Chapter 4 One Night

I couldn't think.

My head felt heavy. My chest felt tight. My heart would not slow down.

Roman's arms were around me, and that was the only thing that felt real.

He carried me like I weighed nothing.

Not like a burden.

Not like a stranger.

Like something he was afraid to drop.

My fingers fisted into his shirt without permission. I did not even remember grabbing him. I just knew that if I let go, I might fall apart.

"Don't," I whispered.

My voice sounded small. Weak.

He looked down at me at once. "Don't what?"

"Don't let go."

His jaw tightened. "I wasn't planning to."

His voice was rough. Too rough. Like he was holding something back.

Or holding himself back.

When he set me down on the bed, my legs still trembled.

The drug hadn't fully left my body. My thoughts came slow and soft, like walking through water.

But one thing was clear.

Him.

Roman Blackwood.

Too close. Too warm. Too much.

He crouched in front of me, eyes scanning my face like he was checking for injuries.

"Talk to me," he said quietly. "Are you dizzy?"

"Yes."

"Pain?"

"No."

"Nausea?"

"A little."

His hands curled into fists.

"I should kill them," he muttered.

The words were calm.

That scared me more than shouting would have.

"You already hurt them," I said.

"Hurt isn't enough."

He looked up at me.

His eyes were not soft anymore.

They were dark. Violent. Possessive.

"They touched you."

My breath caught.

The way he said it.

Not angry.

Not jealous.

Something deeper.

Like it was personal.

Like they had stolen something that belonged to him.

"You barely know me," I whispered.

He went still.

Then he asked quietly, "Do you really believe that?"

My heart skipped.

"What does that mean?"

He didn't answer.

He just kept staring.

Studying me.

Like he was trying to remember something.

Silence stretched between us.

Heavy.

Hot.

Dangerous.

He reached for the zipper at the back of my dress.

"May I?" he asked.

The simple question made my stomach twist.

No man had ever asked me anything like that before.

They always assumed.

Always took.

Roman asked.

I nodded slowly.

His fingers brushed my back as he helped me out of the ruined dress.

Just a touch.

Just skin.

But it felt like lightning.

My breath hitched.

He froze.

"You're shaking," he said.

"Because you're staring."

"I'm trying not to."

"Then why are you?"

His voice dropped to a whisper.

"Because I feel like if I look away, you'll disappear."

My chest tightened.

No one had ever said something like that to me.

No one had ever looked at me like that.

No pity.

Not desire.

Not ownership.

Something else.

Something raw.

Something that scared me more than the drug.

"Why did you save me?" I asked.

His brows pulled together like the answer was obvious.

"I wasn't going to let them hurt you."

"You could've called security."

"I didn't want security touching you either."

I swallowed.

"That doesn't make sense."

"It doesn't have to."

He stood up suddenly and stepped away.

Too far away.

The cold rushed in instantly.

I hated it.

I hated how my body reacted to his absence.

He ran a hand through his hair.

He looked frustrated.

Angry.

At himself.

"This is wrong," he muttered.

"What is?"

"This pull."

My heart slammed harder.

"What pull?"

He laughed once.

Bitter.

"You really don't feel it?"

I opened my mouth.

Then I closed it.

Because lying suddenly felt pointless.

"... I do."

The words slipped out.

Soft.

Honest.

"I don't understand it," I continued. "But when you're close, my chest feels tight. When you walk away, it hurts. That's crazy. I just met you."

"You didn't just meet me," he said quietly.

I blinked. "What?"

He looked at me like he almost said something else.

Then he shook his head.

"Nothing."

I hated that answer.

"Don't do that," I said.

"Do what?"

"Hide things from me."

"You wouldn't like the truth."

"Try me."

His eyes darkened.

"If I touch you, I won't stop."

The air left my lungs.

Not a threat.

Not arrogance.

A warning.

Like he was protecting me from himself.

My voice came out softer than I expected.

"Then don't stop."

Silence.

The kind that makes your ears ring.

He stared at me like I had just handed him a loaded gun.

"You don't know what you're saying," he murmured.

"I know exactly what I'm saying."

"Elena"

"I was almost taken tonight. Drugged. Treated like trash." My throat burned. "And you're the only person who looked at me like I mattered."

My hands trembled.

"But you're walking away like I'm dangerous to you."

His voice cracked.

"You are."

That broke something inside me.

I stood up, even though my legs were weak.

"If I'm so dangerous, why did you carry me like I was something precious?"

He didn't answer.

"Why did you fight for me?"

Silence.

"Why are you looking at me like that right now?"

He stepped closer.

One step.

Slow.

Controlled.

Like approaching fire.

"Because," he said quietly, "my wolf hasn't stopped screaming since I touched you."

My heart pounded so loud I could hear it.

"I don't understand," I whispered.

"You're not supposed to."

His hand came up and brushed my cheek.

So gentle.

So careful.

Like I might break.

My eyes closed without permission.

The warmth spread through me.

Comfort.

Safety.

Home.

Home?

Why did he feel like home?

"I've never reacted to anyone like this," he admitted.

"Me neither."

"If I cross this line, everything changes."

"Maybe everything has already changed."

Our foreheads almost touched.

His breath mixed with mine.

My chest rose and fell too fast.

He whispered, barely audible.

"Say stop and I'll walk away."

I didn't.

I couldn't.

Because the truth was simple.

If he walked away now, it would hurt more than anything tonight.

More than the drug.

More than the fear.

More than the humiliation.

So I shook my head.

And whispered, "Stay."

He kissed me.

Soft.

Careful.

Like asking permission.

Not talking.

Never talking.

My fingers gripped his shirt again.

He made a low sound in his throat like he had been starving.

But even then, he held back.

Always holding back.

Always choosing control.

That's what made it worse.

Because it meant he respected me.

And respect was more dangerous than desire.

He rested his forehead against mine.

His voice broke.

"This isn't just attraction."

"I know."

"This isn't just chemistry."

"I know."

He swallowed hard.

Then the word slipped out.

Quiet.

Reverent.

Terrified.

"... Mate."

My eyes opened.

"What?"

His jaw tightened.

Like he regretted saying it.

But it was too late.

The word hung between us.

Heavy.

Important.

Final.

"Mate?" I repeated.

He nodded once.

"In our world... It means one person. Only one. For life."

My pulse raced.

"That's not possible. We just met."

"I know."

"You don't even know me."

"I know."

"Then how"

"I don't choose this," he said. "It chooses me."

My heart felt like it might burst.

For the first time in my life, I wasn't a second choice.

No backup.

Not charity.

Chosen.

Only.

Hi.

The thought scared me.

But it also healed something old and broken inside me.

"What happens now?" I asked.

He looked at me like the answer scared him too.

"Now... nothing stays simple."

Later, sleep dragged me under.

Warm.

Safe.

His arms around me.

Like he was guarding me even in dreams.

When I woke up, sunlight touched my face.

I wasn't alone.

I was in his bed.

Wrapped in his shirt.

His scent is everywhere.

And the door across the room slowly opened.

A woman's sharp voice cut through the air.

"So this is the girl you chose over your pack, Roman?"

My blood ran cold.

Chosen?

Over his pack?

What did that mean?

And why did she sound like she wanted me gone?