Consciousness arrives in fragments, scattered pieces of sensation that refuse to form a complete picture.

Fullness first, a stretching pressure deep inside me that pulls a moan from my sleeping lips. Then the slow curl of thick fingers against my inner walls, stroking a spot that makes my thighs tremble.

I surface from dreams already slick and aching, Paul’s hand working between my legs with devastating purpose. His fingers pump slowly, deliberately, each thrust dragging me further from sleep and closer to the edge.

My back arches off the mattress as release crashes through me, and I gasp his name into the morning light.

“There you are, little wolf.” His voice rumbles against my throat, satisfied and still hungry.

I blink up at him through the haze, finding silver eyes that hold possession mixed with reverence I don’t understand. He watches me like I’m precious, like waking me this way is a privilege he’s grateful to claim.

My body protests when I try to shift closer, muscles screaming in unfamiliar places. The ache settles deep in my core, spreading through my hips and thighs.

Deliciously sore, I think, testing the sensation. This is what it feels like to be thoroughly claimed.

Paul catches my wince before I can hide it. Guilt flickers across his features, softening the predatory intensity that usually defines him.

“I was too rough with you.” His palm cups my jaw with devastating gentleness. “The rut makes me careless.”

“I’m fine,” I promise, though my voice comes out hoarse from crying his name all night.

“You’re lying.” He kisses my forehead, then swings his legs off the bed. “Stay here while I get you food.”

He returns minutes later with a tray balanced in his massive hands. Toast and fruit and eggs arranged with surprising care. The sight of an Alpha serving a slave breakfast in bed threatens to shatter my fragile composure.

“Eat,” he commands, settling beside me on the rumpled sheets. “You need to rebuild your strength.”

“Paul, you don’t have to—”

“I said eat, Morgan.” His tone brooks no argument, but his hands are gentle as he brushes tangled hair from my face.

I obey because refusing him feels impossible right now. Each bite settles warm in my empty stomach while he watches with quiet satisfaction.

“Your body will adjust,” he murmurs, leaning close to press his lips against the marks he left on my throat. “You were made for me, Morgan.”

My heart stutters at the certainty in his voice, at the implication behind those words.

“Your wolf knows it even if your mind hasn’t caught up.” His teeth graze the tender bruises, claiming them fresh.

Made for him. The phrase echoes through my skull, dangerous and hopeful.

A sharp knock interrupts the fragile moment, and Paul’s entire body goes rigid against mine.

“Alpha Paul?” Elena’s voice carries through the door. “The council requires your presence for urgent pack business.”

His demeanor shifts instantaneously. The tender lover disappears, replaced by the cold, controlled Alpha who terrifies enemies and allies alike.

“Rest today,” he instructs, rising from the bed with predatory grace. “Eat everything on that tray.”

“I will,” I whisper, watching him transform before my eyes.

“Don’t open this door for anyone except Elena.” His pale eyes find mine with fierce intensity. “Do you understand me?”

“I understand,” I say quietly.

He’s gone before I can say anything more, the door clicking shut behind him with terrible finality.

I sink back against the pillows, my body thrumming with residual pleasure and confusion. The ceiling offers no answers as I replay every moment of last night in excruciating detail.

He chose me over Sarah on his wedding night. The thought tastes like hope, fragile and terrifying.

He couldn’t touch her because my scent consumed him. My fingers drift to my throat, tracing the marks he left there.

Maybe this means I could matter to him. The distant hope blooms despite my efforts to crush it.

I’m sorry, I think desperately, guilt churning in my stomach. I can’t explain this to you.

“Mine,” he growls against my lips between devastating kisses. “You smell like mine again.”

Night falls around us, and between waves of his rut, questions I’ve been avoiding demand answers. We lie tangled together in the darkness, his hand tracing lazy patterns across my hip.

“What happens now?” I whisper into his chest, afraid to meet his eyes. “What future could we possibly have?”

Paul’s hand stills against my skin, and the silence stretches painfully between us.

“We can’t be together openly.” His voice carries the weight of unavoidable truth. “The treaty depends on my marriage to Sarah remaining intact.”

“So I stay your secret,” I say quietly, understanding settling heavy in my chest.

“Peace between our packs would shatter if the truth emerged.” His arms tighten around me with fierce possession. “But I can’t deny what exists between us, Morgan.”

A secret. The word tastes bitter on my tongue, nothing like the hope I foolishly allowed myself to feel.

“Will you accept that?” His hand tilts my chin until our eyes meet. “Will you stay mine in the shadows?”

I search his face for any indication that this arrangement pains him the way it pains me. His expression reveals hunger and possessiveness and desperate need.

But not equality. Never equality.

“Yes,” I breathe, because refusing him feels impossible when his body presses warm against mine.

He kisses me again, and I let myself drown in the sensation rather than face the truth I’ve been avoiding.

Stupid girl, I think as his hands begin to move with renewed purpose. Did you really believe you might become his equal?