Chapter 10

Dahlia.

The mountain of books on the table loomed over me like an overzealous librarian's revenge. Werewolves and Lycans had their quirks, sure, but did they really warrant this much reading material? If there was a magical way to absorb all this knowledge—like osmosis but with zero effort—I'd sign up in a heartbeat. With a dramatic flop of my hands on the table, I declared the study session officially over. Tomorrow, I'd tackle the books. Or at least, I'd lie to myself about it again.

The library lights blinked off behind me as I wandered into the dining room. My husband was there, leaning against the counter and sipping water like it was the elixir of life. My gaze trailed over him, lingering longer than usual. Would I ever see him shift? The idea of him turning into a hulking wolf was both intriguing and, let's face it, a little terrifying. What did he even look like in his other form? Did everything grow when he transformed? My eyes darted downward, and my cheeks betrayed me by heating up faster than a stovetop.

His gaze snapped to mine, and I mentally kicked myself. Could he read my thoughts? Oh, no. No, no. I shuffled over and sat down, keeping my hands busy while trying to look casual.

He waved a hand in front of my face and snapped his fingers, his lips moving,"Hey, you zoning out on me?"

Before I could come up with an "innocent" response, Billie entered, balancing a tray of food like a pro. My husband's plate was already spotless—of course. I pointed to myself, then to his plate, and mimicked eating, hoping to communicate my request without needing an elaborate game of charades.

He raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. "You want my leftovers?"

I shook my head, trying not to roll my eyes. It wasn't leftovers I wanted. It was clarity— about something.

I repeated the gesture with exaggerated movements, willing him to understand.

His lips curled into a mischievous grin. "Oh, you're asking if I'll eat you?"

My brain short-circuited. My heart skipped a beat as I nodded cautiously, a hundred thoughts racing through my mind. Did wolves eat humans? Was I about to become some supernatural delicacy? Is that why he keeps fattening me with food so I will be ready for juicy and meaty for his feeding?

He chuckled, the kind that made me feel both ridiculous and relieved. "Relax. I don't eat humans, nourishing as you might be. But..." His grin widened. "I could eat something between your legs."

My spoon fell onto the plate as I gawked at him. Wait. What?! He winked, obviously delighted by my stunned reaction. I stared at my food, trying to will my blush to go away.

I busied myself with my plate, every bite suddenly feeling like a test of endurance under his watchful gaze. He leaned back in his chair, arms folded, observing me like I was the most fascinating creature he'd ever seen. My skin prickled under his scrutiny.

So this was how he felt earlier when I was ogling him, huh? Awkward, but fair.

---

I turned to Billie, signing a question that had been nagging me like an itch I couldn't scratch. Her reaction was immediate—her face paled, and her lips parted like she wanted to say, Absolutely not.

"Are you sure you want me to ask him that?" she asked, her expression teetering between disbelief and secondhand embarrassment.

I nodded with the conviction of someone who didn't yet know the meaning of regret.

Billie exhaled, the kind you'd see from someone about to do something they'd rather not. She turned to my husband. "Um… does your… rod get bigger when you shift into your wolf form?"

Time stopped. The air grew heavier. If I could hear, I'm sure somewhere, a cricket probably dropped its violin and ran.

I stared at my plate, willing it to transform into a portal that could swallow me whole. Through the curtain of my hair, I risked a glance at him. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes? Oh, his eyes were practically doing cartwheels.

I gave up and looked at him but avoiding his eyes from time to time.

He leaned back in his chair, arms crossing as a slow, devilish smirk curved his lips. "Last night's size wasn't enough for you? Human girl, you're getting greedy."

My jaw dropped, and I felt my face heat up so fast I wondered if I'd accidentally discovered how to blush myself into flames. Not enough?! My brain reeled. Last night was my first time, and it had been more than enough—an experience bordering on monumental, terrifying, and unforgettable. The idea of it somehow getting bigger was enough to make me consider early retirement from curiosity.

I shot Billie a frantic thank-you sign, which probably looked more like I was flagging down an airplane, and bolted for the door. My cheeks burned with regret and humiliation, the two tag-teaming my dignity.

I felt the air shift, I froze. No. Nope. Don't turn around, Dahlia. But curiosity—oh, my old nemesis—got the better of me. I glanced back and saw him standing, all six-foot- three of him, with that intense, predatory look in his eyes that made me shiver. His smirk hadn't budged.

I slammed my bedroom door shut, leaning against it as if it could shield me from my own poor decisions. Never again, I vowed. My curiosity had officially been grounded for life.

After a quick shower to rinse off the embarrassment, I slipped into a silky pink nightdress. The fabric clung to my skin like a hug, which was good, because I needed one. I crawled into bed, pulling the covers up to my nose. Sleep was my only hope of escaping the nightmare I had created for myself.

But deep down, I knew the teasing was far from over.

~~~~~~~~

I stood by the window, bathed in moonlight, trying to calm the storm of awkwardness still swirling inside me. The stars twinkled innocently, as if mocking my attempts to forget the thing I'd just witnessed. Boredom gnawed at me, and my mind wandered back to the church and that bizarre package of cut hair. Maybe my husband had sent it back. If not, I'd need to remind him—because nothing says "marital bonding" like a conversation about rogue hair packages.

Without giving it too much thought (or any, really), I padded out of my room and down the hall to his. His door was ajar, and a sliver of light spilled out, beckoning me. Curiosity got the better of me. Or maybe I just wasn't good at learning from my past mistakes.

The bathroom was nothing short of palace-worthy—marble floors, golden faucets, and a shower big enough to host a small wedding. Through the misty glass, I caught sight of him. Water cascaded down his body, and for a moment, I forgot how to breathe.

I stayed frozen, my gaze glued to his silhouette as if I were a moth and he was a very naked flame. Then, he stepped out of the shower.

And there it was.

My jaw hit the floor so hard, I'm surprised it didn't leave a dent. That thing… that weapon of mass destruction… was the size of my arm. And it wasn't even fully… operational. How am I alive? I wondered, my brain short-circuiting. Suddenly, my memories of our wedding night made a lot more sense.

Before I could turn to flee, I caught movement in the corner of my eye. My husband had wrapped a towel around himself, but the damage was already done. His sharp, piercing gaze locked onto mine, and I felt like a deer caught in the headlights of a very smug, very amused truck.

"What do you want?" he asked, his lips curving into a smirk that screamed, Caught you staring, didn't I?

Panicking, I gestured toward the shelf, hoping he'd magically understand the silent chaos of my thoughts. He raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying my struggle.

"I don't keep dldos in my bathroom," he said.

I choked on air, waving my hands frantically to protest his wildly incorrect assumption. If embarrassment were an Olympic sport, I'd have just broken every record.

I mimed scissors cutting hair, desperate for him to focus on literally anything else. He finally tilted his head, like a king humoring a jester. "Your hair?" he asked. "I'm not sending it. I'll keep it."

My stomach dropped. What? I clasped my hands together, silently begging him to reconsider. If he didn't send it back, the leaders might think something had gone wrong.

"Beg all you want," he said, his lips curling into a smug smirk. "Your leaders know the deal stands. If I didn't want any terms with humans, they'd already know. I'll keep your hair, and I won't tell you where it is."

I blinked at him, utterly flabbergasted. Keep my hair? What was he, a villain in a telenovela? Was he planning to knit a sweater out of it or something? The thought made me shudder.

He folded his arms, his expression as unyielding as a marble statue. I could almost hear the sound of my dignity crumbling into tiny, pitiful pieces. Why was he so insistent on this? Was he planning some elaborate prank, or was this just his version of asserting dominance?

Feeling the heat of frustration rise to my face, I stepped forward and shoved him. It was like trying to push a brick wall with a grudge. His unbothered smirk only fueled my irritation, so I did what any rational, mature adult would do: I started pounding my fists against his chest like a furious toddler.

His brows shot up, and with a sigh that practically screamed "I can't believe I married this" he grabbed my wrists and pinned me against the wall in one smooth motion. His strength was overwhelming, but his smug expression was even worse.

"Read my lips, you annoying little human," he growled, his face inches from mine. "Stop testing me—I'm running out of patience."

Oh, so now he was the one running out of patience? The irony wasn't lost on me. I stuck out my tongue in a defiant act of immaturity, fully embracing my role as his most annoying problem.

His gaze flicked down to my chest, and my defiance wavered as heat crept up my neck. His eyes lingered a second too long, and I could almost hear him mentally cataloging every inch of me.

"You put on this tough act," he leaned in with a low and maddeningly smug, "but when I look at your body, you turn shy?"

I narrowed my eyes, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction, but my cheeks betrayed me, glowing brighter than a stoplight. He leaned closer, his lips brushing mine in a way that made my breath hitch.

"Stop shaking your head like that. You'll make yourself dizzy." I grasped every word lip by lip.

I froze, trying to suppress the heat pooling deep inside me. Damn this traitorous body. My mind replayed flashes of our first kiss—unwanted, overwhelming, and annoyingly unforgettable.

"But you're not my type," he said suddenly. "As if I'd ever want a human. That was the first and last time I'll ever touch you."

His words sliced through me, leaving an ache I wasn't ready to admit existed. I met his gaze, searching for any sign of the warmth I thought I'd felt before, but it was gone. He released my wrists, stepping back like I was something toxic.

My throat tightened as I turned away, keeping my expression blank despite the storm inside me. He might have been my husband by name, but in reality, he was just another beast in a long line of monsters. The only difference was, this one had my hair and a disturbingly good poker face.

As I walked back to my room, my mind churned with survival plans. Clearly, living here was going to require a combination of strategy, patience, and, most importantly, avoiding his smug face for as long as possible.