Chapter 97:Devotion in the Dark (2)

Chapter 97: Chapter 97:Devotion in the Dark (2)

The kiss was hot, hungry, and entirely unreserved. Alexander growled into her mouth, his hands sliding down from her waist, palming the curve of her hips and lifting her slightly off her feet to press her harder against his frame. His tongue slid past her parted lips, sweeping inside to taste her with a deep, possessive demand that made her knees turn to water.

Iris kissed him back with equal desperation, arching into his touch, her fingers gripping his hair as the kiss deepened, turning messy, wet, and toe-curlingly intense. The friction of his heavy body against hers sent white-hot sparks directly to her mark, which throbbed in rhythm with her wildly accelerating heart.

When Alexander finally broke the kiss, it was with pure, agonizing reluctance. He pulled back just an inch, pressing his forehead firmly against hers, both of them gasping for air in the warm, heavy quiet of the room. He closed his eyes, his chest heaving as he fought a brutal internal war to rein in his primal instincts.

"You have no idea what you do to me, Iris," he rasped, his voice rough and gravelly with unsated passion. He rested his hands heavily on her waist, grounding himself. "I promised you baby steps... but you are certainly not going to make this easy for me."

Iris couldn’t speak. Her lips were swollen, her skin flushed, her forehead still resting heavily against his as her heart hammered like a trapped bird inside her ribs.

Alexander smoothed a stray lock of hair behind her ear, his touch surprisingly gentle given the lethal power contained in his frame.

"I have to leave you now," he said quietly, his tone shifting back into that of a ruler preparing for war. "The regional Alphas and the High Council members are waiting in the lower conclave. I need to address them, formally announce your presence, and establish the boundaries. There are protocols... and ancient rituals that must be put into motion to protect you."

Iris drew in a shaky breath, slowly nodding against his brow. "Alright."

"You can rest here for as long as you like," Alexander continued, his eyes searching her face. "I will instruct Oliver to prepare the adjoining suite next to mine for you tonight."

"Alright," Iris replied, her voice finally returning, soft and raspy. "And... in the meantime, I’ll go over to Zoey’s room. We can keep each other company until you’re finished down there."

Alexander’s eyes narrowed slightly, a small, possessive scowl touching his lips before he conceded with a nod. "Fine. But leave any exploration of the grounds to me. I want to be the one to give you a tour of my estate personally."

"Okay," she agreed quietly.

Finding it physically difficult to tear himself away, Alexander leaned in one last time, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to her warm lips. He drew in a deep, sweeping breath, breathing in her scent as if anchoring it to his soul, before finally releasing his hold on her waist.

Without another word, he turned, pulled open the heavy mahogany doors, and strode out of the room, shutting the door behind him with a firm, resounding click.

Iris stood frozen in the middle of the vast room for several seconds, the sudden cold air washing over her where his body had just been. Her chest rose and fell in heavy heaves as she tried to gather her scattered thoughts.

Exhaling a long, trembling breath, she walked over to the monumental king-sized bed in the center of the room. She collapsed onto the thick, plush mattress, her body sinking into the incredible soft layers as she stared up at the elaborate dark wood canopy above.

Iris pressed both hands flat against her chest, feeling the frantic, erratic rhythm of her heart pulsing beneath her palm. She closed her eyes, running a finger over her sensitized, swollen lips, still able to taste him, still feeling the lingering heat of his mark burning against her neck.

She couldn’t believe how drastically her world had tilted on its axis, or how completely she was falling into the dangerous, intoxicating orbit of an ancient king.

She sighed, a long, quiet breath that fluttered against the stillness of the vast bedroom, completely at a loss for how to process the absurd trajectory of her life. Never in her twenty-two years had she ever entertained the thought that the supernatural actually existed beyond paperback novels and late-night horror movies.

Yet here she was, standing in the heart of an ancient fortress, her skin still tingling from the kiss of a three-thousand-year-old Lycan king.

Iris stared up at the vaulted beams above, her thoughts racing. Werewolves and Lycans were real—she had seen the proof in blood, plaster, and carved black stone. But as she lay there listening to the faint, distant hum of the estate, a deeper, more unsettling question began to take root. How many other secrets was the world hiding?

She already understood the terrifying distinction between diluted werewolf blood and the ancient apex purity of a Lycan, but was that truly the boundary? Or was humanity simply crawling across the surface of a shadowed world far larger and more dangerous than anyone dared to imagine?

Exhaling sharply to ground herself, Iris swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood up. The thick rug swallowed the sound of her footsteps as she began to wander through the immense space, trying to distract her restless mind.

To the right of the stone fireplace, a arched double doorway stood partially open. Curious, she pushed it inward, stepping into a walk-in wardrobe that looked less like a closet and more like a high-end luxury boutique on Fifth Avenue.

Custom mahogany shelving stretched toward the high ceiling, illuminated by recessed warm lighting that gleamed off rows of impeccably tailored three-piece suits, silk ties organized by shade, and hand-stitched leather shoes.

Glass display cases down the center island housed a staggering collection of rare timepieces and cufflinks, each item arranged with precise, military symmetry.

As she walked deeper through the grand space, admiring the sheer scale of his wealth, the mahogany paneling seamlessly transitioned into a softer, warmer aesthetic near the far wing.

Iris stopped dead in her tracks, her breath hitching in her throat.

An entire secondary walk-in wardrobe had been built into the suite, fully furnished and overflowing. Racks of evening gowns, tailored blazers, silk blouses, and casual designer wear hung in perfect order. Glass shelves displayed rows of pristine heels, boots, and structured leather handbags, while velvet-lined drawers sat open to reveal delicate gold and diamond jewelry shining beneath the soft lights.

Iris stared, completely speechless, her mouth slightly parting as she reached out to touch the soft cashmere of a beige sweater. It wasn’t just pulled from a warehouse at random—everything here had been selected in her exact size, reflecting her subtle taste, only elevated to absurd levels of haute couture.

He hadn’t been exaggerating when he told her he had prepared for her arrival from the moment she first crossed his path. The sheer calculation, the possessive foresight required to assemble all of this before she even knew his true name made her heart hammer wildly against her ribs.

She backed out of the closet, her chest rising and falling in shallow breaths as she tried to regain her composure. Crossing the main bedroom once more, she pushed open another heavy door, stepping into a master bathroom carved almost entirely from dark grey slate and polished white marble.

A massive rainfall shower stall sat opposite a deep soaking tub that looked large enough for three people, complete with floor-to-ceiling glass that offered a breathtaking view of the misty forest outside.

It was stunning, masculine, and ridiculously expensive—a physical extension of the man himself.

Smoothing down her skirt and drawing in one final, steadying breath, Iris turned back toward the main entrance. Staying alone with her mounting thoughts was only going to make her spiral further. She needed familiarity. She needed Zoey.

Leaving the master suite behind, Iris pulled the heavy mahogany doors shut until the latch clicked into place. The vaulted hallway outside was quiet, bathed in the soft, warm glow of iron sconces mounted along the stone walls.

She hadn’t taken more than ten paces down the corridor when a tall, polished figure stepped out from a quiet alcove near the grand staircase.

Derrick Williams adjusted the cuff of his charcoal jacket, his hair catching the light as he inclined his head toward her with practiced, fluid elegance. His movement was so completely silent that Iris jumped slightly, her hand flying instinctively to the mark at her collarbone.

"My apologies, Miss Carter," Derrick said smoothly, his voice low and cultured, completely devoid of the sharp edge he used in corporate boardrooms. "I did not mean to startle you."

Iris lowered her hand, forcing a small, polite smile as she studied the billionaire. "It’s fine, Mr. Williams. I was just... trying to find my way to Zoey’s room."

"Derrick, please," he corrected gently, gesturing down the wide corridor with an open palm. "And there is no need to wander these halls unescorted. The estate is vast, and while you are entirely safe here, certain wings remain off-limits to guests while the Council is in session."