Page 66 of Alpha's Hated Mate

I glance down to see crimson seeping through my torn shirt where Ellis’s claws caught me. The adrenaline that carried me through the victory speech is fading fast, leaving behind a catalog of injuries I’d been ignoring.

“It’s nothing,” I lie, wincing as I try to straighten.

“That’s not nothing.” Saffron’s fingers hover over the bloodstain spreading across my side. She touches my forehead gently. “And this cut looks deep. I’ll take you to see the healer.” She tries to lead me back to the door.

“No, no,” I say. “I will but later. I just want to be alone with you for a while first.”

Saffron’s jaw sets in that determined way I’ve come to love. “Sit,” she commands, guiding me to the edge of my bed. “Where’s your first aid kit?”

“Bathroom cabinet,” I murmur, giving in to her care. Something about her taking control like this—unfazed by an Alpha showing weakness or the lofty grandeur of her secured position—makes me love her even more.

She returns with supplies and hovers over me, her delicate fingers working to clean the wound on my forehead first.

“I hate that you had to get hurt like this because of me,” she whispers, eyes fixed on her work.

I catch her hand and press my lips to it. “This is nothing. It’s all worth it.” Our eyes meet, and all the pain fades to background noise. “I was so afraid of losing you today. Not my position as Alpha, but the right to call you mine in front of my pack.”

Saffron’s fingers work with gentle precision as she wraps the bandage around my torso. Each brush of her skin against minesends electricity coursing through my body, dulling the pain of my wounds.

“There,” she murmurs, securing the last of the bandage with medical tape. “That should hold until we get you to a proper healer.”

I catch her wrist as she pulls away, drawing her closer until she’s standing between my legs at the edge of the bed. My thumb traces the curve of her neck, finding the mark I left—the symbol that binds us together against all odds.

“You know what this means?” I run my finger over the raised skin of my bite. “No one can ever take you from me now. Not my pack, not your uncle the king, not anyone.”

Her breath catches. “And no one can take you from me.”

The possessiveness in her voice stirs my wolf, making him pace restlessly beneath my skin. Saffron seems to sense it, her pupils dilating as she leans into my touch.

“I should let you rest,” she says unconvincingly, even as her fingers drift down my chest to trace the defined muscles of my abdomen, careful to avoid the bandaged areas.

“I don’t want rest.” I pull her closer, wincing slightly at the movement but not caring enough to stop. “I want my Luna.”

Her scent shifts, that intoxicating rose aroma deepening with desire. I stand slowly, ignoring the protest of my injuries, and begin to undress her. First her blouse, slipping each button free with deliberate patience. Then her skirt, letting it pool at her feet until she stands before me in nothing but delicate black underwear. She’s a vision in front of me, her long red hair cascading over the front of her chest.

Chapter Twenty-Seven—Aydan

“Beautiful,” I whisper, lowering my head to plant a reverent kiss at the hollow of Saffron’s throat. “Every fucking inch of you.”

My hands cup her breasts, thumbs brushing over hardened nipples through the thin fabric of her bra before I unhook it with practiced ease. She gasps as my mouth replaces my hands, my tongue circling one sensitive peak while my fingers tease the other. The taste of her skin is intoxicating—sweet and distinctly Saffron.

“Oh, Aydan,” she moans. I feel her fingers thread through my hair, tugging slightly as her body arches into mine.

The wolf inside me growls with satisfaction, reveling in every small sound she makes. Despite the pain still radiating through my body from my injuries, I couldn’t care less. Nothing matters but this—her scent filling my lungs, her skin against my lips, the knowledge that she’s mine. My Luna. The thought alone makes me want to claim every inch of her.

I suckle harder, drawing her nipple between my teeth with a gentle bite. Saffron’s back arches sharply, a louder moan escaping her lips. I bite down again, just on the edge of pain, and her cry fills the room. I devour her breasts with hungry strokes of my tongue, alternating between them like a man starved. Each sweep across her sensitive flesh pulls more delicious sounds from her throat, feeding the primal need roaring through me.

Ignoring the ache in my ribs, I begin to lower myself to my knees. My Luna deserves worship, and I intend to give it to her. But before I can taste her, she surprises me by pulling me back up.

“Not yet,” she breathes against my lips. “My turn.”

She sinks to her knees in front of me, her fingers making quick work of my belt and zipper. She frees my cock, already hard and aching for her, and licks her lips, making my breath hitch.

The first brush of her soft lips against my sensitive head nearly undoes me. She works her way from base to tip, taking me into the wet heat of her mouth with slow, deliberate strokes, her tongue tracing every ridge and vein, as if committing each one to memory. The anticipation builds with every languid movement, pushing me to the brink of madness.

“Fuck, Saffron,” I growl, watching her take me deeper with each bob of her head.

My hand finds her hair, not guiding, just connecting, needing to touch her as she sets a rhythm that has me fighting for control. Each movement of her head, each flick of her tongue, sends waves of pleasure crashing through me, threatening to shatter the last remnants of my restraint.

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