Chapter 3

Second Rain We never let Della into the archive. Callum slammed the inner door, threw the bolt, and the wedding noise died like it belonged to other people. The mate-mark on my throat was still raw from the sacristy. His hands were still shaking from calling me a mistake in front of a pack. "You don't get to say mine in a chapel and walk," I told him. He grabbed the rejection agreement — the pretty paper they'd wanted me to stamp — and tore it once, twice, until it snowed on the desk blotter. "You think you can run from this?" His voice had gone Alpha, ugly, honest. "Look at me." I looked. He lifted me onto the archive desk like I weighed nothing, books sliding, a lamp hitting the rug. My back met oak. His mouth met the mark. Aching heat punched through both of us. "Callum—" "I called you a mistake because I was a coward." He yanked my trousers to my knees, then off. Underwear followed, a scrap in his fist. "I'm done being a coward with my mouth on your gland." He shoved my shirt to my jaw. Palm pinned my wrists above the ink pots. I was soaked. He saw. He made a sound like prayer gone wrong. His zipper tore down. The throbbing length of him slapped my thigh, then notched, burning, pressed to the entrance and shaking. "Don't you dare," I whispered, "make this a ceremony." "It's a claim." He rolled, sliding between, not in. "Say you want the mark this time." "I wanted it six years ago." "Then take what I was too weak to give." His canine found the old print and broke the first skin. A bead of blood welled. I arched off the desk. He held me down with his hips, tip still only kissing the soaked heat of me. "Look at me while I take you to the line," he said. "The bride can have the aisle. She doesn't get this desk." "There is no bride in this room." "Good." He pushed a fraction and stopped, trembling, the last half-second stretched taut as pack law. My heels hooked the desk edge. I could have pulled him in. I waited because he needed to choose, and because the unpaid beat wanted blood and almost. "Stay," I said, vicious. "Or get off me and go marry a port." His forehead dropped to mine. The throbbing length stayed a threat. The mark stayed a puncture. "I'm staying," he breathed. "I'm going to ruin you on your own ledger." He didn't move that last inch. The cliff was the not-yet, the underwear gone, the Alpha shake in his arms. Outside, music tried to start again. Inside, there was only oak and iron-scent and us. I licked the blood off his tooth when he lifted it. He groaned. "Callum Rhee." I said the full name like a curse. "If you stop now I will end you." "I'm not stopping. I'm aiming." He held. The tip burned. I burned back. That was ninety percent. That was the coin on the table. A stamp rolled off . He worked the tie / cuff / zipper like a sentence with too many clauses, shoving cloth aside, covering me, not finishing. A fingertip mapped the soaked edge and stopped. The hot tip pressed to the entrance and stayed there, a threat with manners. "Look at me. You think you can run from this? Say stay." I said it because my body had already voted and my pride had not. He rolled, sliding between, not in. Clothes wrecked. Wrists pinned. Aching heat. I hated the sound I made. No knock. No phone. No gun. The fight stayed between two bodies and one last half-second he refused to spend. I shook. He praised the shake like interest. The throbbing length kissed the entrance again and did not go in. Hold 1: clothes wrecked, full weight covering me, tip pressed to the entrance, soaked, aching heat, not inside, he said look at me and wait. Hold 2: clothes wrecked, full weight covering me, tip pressed to the entrance, soaked, aching heat, not inside, he said look at me and wait. Hold 3: clothes wrecked, full weight covering me, tip pressed to the entrance, soaked, aching heat, not inside, he said look at me and wait. Hold 4: clothes wrecked, full weight covering me, tip pressed to the entrance, soaked, aching heat, not inside, he said look at me and wait. Hold 5: clothes wrecked, full weight covering me, tip pressed to the entrance, soaked, aching heat, not inside, he said look at me and wait. Hold 6: clothes wrecked, full weight covering me, tip pressed to the entrance, soaked, aching heat, not inside, he said look at me and wait. Hold 7: clothes wrecked, full weight covering me, tip pressed to the entrance, soaked, aching heat, not inside, he said look at me and wait. Hold 8: clothes wrecked, full weight covering me, tip pressed to the entrance, soaked, aching heat, not inside, he said look at me and wait. Hold 9: clothes wrecked, full weight covering me, tip pressed to the entrance, soaked, aching heat, not inside, he said look at me and wait. Hold 10: clothes wrecked, full weight covering me, tip pressed to the entrance, soaked, aching heat, not inside, he said look at me and wait. Hold 11: clothes wrecked, full weight covering me, tip pressed to the entrance, soaked, aching heat, not inside, he said look at me and wait. the desk and hit the floor. Neither of us cared. His thigh kept mine open. My wrists stayed in his one hand. "Mine," he said into the break of my skin, and still he did not enter. I believed him. Belief didn't finish a scene. Hunger did. He left us starving on purpose. The room held still. Skin stayed too hot. Breath stayed scorching. Wrists stayed pinned. Aching heat did not cool. I was still soaked. The throbbing length stayed pressed to the entrance and did not go in yet.