BLUE HILL LUNA

CHAYSE'S POV

"You got your name wrong, darling."

Alpha Laven smirked, a cruel flash of amusement in his golden eyes. It was the first sign of emotion I'd seen—and it was always bad.

My eyes were still red and puffy. I clutched my bruised wrist to my chest. He wasn't reaching for me, but the fear was a knot in my stomach.

"Your name is Chayse Laven."

A breath hissed out between my teeth. Laven. His last name. A brand.

I was his captive. His possession.

He didn't kill me with his reckless driving, but he might as well have. He dragged me up the colossal stairs of his mansion, my lace dress snagging on every step, my luggage left in the dust.

My tailbone screamed. My opposite wrist, the one he grabbed when he yanked me out of the Bugatti, throbbed. My shoulder and elbow were screaming, strained from the uneven, brutal pull.

He didn't care.

He threw me onto a bed—a huge, dark thing that smelled overwhelmingly of mint, his scent.

I flipped myself over to face him. Too slow.

He was already on top of me. His arms slammed down on either side of my head, trapping me. Again.

"Time for your punishment, little mate."

I flinched at the word 'Little'. I was 5'4". He was 6'2". I wasn't small; he was unnaturally tall.

His suit jacket was gone. His shirt was a tight, black second skin over a body built for destruction.

He leaned down. My jawline. His kiss was soft. Gentle. Then harder, more passionate.

He moved to my neck. Licking and kissing, his lips moving like silk against my skin.

He found a spot—right below my earlobe—and my wolf lost control. A weak, involuntary groan escaped before I could bite my lip hard enough to silence it.

I felt his smirk press against my skin. He sucked and kissed that spot, claiming it. Branding me.

When he finally lifted his head, his perfectly sculpted face was close. Too close. His eyes connected with mine.

I have a plan. A devious, devilish thought flashed through my mind. *A million-dollar plan.

I wished for a hidden camera. I wished this were a prank.

I stretched out my hand. I cupped the side of his sharp, stubbled face. His shocked expression instantly melted into pleasure.

He pressed his face into my palm. I threaded my fingers into his hair, gripping the roots, pulling with a sharp tug.

A low moan escaped his lips. His golden eyes fluttered closed.

I shoved him off the bed, scrambling out from under his weight. I sprinted toward the door, leaving my ruined heels behind.

I ran.

My shorter dress was a blessing. I thanked the Moon Goddess as I flew down the hallway. I tried door after door, hoping for a window, a back entrance, a way out of the fortress.

No windows. I was in the heart of the house. A death trap.

I opened one more door—and slammed straight into a wall of muscle.

His eyes plunged into my brain, seeing every wicked thought. He grasped my waist, pulling me to his chest. My face was centimeters from his.

"You took advantage of my weakness, Chayse."

"Hair pulling?" I asked, hopeful. Next time, I'd go for a full yank.

"No," he snarled. He threw me over his shoulder like a sack of garbage. My back hit his tight shirt, forcing a painful gasp from my lungs.

He carried me back into the room.

"I have clothes for you in the second closet," he said, his voice flat, emotionless once more. "Cleansing products in the cabinet above the sink. Go get ready for bed."

I slid off his shoulder and bolted into the bathroom. I locked the door, a small, futile victory.

I chose a long shirt and undergarments from the closet, then stripped naked. I stepped into the huge bathtub before filling it. I didn't care about my odd habit. It was warm. It was safe.

The heater roared. Warm water filled the tub.

I sighed, letting the heat sink into my skin, easing the agony in my tailbone and my wrists.

I found shower gel and smoothed it over my legs. Coconut Oil was in the cabinet. I worked it into my hair, softening the dry ends. The scent of coconut covered the pervasive mint.

I sank peacefully into the water, rinsing quickly, finishing with body soap.

Warm towels were waiting on the counter. I wrapped one around my body and dried my hair with the other. I slipped on the long, maroon shirt and undergarments.

I opened the bathroom door.

The bedroom was empty. The scent of Alpha Laven was faint, but still present.

I shrugged, collapsing into the bed. I pulled the heavy covers over my body, inhaling the mint, pine, and oak wood.

I was officially a part of the Blood Moon pack. His captive.

The door opened. Slowly.

Laven. He was barefoot.

He walked silently toward the bed, examining my face. He looked at my soft brown hair, my skin.

He reached out and gently brushed the side of my head. I smiled in my sleep, a reflex of my traitor wolf, Aria.

He kissed my forehead.

"You have no idea what you did to me, Little Mate," he whispered, his voice dark, possessive.

He moved to his side of the bed and climbed in, slowly pulling my body against his chest, careful not to wake me.

When I was against him, he sighed. A deep, settling sound.

The calmest sleep he'd ever known.