ve seen us, but I didn’t care. I’d spent too many years buried in discipline, in rules, in restraint. That night, restraint burned to ash.

The door to my chamber closed behind us with a quiet click, sealing us inside a silence that felt heavier than the world outside.

Her eyes — wide, uncertain, curious — met mine again. For a second, I almost stopped.

Almost.

But she looked at me, and something in that gaze begged to be seen — not as prey, not as possession — but as someone finally allowed to feel.

I brushed a strand of hair away from her face, and she shivered. “If you’re uncomfortable, I’ll stop,” I murmured. “Say the word.”

She nodded — small, trembling, but sure. “Keep going,” she whispered.

And I did.

Every movement was deliberate, every breath shared, every heartbeat caught between hesitation and surrender. She wasn’t used to being touched with care — I could feel it in the way her body flinched before softening.

When she paused, I paused.

When she breathed, I breathed.

It wasn’t about dominance — it was about trust.

And she gave it, piece by piece, without realizing she was offering me something far more dangerous than her body.

Her belief.

By the time the night faded into dawn, she was asleep beside me — fragile and perfect in the most human way. I stayed still, her head resting against my arm, and for once, the mansion didn’t feel empty.

My mind should’ve been quiet. But it wasn’t.

Who are you?

Why does your presence silence the beast inside me?

And why do I feel… guilty for touching something so breakable?

She murmured in her sleep, soft words I couldn’t catch. Her scent clung to my skin, and every inhale felt like a promise I didn’t deserve to keep.

When the first sunlight crept through the curtains, I forced myself to move. I brushed my teeth, took a cold shower, tried to drown the remnants of her warmth.

But even the cold couldn’t wash her away.

A guard’s voice entered my head through the mind-link.

“My Lord, the girl… she’s leaving.”

Leaving?

For a heartbeat, I considered stopping her. I could’ve ordered the guards to lock the gates, bring her back, keep her safe. But the thought of caging her — even for her safety — made my chest tighten.

“Let her go,” I said, voice low.

If she wanted to leave, she would.

If fate was cruel enough to bring her here, it would be cruel enough to bring her back.

Still, when I looked at the empty side of the bed, the sheets still warm where she’d lain, something inside me ached in a way I didn’t want to name.

I sat there for a long time, elbows on my knees, head in my hands.

The Lycan King — undone by a girl with tired eyes and a hoodie.

What was it about her?

Her innocence? Her defiance?

Or the quiet way she made me feel human again?

When I stepped out onto the balcony, the scent of her still lingered in the air. I could almost see her — wandering the streets of the White Cliffs Pack, eyes wide with wonder, unaware that every wolf around her bowed to me.

She had no idea who I was.

And maybe that was why I couldn’t forget her.

Everyone feared the king.

But she… she had looked at me like I was just a man.

And somehow, that terrified me more than anything.

I told myself she’d vanish like a fever dream.

That I’d forget her by nightfall.

That I wouldn’t crave the sound of her voice or the ghost of her scent in my sheets.

But deep down, I already knew —

The moment I kissed her, something ancient and irreversible had been set in motion.

Fate.

Curse.

Bond.

Whatever it was, it had her name written in my soul.

And even if she tried to run from me…

the moon always brings what’s hers back home.