chapter seventeen

Caspian's POV:

Nikolas was trembling. Not just with anger, but with something deeper something he refused to acknowledge. His scent was laced with defiance, yet beneath it, the unmistakable traces of desire tangled in the air between us.

I stepped back, watching as he struggled to catch his breath, his fists clenched at his sides. He was fighting himself just as much as he was fighting me.

Good. Let him fight. Let him deny it.

It would only make his surrender all the sweeter.

"The bond?" he scoffed, glaring at me as if the very idea repulsed him. "You're insane."

I tilted my head, studying him. His chest rose and fell in sharp, uneven breaths, his pulse hammering at his throat. He was trying so hard to reject what his body already knew.

I exhaled slowly, reigning in my own instincts. The predator in me wanted to push, to claim, to make him submit right here and now. But the man in me—the one who had waited so damn long for him—wanted more than just obedience.

I wanted him to feel it.

"You keep calling me insane," I murmured, stepping closer just enough to watch his breath hitch. "But tell me, Nikolas—if I'm the insane one, then what does that make you?"

His eyes narrowed. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

I smirked, reaching out slowly, watching as his body tensed. I brushed my fingers over his wrist, feeling the rapid beat of his pulse beneath my touch.

"It means," I said, voice dipping lower, "that no matter how much you fight it, no matter how many times you say you're not mine… your body betrays you."

Nikolas jerked his hand away as if burned, his eyes blazing. "I hate you."

I chuckled. "That's not what your scent says."

His lips curled in disgust, but his breath was still uneven, his pupils still blown wide. The tension between us crackled like lightning before a storm, and I let it stretch between us, let him stew in his own confusion.

Then, just as quickly, I stepped away, giving him space.

"You can keep denying it, Nikolas," I said, moving toward my desk. "You can keep fighting me. Hell, I like a good chase."

I turned to face him, my smirk widening. "But in the end, you'll realize the truth. You are mine. And nothing not your stubbornness, not your hatred, not even your own damn will—can change that."

His jaw clenched, his entire body rigid as if he was barely keeping himself together. "You're sick."

I merely shrugged. "Maybe. But I'm also right."

I watched as Nikolas struggled with himself, his body coiled tight like a predator forced into a corner. He didn't respond not verbally, at least but I could see it in his eyes.

He was terrified.

Not of me.

But of the truth buried deep inside him.

And that? That was exactly what I wanted.

I leaned against my desk, arms crossed as I observed him. "You should rest, love. You have a long road ahead of you."

His eyes flashed. "Stop calling me that."

I grinned. "Make me."

Nikolas let out a frustrated growl, turning on his heel and storming toward the door. But before he could yank it open, I called after him.

"Oh, and Nikolas?"

He hesitated, shoulders tight with tension.

I let my voice drop, let the full weight of my words sink into him. "Run all you want. Fight all you want. But in the end… you'll still end up right where you belong."

Slowly, he turned his head just enough to meet my gaze. A mix of rage, defiance, and something far more dangerous flickered in his stormy blue eyes.

But he didn't say a word.

Instead, he slammed the door behind him, leaving me alone in my office with nothing but his lingering scent and the certainty that no matter how much he resisted

Nikolas was already mine.

I chuckled to myself, the sound low and satisfied as I ran a hand through my hair. Stubborn little thing.

Nikolas could slam as many doors as he wanted. He could spit fire and spew hatred. It didn't matter. His body had already betrayed him his scent, his pulse hell, even the way he looked at me, as if he hated that he couldn't look away.

I leaned back against my desk, exhaling slowly.

Patience.

It was never my strong suit, but for him, I would wait. I would let him run, let him fight—because when he finally broke, when he finally gave in…

He would come to me willingly.

The thought alone sent a thrill down my spine.

A sharp knock at the door interrupted my thoughts, and I straightened. "Enter."

The door swung open, and Ronan stepped inside, his sharp amber eyes filled with barely contained amusement. "That went well."

I smirked. "You were eavesdropping."

"Hard not to when your mate storms past me looking like he's about to set the entire packhouse on fire," Ronan said, leaning against the doorway. "You really do know how to get under his skin."

"It's a gift."

Ronan let out a low chuckle, crossing his arms. "So, what's the plan? Keep pushing him until he snaps?"

I tilted my head, considering. "No. He needs to come to terms with this on his own. The more I push, the harder he'll fight."

"So you're going to be… nice?" Ronan arched a brow, looking far too entertained by the idea.

I scoffed. "I didn't say that."

Ronan laughed. "Well, whatever you're doing, it's working. He's already spiraling."

Good.

Let him.

Ronan and I made our way down the dimly lit corridors of the packhouse, our footsteps echoing against the polished floors. The air was thick with tension something was brewing, and I could feel it crackling in the atmosphere like a storm waiting to break.

The moment we entered the meeting hall, all eyes turned to me. The room was filled with my top-ranking warriors, strategists, and enforcers, their expressions grim. Something was wrong.

I took my seat at the head of the long wooden table, Ronan settling into the chair beside me. I steepled my fingers, surveying the room. "Tell me."

One of the older warriors, Elias, cleared his throat. "The hunters… they're planning something. We don't know what yet, but their movements have been erratic. They're gathering in places they never used before. Something's shifting."

A murmur rippled through the room.

I remained silent for a moment, processing. Hunters had always been a problem—vicious, relentless in their pursuit of wiping out my kind. But this… this was different. They were reorganizing, strategizing.

"Double the patrols at our borders," I commanded. "I want reports on every hunter sighting, no matter how small."

Just as I was about to continue, a voice from the far end of the table spoke up, sharp and filled with suspicion. "The man you brought in…"

I slowly turned my gaze to the speaker. He was a younger warrior, one of the newer recruits, his expression tight with unease. "Nikolas," he said hesitantly. "He's a hunter, isn't he? How do we know he won't betray us one day?"

The room fell deathly silent.

A low growl rumbled in my chest as I leaned forward, my voice ice-cold. "Nikolas is my mate. Not just a man."

The weight of my words settled heavily in the room, but the recruit still looked unsure, shifting slightly in his seat. Before I could speak again, Ronan exhaled sharply beside me, his tone edged with irritation.

"He's not even a hunter," Ronan said flatly. "He's a nurse. His uncle forced his transfer." He leaned back, crossing his arms. "Let's all relax. Him being Caspian's mate—and pet—means he's one of us now."

I shot him a look, but Ronan only smirked, completely unbothered by the glare.

A few murmurs passed through the room, but no one dared argue. Because in the end, my word was law.

Still, I didn't miss the lingering doubts in some of their eyes.

Nikolas might be mine, but I knew this fight wasn't over. Not with the pack. Not with him.

And certainly not with the hunters.