I loathed jealousy. Loathed the way it made my hands tremble, the way it crawled under my skin like poison spreading through my veins.
The way it made me picture that man's hands where mine should've been. On his waist. On his throat. On his hips. Touching him the way I imagined touching him almost every damn night since I first tasted his scent, since he'd invaded my every waking thought and haunted my dreams with visions I couldn't escape.
Sirius raged just beneath the surface, snarling in a loop that only added fuel to my already unstable thoughts, making it impossible to think clearly, to be rational. "He's ours. Ours. He touched what's ours. Kill him. Find him and tear him apart."
The words echoed through my mind like a chant, a claim, a demand for blood and violence. My wolf wanted blood. Wanted to chase down that stranger and tear him apart for daring to touch Atlas, for daring to look at him with those intimate eyes, for daring to ask if he still loved him.
My body moved before I could think, before I could reason. I reached out and grabbed Atlas by the chin, forcing his teary, stunned gaze back to mine, refusing to let him look away.
"Stop crying," I said sharply, voice thick with restrained fury, with emotions I couldn't name. "I believe you."
He blinked, breath still trembling, and I hated the way the tears clung to his lashes, making them shimmer in the moonlight. It made him look too breakable—too unlike the boy who had stood his ground before me from time to time.
Who had snapped at me in training and left a scar on my arm that reminds me about his bite during that sparring session, when he'd fought like a cornered animal. Who landed a kick to my jaw and barked back with fire in his eyes, refusing to submit even when he should have.
That was the Atlas I knew. The one I couldn't stop wanting. The one who challenged me, who pushed back, who made me feel alive in ways I hadn't felt in years.
This trembling thing in front of me… this didn't fit. This wasn't the warrior I'd watched grow stronger with each passing day. "You're a warrior of this pack," I said, my voice still gruff but lower now.
I was trying to reach him through the fear, through whatever emotions were making him shake. "You're the same boy who stood in the center of that arena and didn't flinch. Who fought without hesitation. Who won against opponents twice your experience. So what is this? Where is that strength now?"
He inhaled shakily, his chest rising and falling rapidly, each breath visible in the moonlight. "I'm sorry. I—"
He swallowed hard, and I felt the motion under my fingers, felt the vulnerability of his throat beneath my palm, the trust it took not to pull away. "I didn't mean to disappoint you. I just… didn't know how else to explain it. But I would never betray Crimson Fang. Never. I feel that I belong here now. This is my home."
Belong. The word tasted dangerous on my tongue, heavy with implications I wasn't ready to examine, with meanings that went far deeper than pack loyalty.
I leaned in, pressing my body closer until I felt every inch of him—his heartbeat fluttering against my chest like a trapped bird, rapid and desperate, his warmth sinking into me like a brand burning into my skin, marking me as surely as I wanted to mark him.
My grip on his chin tightened slightly, possessive, claiming, my thumb brushing along the line of his jaw, feeling the slight stubble there. "Do you?" I murmured, my voice dropping lower, more intimate. "Belong here?"
He nodded carefully, still watching me with those wide, uncertain blue eyes that reflected the moonlight.
"Then that means…" I tilted my head, letting my lips hover dangerously close to his, close enough that he could feel my breath against his skin, "you belong to me, doesn't it?"
His eyes widened further, shock and something else—something heated—flashing across his features. His lips parted in a soft, surprised breath—but I didn't let him answer. Didn't want to hear denial or confusion or anything that might break this moment.
I pressed him back more firmly against the tree, closing the distance between us, trapping him with my body. My free hand slid down to his waist, fingers curling possessively at his hip, holding him still, feeling the warmth of his skin through the fabric of his shirt.
"Or do you still think you belong to him?" I asked, my voice lower now, rough with jealousy, with the raw possessiveness I couldn't suppress. "The man who ran like a coward? Who left you here to deal with the fallout? Who abandoned you the second things got dangerous?"
His brows twitched, uncertainty flickering across his face. His lips parted—but again, I didn't let him speak. Couldn't let him defend the stranger, couldn't hear him say he still cared. My thumb moved, trailing softly over his bottom lip, feeling the soft warmth there.
"Did he kiss you?" I whispered, the question torn from somewhere deep inside me, from a place of raw vulnerability I rarely acknowledged.
He flushed—deep, scarlet blooming across his cheeks and down his throat, spreading like wildfire across pale skin. The color was beautiful, damning, answer enough.
That answer was enough. My jaw clenched, muscles tightening with barely controlled rage and want, with the need to replace every memory of that stranger's touch with my own.
I leaned closer, letting my lips brush just above his skin, hovering over the pulse point at his throat where I could feel his heartbeat racing, my hand sliding more firmly over his hip, pulling him closer until there was no space left between us.
"Did he touch you?" I asked, my voice now nothing more than a growl against his jaw, rough and demanding. "Did you sleep with him?"
He was trembling now—not with fear, not entirely—but with tension, heat, something raw and electric that crackled between us like lightning before a storm. His breath hitched, shallow and rapid, warm against my neck.
But he didn't say anything. And that silence… It was driving me mad. Pushing me toward a line I wasn't sure I should cross.
The lack of denial. The way his body responded to mine, pressing back even as he trembled, drawn to me despite everything. The scent of him, stronger now, pine and snowdrops mixed with something sweeter, more intoxicating, filling my lungs with every breath.
Sirius was howling in my mind, demanding I claim him, mark him, make it impossible for anyone else to ever touch him again, to leave a permanent reminder of who he belonged to. And for once, I wasn't sure I disagreed.
"Answer me," I demanded, my voice barely more than a whisper, rough with need, my lips brushing the shell of his ear. "Tell me the truth, Atlas."
Still, he said nothing. Just stared at me with those wide blue eyes, chest heaving, lips parted, looking at me like I was both his salvation and his destruction, like he couldn't decide whether to run or pull me closer. And maybe I was both. Maybe we both were.