Chapter 2: Fur and Negotiation

The silver chains clattered as Garrett hauled me upright, one massive hand wrapped around my bicep like he owned the real estate. My knees protested after kneeling so long on cold stone, but the real ache lived deeper, a throbbing need that made every brush of fabric against my skin feel like punishment. I tried to adjust my cuffs out of habit—impossible with my wrists still bound—and the motion only pulled a low chuckle from Garrett's chest.

"Easy," he rumbled, that Nordic lilt thickening like it did when his control slipped. "You're not bleeding out down here. Silver's already doing enough damage."

I wanted to snap something clever about hostile acquisitions, but my tongue felt thick and my wolf—newly awake and pissed about it—kept shoving images of bare throats and tangled limbs into my brain. Garrett steered me toward the stairs, his grip firm but not cruel. I hated how my body leaned into it.

Magnus blocked the doorway, shoulders rigid, that silver ring on his thumb catching the torchlight as he spun it. "Brother, this is insanity. You can't just move the enemy upstairs like he's a guest."

"He's not the enemy anymore," Garrett said, voice flat. "Not to me. Not like this. The bond changes the math."

Magnus's jaw worked like he wanted to argue, but Garrett simply shouldered past him, dragging me along. The beta's glare burned into my back the whole way up the stairs. My legs shook with each step, the silver still biting into my wrists.

Elena's voice echoed from somewhere above, sharp as her favorite butterfly knife. "If you Drummonds have touched one hair on his head, I'll make sure the Council strips your territory down to bedrock!"

Garrett's jaw tightened, but he didn't stop. Instead he guided me down a long hallway lined with dark wood and modern art that probably cost more than my first startup. His private quarters, I realized as he shouldered open a heavy door at the end. The room smelled like him times a thousand—furs piled on a massive bed, antique knives displayed on one wall, and a wide window overlooking the forested peaks of Blackridge.

He unlocked the silver cuffs with a key from his pocket, and the relief was so sharp my breath hitched. My wrists bore red welts that his fingers immediately traced, gentle in a way that didn't match the alpha who'd just kidnapped me.

"Better?" he asked, blue eyes searching mine. Too close. Way too close.

I stepped back, bumping into a side table that held a half-empty glass of something amber. It wobbled. I caught it on instinct, the businessman in me refusing to let expensive liquor spill. "This isn't an interrogation room."

"No." Garrett's lips quirked, almost a smile. "Interrogations don't usually end with me wanting to bury my face in your neck until you smell like pack."

My ears heated. I set the glass down harder than necessary. "Look, let's talk terms. You want something from the Quinteros. Territory? Shares in my company? Name it. This bond thing—it's a complication, but we can negotiate around it."

Garrett laughed then, deep and genuine, and the sound did unforgivable things to my insides. He crowded me against the table, one hand bracing beside my hip. "Business metaphors. Cute. But this isn't a boardroom, Russell. This is centuries of blood and one very pissed-off universe deciding we're stuck with each other."

His breath ghosted over my ear. My pulse jumped hard enough that I knew he could hear it. I gripped the table edge instead, knuckles white.

"Tell me about the feud," I said, voice steadier than I felt. "The real version, not the bedtime story my father used to spit like poison."

Garrett pulled back enough to study me, his expression flickering between hunger and something almost like regret. He ran a hand through his sandy hair, messing up the careful style. "My grandfather started it, actually. Or ended it, depending who you ask. Your great-uncle killed his mate during a territory skirmish. Brutal. No honor in it. Father drilled it into us—Quinteros don't deserve mercy."

I swallowed hard. That didn't match the stories I'd heard, the ones where Drummonds were the monsters raiding our compounds under moonlight. But then, family history was always a weaponized narrative. My pulse kicked up, the bond humming between us like a bad cell signal.

"And yet here you are," I said, gesturing between us, "not killing me. Instead you're... what? Playing house?"

He stepped closer again, herding me toward the bed without seeming to. The furs looked soft, inviting in a way that terrified me. I could smell them—wolf scent, old and comforting and completely at odds with my sterile penthouse life.

"The bond demands completion," Garrett said quietly. His voice had gone rough, that lilt slipping into something older. "It hurts you. I can smell it. The longer we wait, the worse it'll get. And when we do... power shifts. Some old magic. Your wolf gets stronger. Mine too. Could change the whole balance between packs."

The word hung there between us. I felt it low in my gut, a pull that made my cock twitch despite the fear clawing at my throat. Twenty-eight years of building an empire on control, and now my body wanted to roll over for the enemy like a trained dog.

"I don't do this," I said. "The wolf thing. I stopped it at thirteen with pills and sheer fucking willpower. Had a panic attack in an elevator once because the lights went out and it felt too much like shifting in the dark."

Garrett's hand came up, slow enough that I could have dodged. Instead I let his palm cup my jaw, thumb brushing my lower lip. The touch sent electricity racing down my spine.

"I know," he murmured. "I can feel how new it is for you. Scared little wolf in a fancy suit. Makes me want to wrap you up in those furs and keep everyone else away."

The tenderness in his voice cracked something in me. I surged forward, grabbing fistfuls of his shirt, and kissed him like I was trying to win an argument. Our mouths crashed together, all teeth and desperation. He tasted like salt and that damn whiskey I was allergic to, but my wolf didn't care.

Garrett groaned into the kiss, backing me onto the bed. Furs swallowed us, soft and smelling of him, of safety I had no right to want. His weight settled over me, heavy and perfect, and I arched up without thinking, grinding against the hard line of his cock through our clothes.

"Fuck," he breathed against my mouth. One big hand slid under my shirt, calluses catching on my skin. "You feel it too. The need to fill you. To breed what the moon gave me."

The word should have made me recoil. Instead my hips jerked involuntarily. I bit his lower lip, hard enough to draw a growl that vibrated through both our chests. My hands found his hair, tugging the longer top strands like I'd imagined doing since the basement.

We rutted like that for what felt like hours but was probably minutes—messy, clothed, frantic. Sweat slicked my back, my expensive shirt bunching under his grip. Every roll of his hips sent sparks behind my eyes. But he kept his hands above my waist, like he was holding back from the full claim.

I hated it. I wanted him to stop being careful. I wanted to hate him more for it.

"Garrett," I gasped when he broke the kiss to mouth at my throat. His teeth scraped over my pulse point and my breath stuttered. "This doesn't make us allies. Doesn't erase three generations of bodies."

He lifted his head, eyes blown dark with lust. A scar through his left eyebrow stood out pale against flushed skin. "No," he agreed, voice wrecked. "But it means I can't kill you. Means I want to keep you instead. Messy as that is."

I adjusted my imaginary cuffs again, the tic firing even though my wrists were free. The motion made him smile, small and crooked. His hand covered mine, stilling it against my chest.

"Tell me what you need," he said. Not a demand. An offer. It was more dangerous than any threat.

My throat tightened. The room spun a little, the bond pulling like an undertow. "I need my life back. The one without fangs and feuds and alphas who look at me like I'm a puzzle to solve with their dick."

Garrett's laugh huffed against my collarbone. He rolled us so I straddled him, hands settling on my hips like they belonged there. The position put me in control, at least on paper. My fingers shook as I fumbled with his buttons.

"Too late for that," he said. "Your wolf's awake now. Smells like mine already. And the packs... they'll smell it too if we finish this."

The compulsion hit me again, a wave of pure instinct that made my balls ache. I could picture it—him inside me, knot swelling, locking us together while something magical transferred. Power. Loyalty. Maybe even pieces of our broken family histories. The thought made me grind down harder, chasing friction.

Sweat dripped from my temple onto his shirt. Garrett watched me with something like awe, his own hands sliding up my thighs. "Beautiful," he muttered, almost to himself. "Enemy or not. The way you fight it makes me harder."

I leaned down to kiss him again, slower this time. The furs rustled beneath us, warm and enveloping. For a moment the feud felt distant, the city lights of Blackridge twinkling far below the compound like they belonged to another world.

Then his knot began to swell against my thigh, a thick promise through his pants. The sensation sent panic and lust crashing through me in equal measure. I froze, breath catching.

Garrett's hands tightened on my hips, not letting me pull away. "It's okay," he whispered, but his voice had that primal edge again. "We don't have to—"

A crackle cut through the room, speakers in the ceiling buzzing to life with a hacked signal. Elena's voice sliced through the heavy air, sharp and furious.

"Russell, if you're not dead yet, don't you dare bond with that Drummond bastard. I've found proof—the Drummonds have been lying for decades about how the feud started. Get out of there before he knots you into submission!"

The bond between us flared hot and angry at the interruption. My skin prickled like I'd been shocked. Garrett snarled, the sound vibrating through his chest into mine.

I stared down at him, chest heaving, the weight of her words settling like another set of chains. My cousin had just blown the lid off everything.

And I was still hard against the enemy alpha, his knot pressing insistently against me, the furs tangled around our legs like they were trying to bind us together.

What the hell was I supposed to do now?