[POV: Draven]
I smelled him before I saw him.
The moment Atlas crossed onto the path toward the packhouse, his scent hit me. It slammed into my lungs and coiled low in my gut, stopping my breath mid-sentence. I'd been reading patrol reports at my desk, but suddenly ink and paper felt about as important as dust.
His pheromones were thick in the air—warm, heady, and pulsing with need. And they were getting closer.
I stood before I could think. Sirius surged forward in my chest, a low snarl of recognition vibrating through my ribs. A heartbeat later, the door swung open, and there he was.
Flushed, flowing and wild.
His white hair was tousled, damp at the temples with sweat. His cheeks were flushed dark, his lips parted, chest heaving beneath his shirt like he'd sprinted the entire way from the training field. His pale eyes locked onto mine with a hunger that punched the air straight out of my lungs.
"Atlas—" I started, but he was already moving.
He crossed the room in two fierce strides and crashed into me, his arms wrapping around my neck, his mouth finding mine in a kiss that wasn't tentative or sweet. It was desperate.
He kissed like he was starving for me, like his skin might burn if I didn't touch him back. His hands tangled in my shirt, tugging, pulling, fingers sliding beneath the fabric, nails raking across my chest hard enough to leave marks.
I groaned, catching his waist before I lost all control. "Goddess, Atlas…"
"You smell so good," he whispered against my lips, voice breathy and wrecked. "I need you, Draven. Now."
My pulse thundered. He was in rut.
I should have known the second his scent shifted—that sharp, electric edge beneath the pine that made every predatory instinct in my body snap to attention.
But I hadn't expected it to hit this fast. The silver wolf blood had amplified everything, turning what should have been a gradual simmer into a wildfire.
"Atlas—" I tried, but he silenced me with another kiss, his hands already clawing at my shirt, yanking the hem free from my waistband like the fabric had personally offended him.
"I want you," he gasped against my lips, voice shattered with heat. "Right now, Draven. I— please— I can't—"
His words dissolved into a groan as he pressed his body flush against mine, hips rolling forward in a slow, needy grind that made my restraint crack straight down the middle. I could feel him, and the sensation sent a bolt of raw need through my own body that nearly buckled my knees.
Fuck.
I cupped his face, searching his gaze, checking. "Atlas, you're in rut."
"I know," he breathed, eyes blazing with something feral. Hyde was right behind them, golden and wild, pressing against the surface.
He was flushed and trembling, his body pressed tight against mine, every muscle in his lean frame coiled with a tension that had nothing to do with combat and everything to do with the biological fire raging through his blood.
"Atlas," I growled, breaking the kiss just long enough to breathe. "You can't just run through pack territory like this. Someone could've caught your scent—anyone—"
"I don't care," he interrupted fiercely, pressing even tighter against me, his hips grinding with an impatience that made coherent thought nearly impossible. "I only wanted to find you."
That should have made me scold him again. Should have triggered the Alpha responsible for discipline and order and keeping my mate safe from broadcasting need across half the territory.
Instead, I kissed him like I was going to lose him in the next second.
His lips were soft, pliant, mine. His body arched into mine with pure instinct, and I could feel the heat rolling off his skin like a furnace, like Hyde was clawing for me beneath the surface, demanding what the bond had promised.
The reports on my desk were already forgotten.
Without breaking the kiss, I swept him into my arms. My hands found his hips, gripping them hard as I lifted him.
His legs locked instinctively around my waist, the muscles of his thighs clamping tight, anchoring himself to me as our mouths crashed together again.
His scent grew stronger with every passing second, igniting my blood, making my senses reel. I stumbled blindly from the office, entirely consumed by Atlas's mouth, his skin, his warmth pressed so perfectly against me that I could feel his heartbeat hammering through both our chests.
I carried him through the hallway, ignoring the startled glance from a passing warrior. The wolf turned his gaze away quickly, smart enough not to question his Alpha's intent—not when my mate was tangled around me like this, radiating need like a second skin.
Nothing mattered but him.
I navigated the corridors with the urgency of a man whose self-control was measured in seconds rather than minutes, Atlas's hot breaths against my lips driving me faster.
His kisses were deep and demanding, his groans stirring every primal instinct I possessed.
When we finally reached our chambers, I kicked the door shut behind us. I carried him straight to the bed, laying him down among the sheets, intending to take control, to care for him the way he clearly needed.
But Atlas surprised me.
With a burst of strength and speed that shouldn't have been possible from a wolf mid-rut, he flipped our positions in a heartbeat. I landed beneath him, back hitting the mattress, momentarily breathless with surprise.
My breath caught.
His skin glowed faintly with that silver wolf luminescence, the crescent mark at his brow pulsing silver. His mouth was red and kiss-bruised, his chest heaving, and he was looking down at me like I was his to devour.
He straddled my hips with a confidence I'd never seen from him—thighs pressing hard against my sides, hands braced flat on my chest, every line of his body radiating a wild, determined energy.
"Tonight," he whispered, his voice husky and powerful, daring me to challenge him, "you're mine."
Something feral growled inside me at his tone—at the pure, unashamed desire in his voice. He wasn't hesitant or shy. He wanted me, and he wanted to take.
I'd never seen him like this. And I couldn't resist him if I tried.
I reached up and cupped his face, thumb brushing the glowing crescent moon at his brow—the mark that had appeared during the ceremony and hadn't faded since. My voice was rough when I answered.
"Yours, little wolf. Do whatever you want."
His hands trailed down my chest, leaving goosebumps in their wake, fingers tracing every ridge of muscle with a possessiveness that made my blood sing.
He moved against me with a rhythm that drove every last thread of my control toward the edge—slow, deliberate rolls of his hips that pressed us together through the diminishing fabric between us.
I could feel his heat. I could feel his need.
And I knew, without question, I would give him anything he asked for.