Alpha's Regret: Losing his True Mate novel · Chapter 2 of 24

Chapter 2: One Last Night

Lucan comes to her door and Ada decides to say goodbye in his bed, with terms. When his phone says Camille needs him, he leaves, and Ada's stitched ribs open on the sheet.

I packed in the cottage behind his villa, where I had lived since I was twenty.

It took forty minutes, because the whole of my life there fit in three boxes and a duffel.

At nine that night I was kneeling on the floor taping the last one shut when the garden door opened without a knock.

Only one person had ever come in that way.

Lucan stood on the mat with rain on his shoulders and his tie pulled loose.

"Kerensa says you resigned."

"I did."

"I'd have noticed that."

"You signed it at ten o'clock this morning, in front of the elders. It was page thirty-eight."

He stared at me.

He frowned, and then he shook his head. "Fine. I'll tear it up tomorrow."

"No."

"Ada." He crossed the room in three steps and stopped with his boots against my box. "Camille is in the guest wing for the week. That's all it is. Nothing is different."

"Everything is different."

"Not tonight."

He said it low, and the wolf in his eyes came up grey and bright.

I had heard that voice behind a locked door for four years.

I'd obeyed it every time.

I stood up, and my side pulled under the bandage, and I let him see me wince.

His hand went to the place and stopped an inch short.

"Saturday," he said. "You never said it was bad."

"You never asked."

That landed. I watched it land.

"Then let me look," he said.

"No. Here are my terms."

His brows went up. In four years I had never set any.

"Tonight is the last time. I leave in the morning. No marks, no names in public, and you don't stay."

It was his own rule, said back to him in the order he'd first said it to me.

His jaw moved.

"Those are my rules," he said.

"Then you'll know them."

He kissed me before I'd finished the sentence.

It wasn't gentle.

His mouth came down hard and hot, and his hand went into my hair and tipped my head back.

I held his lapels and kissed him back with everything I had left.

If I was going, I was going on my own terms.

I pushed his coat off his shoulders and it hit the floor.

I got his shirt open and put my palms flat on his chest, over the scar he'd never told me the story of.

His heart was pounding under my hand.

"Bed," he said into my neck.

"No."

I walked him back until his knees met the arm of the old sofa and pushed him down onto it.

He let me.

I saw him decide to let me, and it went through me hot to the thighs.

I climbed over him with my knees either side of his hips.

I took my time with his belt.

His hands closed on my waist, careful of the bandage, and he muttered my name through his teeth.

"Say it again," I said.

"Ada."

I wasn't sure I'd ever heard him say it with nothing behind it.

I pulled my sweater over my head and he groaned and put his mouth on my breast, and his hand slid between my thighs and found me already wet.

"Always," he said. "Every time. Look at you."

I got my fingers around his cock and stroked it slowly, and he swore and pushed up into my hand.

"Now," I said.

"Not yet."

He peeled my leggings down with one hand and got two fingers inside me.

He curled them and watched my face while I fell apart.

I came with my forehead against his and his name in my mouth, shaking.

He didn't give me time to come down.

He lifted me by the hips and I sank onto him in one long slide, and we both stopped.

He was so deep it hurt a little, and I wanted it to.

I rocked, and he thrust up to meet me, and the sofa creaked and the rain beat on the window.

"Look at me," he said.

I looked.

His eyes were grey fire, and they stayed on me and nothing else.

I had wanted him to look at me that way for four years.

I rode him harder, one hand on the back of the sofa.

His thumb found my clit and rubbed it, and I came again, clenching around him, crying out.

He followed with my name torn out of him, his fingers bruising my hips, and I felt him spill deep inside me.

For a few seconds neither of us moved.

My ribs burned, and I told myself it was the pain that was making my eyes sting.

Then his phone buzzed on the floor.

He ignored it. It buzzed again.

"Answer it," I said.

He reached down and read the screen, and everything in his face went still.

"Camille went out to the border alone," he said. "She stepped in a silver snare. The guard says she's bleeding."

"Go."

"Ada, I'll be an hour."

"Go, Lucan."

He stood, dragging his trousers up, and he looked at me once.

Naked on his sofa, with his come running down my thigh and my hands still shaking.

Then he took his coat and was gone, and the garden door banged shut.

I sat there until I heard his car.

Something warm was running down my side.

I looked down.

The stitches had torn.

Blood was soaking the cushion and my leggings, and the sofa he had just left was red.

He hadn't looked back.

I reached for my phone with a hand that wouldn't hold still, and called the one person who always picked up.

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