Dark Alpha: A Fated Mates Novel

32: HAPPEN AGAIN

~VANNIE~

The river the waterfall ran into was impossibly cold, but it didn't stop Vannie's languid strokes around in it. If anything, the temperature was therapeutic.

She definitely needed therapy after everything that happened for the entire three days of her heat. Now, she only needed to close her eyes to remember Sinclair looking up at her from between her legs, eyes filled with an emotion she didn't want to identify, mouth glossy with evidence of her climax. Looking like all he wanted to do was serve and be hers to command.

That kind of power was just intoxicating on an entirely different level. Sin, Alpha-dominant extraordinare, liked being told what to do in bed. By her.
Vannie didn't remember how many times she'd forced his head back to her, and how she'd shamelessly demanded his fingers. How he'd begged her to demand.

Vannie sighed in self-loathing. She'd taken pleasure from the enemy, a man she was going to kill eventually. She was at her weakest and couldn't have stopped it from happening, yes, but she should have been stronger. She shouldn't have let her body defeat and betray her like that.

Now, how was she supposed to pretend like it wasn't the most life-changing experience of her existence?

As if on cue, with that thought, the air in the meadow changed, and the hairs at the back of her neck stood on end in response. Nobody needed to tell her that Sin had just come into the place. After their nights together, she'd become even more attuned to him.

She slowly immersed herself into the waters, bracing herself for the moment their eyes would meet, preparing for the inevitable awkwardness. He stepped fully into the clearing, and from the excited yips and howls, he must have been greeting his puppies.

Their bond was so potent now, she knew when he took a seat in the meadow without having to open her eyes. It was unnerving how her every sense was aware of him.

His hoarse voice floated to her. "When are you going to stop punishing me?"
Vannie took a breath to calm herself, and opened her eyes to meet his.

Severe. Beautiful. It hit her like a ton of bricks, those honed, high masculine cheekbones, that sense of a stripped-down, dangerous beauty burned clean of everything but its hardest core. He was shirtless, wearing only trousers that were worn at the knees.

It reminded of her of how long he spent on his knees the last time they were together alone.

Why am I noticing these things? What has he done to me?

Since those three days, she had been ignoring him—leaving the room when he entered it, making manoeuvres to avoid him. She just couldn't bear to look at him.
She'd taken pleasure from the enemy. She couldn't stand it.

Their gazes held, his hard, hers blank. Carefully maintaining that contact, she swam to the bank and walked to her towel. From where she was, she saw him suck in a harsh breath, his big chest constricting at the sight of her barely covered body bending to pick up her towel.

She slowly knotted it around her waist, and his eyes lowered to trace the movement. When his eyes returned to hers, it was her turn to suck in a breath at the raw hunger in them that he wasn't even trying to hide.

He jumped to his feet when she began to leave the clearing, extending his hands to hold her. She reared back before he could reach her, just barely ignoring the flash of pain that marred his features.

"Why are you ignoring me?" His voice was so low, she barely heard him. She saw him fist his hands at the sides, like he was trying to restrain himself. From touching her? From wrapping his arms around her neck and wringing it in frustration?

"I know I shouldn't have come here alone. But I begged Zara not to follow me and created a spell so she could track so that she'll know where I am."

"I know. That's not what I'm asking you."
She ducked her head. "Leave me alone, Sinclair."

He closed his eyes, as if in intense physical pain. "You tell me to leave you alone and call my name like that in the same sentence. What are you expecting to happen?" He stalked closer to her, and again she moved back.

He was faster this time. He caught her and pushed her to his chest, panting hard like he'd just finished a race. "Ask me for any other thing you want. Tell me to give right hand on a platter. Just don't ask me to leave you, I can't. And you know that, stop f*cking torturing me."

She lowered her eyes so he wouldn't see how his words affected her, unexpected and hard, like a blow to her solar plexus.
"I can't do this. I can't."

She thrashed in his arms and he tightened his grip for some seconds before releasing her abruptly with a strangled "F*ck."

She straightened and willed herself to return behind her defenses. She felt herself desperately claw for them, searching within like a child crawling in the dark. It took longer than expected to find it, painful seconds that must have alerted him to her discomposure.

"Last time—those nights were unavoidable. You know it, I know it, and there's nothing we could have done to avoid it. And it was a mistake. One that I won't allow to repeat itself."

He let out a tight growl and moved closer again. He wasn't touching her yet, but the phantom of it was enough to set her blood thrumming in her veins. He was close enough for them to be sharing the same air, his hot breath fanning her cheeks with every hard pant.

"You think I don't know that? You think I don't feel your regret and self-loathing clogging the very air?" He moved again, till everywhere in his front was touching her front. "It may have been an accident for you, but for me, for me, it was the turning point of my existence."

She closed her eyes. "Sinclair."

He lowered his head to her neck and let out a low growl. "You don't know what it does to me when you call my name, my Queen."