Page 21 of The Alpha's Forbidden Heir

Bane

Five years later

The dream comes first. It always does.

Her voice, soft and breathy, teasing me like the ghost she’s become. The way her hands move, tentative at first, then sure, as if she knows she’s the only one who can undo me. My wolf growls low in my chest, a sound that doesn’t echo but rumbles like a warning. Her laughter is like honey; sweet, warm, and just out of reach.

I wake up with my teeth clenched, and my fists buried in the sheets. Sweat sticks to my skin, and the faint scent of her - whether imagined or imprinted - lingers in the air.

I groan, dragging a hand over my face. My body doesn’t give me a moment to adjust; it’s already making its demands known.

“Of course,” I mutter. “You’d think after five years, I’d be over this.”

Five fucking years. Half a decade of torment. Five years of wanting something I can’t have, of grinding my teeth every time my wolf paces too close to the surface, looking for her.

“Get it together, Bane.” My voice is hoarse, scraping against my quiet room.

I swing my legs off the bed and glare at the sunlight creeping through the gaps in the blackout curtains. It doesn’t care about my mood, doesn’t care that the mornings always feel heavier than the nights.

I stalk to the bathroom, shoving the door open. The light overhead flickers once before holding steady and illuminate the space in sharp white. The tiles are cold beneath my feet as I lean over the sink, staring at the mirror.

The man staring back is a stranger. The circles under my eyes are darker than ever, my beard is thicker than I prefer, and my jaw is perpetually clenched, as though my body doesn’t know how to relax anymore.

“You’re pathetic,” I tell my reflection, not unkindly.

The shower is cold because I make it cold. Anything to pull me out of the fog that settles over my brain whenever I let her name linger too long in my thoughts. Aria.

The bond was supposed to fade after I rejected it. That’s what everyone said. The old wolves, the books, the stories. But they don’t tell you what happens when the bond doesn’t fade. When it festers instead, a wound that refuses to heal. When I must spend my remaining days not been able to touch another woman because all I can think about is my mate and how tight she felt. How she clenched around me when she was about to cum. How I was her fucking first time.

I can almost feel her, taste her, sense her nearness. My wolf stirs, responding to the familiar longing.

"Damn it," I whisper, my throat dry. My hand travels to the ache between my legs, an ache that has become a constant companion. My skin is sensitive, responsive to even the slightest touch, as if remembering her. I grip myself, my fingers wrapping around the hardness, imagining it's her doing this to me.

I close my eyes, picturing her. Her eyes, bright and curious, are looking up at me. I see her licking her lips, with a mischievous smile playing at the edges.

As my hand moves, my breath quickens, mirroring the rhythm I imagine she would use. She's on her knees, her hair cascading around her face, and there's a seductive frame for those sultry lips. Those lips that like to talk back at me. My cock throbs at the fantasy, the feeling so visceral it's almost painful.

"Fuck," I breathe, my voice hoarse with desire. "Fuck, fuck Aria… just like that."

My strokes grow more demanding, my body on edge, waiting, wanting. In my mind's eye, she swirls her tongue around the head of my cock. I jolt into my hand. The tight heat of her mouth is driving me closer to the edge.

My cock pulses, pleading for release, as her imagined touch becomes more fervent in my mind. Her fingers would dig into my thighs, and the tiny imprints of her nails would mark me, claiming me. The fantasy is so real, so captivating, I almost believe she's here.

And then, as if her ghost has granted me permission, I let go, my orgasm ripping through me. My body shakes, and I groan as my seed spills over my hand.

For a moment, the pleasure overtakes over the pain, but it's fleeting, and I am once again alone with the emptiness. This is my curse, my eternal punishment. A never-ending loop of desire and torment.

“Fuck this.”

I lean heavily against the edge of my desk, my body trembling from another wave of weakness. It’s happening more often now—this bone-deep exhaustion that no amount of rest can cure. My wolf growls low in protest, but even its voice is quieter than it used to be. I’m halfway through a mug of black coffee, and the caffeine is doing its best to drag me out of my haze, when Liam strolls into the study. It's his boots I first hear heavy against thehardwood floor, and when I look up, he as his usual cocky grin is firmly in place.

“Morning, Alpha.” He leans against the desk, crossing his arms. “Sleep well?”

“Do I look like I slept well?”

He smirks. “No, you look like hell. As usual.”

“Glad to know I’m consistent.”

---