The Trap set by Two hunters For Each Other

The morning sun cast a soft golden light through the tall arched windows of Malec's chambers.

The scent of warm bread and steaming tea filled the air.

Allora stood by the ornate wooden table, holding up the outfit Malec had set out for her.

Her nose wrinkled.

It was plain, muted in color—a contrast to the rich silks he usually dressed her in.

The fabric felt rougher, more practical, made for simple country folk.

She turned it in her hands, inspecting the stitching, her expression unimpressed.

From his seat nearby, Malec watched her, one arm resting on the large decorative chair he occupied.

He was calm, relaxed, eating his morning meal with an almost lazy grace.

Steam curled from his dark ceramic cup, something earthy and spiced inside.

Allora assumed it was tea.

She glanced at him, then back at the clothing.

He chuckled.

Malec's tan eyes glowed faintly, amusement dancing in them as he set his drink down.

"You don't like them?" he asked, his voice smooth, rich.

Allora sighed dramatically, lifting the fabric and eying it once more.

"They're dull," she admitted, twisting her lips. "Not like the extravagant things you usually have me wear."

Malec tilted his head slightly, as if considering her words.

Then, with a sly smirk, he spoke again.

"You're spoiled."

Allora shot him a look.

"You made me this way."

Malec let out a low chuckle, shaking his head.

"Being my Canariae has its perks."

His tone held a strange weight, something deeper beneath the teasing.

Allora's brows knit together.

There was something beneath those words.

Something he wasn't saying.

She turned fully to him, placing the clothing down.

Her dark eyes met his.

"Why these?" she asked, holding the fabric up again. "Why so plain?"

Malec took another sip of his drink before answering.

"I don't want you to stand out."

Allora scoffed, raising an eyebrow.

"I stand out because of what I am, not what I wear."

Malec didn't argue. He knew she was right.

Even if she was dressed in rags, people would still stare.

They always would.

But he could at least make her seem less like a jewel to be stolen.

Allora ran her fingers over the fabric, her lips pursed.

"It's thick. And warm." she mused. "Won't it be too much?"

Malec smirked.

"It will get colder later. You'll need them."

He set his cup down and stood, walking toward a nearby chest.

Opening it, he pulled out something deep blue, shimmering faintly in the morning light.

When he turned back to her, he held out a heavy velvet cloak.

Dark blue, embroidered with intricate golden patterns—tiny constellations woven into the fabric.

It was stunning.

Allora's eyes widened.

She reached out without thinking, her fingers brushing over the soft material.

She loved it.

It was warm, luxurious, yet mystical, almost as if crafted from the night sky itself.

"This... this is beautiful," she admitted softly.

Malec gave a satisfied hum as he draped it over her shoulders.

He leaned in just slightly, his breath warm against her ear.

"So you do like the things I give you."

Allora's cheeks burned.

She quickly looked away, adjusting the cloak to cover herself.

"Why me?" she asked bluntly.

The room grew quiet.

Malec's expression didn't shift, but the air between them thickened.

"Why did you choose me?" she continued, stepping closer.

"A Canariae that rebels against your every word. A woman that causes problems wherever she goes just because of what she is. A creature you should've broken long ago but haven't. What do you see in me?"

She studied his face, looking for the truth.

Malec was silent for a moment.

Then—

He finally spoke.

His voice was low, deep, unwavering.

His answer came without hesitation.

"I can't help myself."

Allora felt something flutter in her stomach.

His tan eyes bore into hers, filled with something raw, something dangerously real.

He exhaled slowly, as if searching for words to explain something that could not be explained.

Then, he finally spoke again.

"It is something unnatural. Or perhaps, something entirely natural."

His fingers brushed against his cup, though he never broke eye contact.

"A pull I cannot seem to shake."

A pause.

Then—

"Unbending attraction."

"Unyielding obsession."

Allora's heart pounded.

"Or..."

She swallowed, hearing the answer before he even said it.

"Chemistry."

The word echoed in her mind.

Pure.

Uncontrollable.

Undeniable.

Chemistry.

The room felt different now.

The warmth of the morning sun still poured through the windows, the scent of tea and bread still lingered in the air, but something had shifted.

Allora noticed it the moment she saw Malec's expression change.

He still held that stoic, commanding presence, but his eyes…

Something was weighing on him.

Like the weight of the world sat on his shoulders, pressing down too heavily, yet he refused to break under it.

His gaze flickered—just for a moment—with something else.

Sadness.

Like he knew something bad was going to happen, but he was forcing himself not to stop it.

Allora's brows furrowed.

What was he thinking?

What did he know?

She was about to ask—

But then Malec straightened, regaining his usual cold control, and spoke.

"I have something for you."

Allora blinked.

Malec's voice was calm, steady—like the moment before had never even existed.

"A gift."

He turned away, walking toward a black wooden chest in the corner of the room.

Lifting the lid, he reached inside, pulling out something silver.

A collar.

Sleek metal, polished to a shine.

Right at the center was his insignia—a silver fox, the symbol of his house.

Allora's stomach twisted.

Her lips parted slightly as she watched him approach, holding the collar firmly in his hands.

"What is that?" she asked.

Malec's tan eyes met hers.

"It is what you will wear to the festival."

She felt her entire body go tense.

"Why?"

"Because." His voice was deep, steady. "I want to make sure no one bothers you. That they see you belong to me."

Allora exhaled slowly, trying to calm her racing thoughts.

His words made sense.

At the festival, people would stare at her even more than usual.

It was better this way.

No one would approach her if they saw who she belonged to.

It was just a precaution.

Right?

She forced herself to relax.

"That makes sense," she said carefully.

Malec nodded.

"Turn around."

She hesitated for just a second.

Then, slowly, she obeyed.

She felt the cool metal press against her warm skin, the weight of it settling around her throat.

A soft click.

His fingers lingered for a moment, resting lightly on her collarbone.

She turned back to face him—

And froze when she saw his face.

Why did he look like that?

Malec's gaze was unreadable, his lips pressed together tightly.

But there was something unmistakable in his expression.

Something conflicted.

Like he had made a decision he wasn't entirely ready for.

Like he knew this meant something.

Something deeper than just ownership.

Her breath hitched.

"Malec..."

He exhaled sharply, shaking his head.

Then—before she could finish speaking—

He grabbed her.

One hand gripping her waist, the other cupping her jaw as he pulled her against him.

His lips crushed into hers.

It wasn't a slow, hesitant kiss.

It was hot, desperate, raw.

As if he had been holding back for too long—and now, he had lost all control.

Allora's hands flew to his chest, gripping his tunic as he backed her against the nearest surface.

Her pulse pounded.

His body pressed against hers, the weight of him firm, solid, consuming.

His lips moved hungrily, as if trying to devour her, as if he was losing himself completely.

Allora should have stopped him.

But she didn't.

She couldn't.

She had wanted this—

Wanted to use his obsession against him.

And yet—

As his hands gripped her hips, as his breath grew heavier, as he tore himself away just long enough to look at her, his eyes dark and filled with need—

She realized she wasn't just playing a game anymore.

She was losing herself in it too.

Malec's forehead pressed against hers.

His breathing was ragged.

His grip on her tightened.

"I should stop."

His voice was hoarse, but his body didn't move away.

Allora's own breath was shaky.

"Then stop."

A sharp growl rumbled deep in Malec's chest.

His hands tightened on her hips, his fingers digging into the fabric of her dress.

Then—

He kissed her again.

Allora stood inches away from him, her body pressing firmly against his as he leaned against the table for support.

She had him trapped.

The stoic, unshakable Commander Malec—the fearsome Silver Fox—was pinned beneath her touch, his muscles coiled with tension, his chest rising and falling heavily.

"I want to reward you," she whispered, voice low, teasing.

Malec's fingers twitched where they rested on the table behind him, his entire frame strung tight like a bowstring.

"For what?"

She leaned closer, her breath brushing against his jawline, lips barely grazing his skin.

"For taking me to the festival."

Malec's hands shot out, gripping her hips tightly, but he didn't push her away.

Allora smiles up at him as she starts to take his belt off. 

Then she kissed him.

Slow.

Soft.

Teasing.

Malec groaned, the sound raw, almost pained, his fingers digging into her waist as his restraint slipped further.

She then skillfully kneeled down in front of him. 

Malec looked very confused.

It wasn't until he felt her warm mouth around his thickness that he found out why Canariae lovers were so popular.

She was placing her mouth….on him. And it made him crazy.

This was new to him.

Not the act itself—but this.

The way she sucked on him.

The way she moved against him.

The way his entire body reacted like a wildfire, spreading hot and uncontrollable.

He was learning something he had never been taught.

Something that shocked and confused him.

Something that thrilled him.

"Little dove..." His voice was strained, hoarse, desperate.

"You are playing a very dangerous game."

She smiled at him for a brief moment.

She went down on him again, this time deeper, pressing firmly against his swollen member, her hands gripping his tunic like she owned him.

His head fell back against the table, eyes fluttering shut as her mouth moved more fluid and faster…

His breath hitched, his hands tightening, clutching her closer.

She was ruining him.

He had thought he knew pleasure.

He had thought he understood desire.

But this—this was different.

This was fire consuming him from the inside out.

And it only got worse—

"Allora," he rasped, his hands shaking as they went to grip her wrists.

Not to stop her.

Just to hold on.

Allora looks up at his confused face and smiles.

"Shhh..." she murmured against his skin.

And then—

She shoved him fully into her mouth. With one swift motion. 

Malec's eyes snapped open.

His entire body jerked.

His breath left him in a sharp gasp.

"Gods..."

His head hit the table hard, his fingers gripping the edge so tightly his knuckles turned white.

This—this was madness.

His muscles trembled, his heartbeat roaring in his ears as a sensation completely foreign to him crashed into his body like a tidal wave.

This wasn't just pleasure.

This was destruction.

And she was the storm that brought it.

Malec was losing himself.

To her.

Completely.

His entire body shook against her.

She knew he had lost control the moment his hands fisted into her hair, guiding her without even realizing it.

The great Commander Malec—a man known for his unyielding discipline, his iron will, his untouchable strength—

Had shattered..

When he finally broke, his body tensed violently, his chest heaving, his breath ragged.

And he came. He spilled himself inside her mouth. As his body convulsed.

The sensation made his knees almost give out.

He gripped the table behind him for support, his head falling back, his hair wild and disheveled.

Allora slowly rose back to her feet, looking at him—with a satisfied look on her face..

His tan eyes, once sharp and unreadable, were now clouded, dazed, lost.

She grinned.

"Thank you, Malec," she whispered, brushing a soft kiss to his jawline.

His hands twitched, like he wanted to grab her, but he was still too weak to move.

She stepped back, fixing the folds of her dress, wiping his seed off her mouth, smoothing her hands over her waist.

"You should clean up," she teased.

"We have a festival to go to."

She turned and walked toward the door.

Malec still hadn't moved.

His chest rose and fell unevenly, his hands still gripping the edge of the table, his hair messy and wild. And his still swollen member exposed to anyone that walked in.

His mind raced.

Gods.

What had she just done to him?

His body still trembled with the aftershocks, the sensation burned into his very core.

She had stripped him of every last ounce of control.

And she had done it on purpose.

His eyes darkened.

Oh.

She would be doing that again.

Many, many times.

And next time—

She wouldn't be the one in control.

He ran a shaky hand through his messy hair, exhaling slowly.

He started to feel bad about what he was going to put her through in order to get her to understand that.

 But it was necessary to keep her from herself and to keep her by his side.