Chapter 2: Bite of Regret

The warehouse smelled worse the second night. Damp rot mixed with the lingering ghost of last night's sweat and come, like the building itself remembered what we'd done. I paced the cracked concrete floor, boots kicking up puffs of dust that caught in the thin shafts of moonlight slicing through holes in the roof. My shoulder throbbed where he'd bitten me, the mark hidden under my jacket but burning like a brand every time the bond pulsed.

I cracked my knuckles, the sound too loud in the empty space. Fuck this. Fuck him. Fuck the way my body already ached for his touch. The silver medallion hung heavy against my chest. I rubbed it hard enough to leave a mark on my skin.

He was late. Or maybe I was early. The bond didn't give a shit about clocks.

Footsteps scraped outside. I froze, wolf rising under my skin with a growl that vibrated in my throat. Lattimore stepped through the rusted side door, his shaved head catching the moonlight. That thin scar cutting through his left eyebrow looked fresh in the silver light, and his vintage watch glinted on his wrist as he adjusted it with precise fingers.

"You're here," he said, voice clipped and low. No greeting. Just fact.

"Don't sound so thrilled, Lieutenant." My words came out rough, laced with the sarcasm that kept me from lunging at him. Or running. Both impulses warred in my gut.

He didn't circle me like last time. He walked straight up until we were chest to chest, his breath warm against my face. His deep brown skin still carried the faint metallic tang of blood from some earlier patrol.

My hands itched to shove him away. Instead they fisted in his shirt, yanking him closer. The bond sang at the contact, a vicious harmony that made my cock twitch traitorously in my jeans.

"This is stupid," I muttered, even as I pressed my forehead to his. "Your pack killed my unit. I should be ripping your throat out."

Lattimore's hand came up to my jaw, thumb stroking along the bone with surprising pressure. "And yet here you are. Hard for your enemy." His diction stayed precise, but the roughness at the edges betrayed him.

I laughed, the sound bitter. "Hate you so much it hurts."

He spun me then, slamming my back against the warehouse wall. My elbows scraped raw on the rough surface, but the pain only sharpened the need roaring through my veins.

Our mouths crashed together in something that barely qualified as a kiss. More like combat. Teeth clacked, lips split, tongues fought for dominance. He tasted like coffee and copper. My wolf howled approval inside my skull.

I bit his lower lip hard enough to draw blood. He groaned into my mouth, the sound vibrating down my spine straight to my balls. His hands tore at my jacket, buttons pinging across the floor as he ripped my shirt open, exposing skin to the cold night air.

"Fuck," I gasped when his mouth found my throat, sucking hard enough to leave another mark. The bond flared white-hot. My hips jerked forward, grinding against the hard line of his cock through our clothes.

Lattimore shoved a thigh between mine, giving me something to rut against. The friction made my eyes roll back. His watch ticked loudly against my collarbone as he pinned me there.

"Tell me to stop," he ordered against my neck, voice commanding even as his breath hitched. "Say it and I'll walk away."

I should have. The words were there, lodged in my throat like broken glass. Instead I grabbed his shaved head with both hands, nails digging into skin as I yanked him back up for another brutal kiss. "Shut the fuck up and fuck me already."

That broke something in him. He spun me around again, bending me over a low stack of crates. My chest hit the wood hard enough to knock the breath from my lungs. His hands made quick work of my belt, yanking my jeans down just enough to bare my ass.

No prep this time. No fingers easing the way. Just the blunt head of his cock pressing against me, slick with precome and the unnatural wetness the bond forced from my body. I braced my hands on the crate, wood creaking under my grip.

"Do it," I growled, pushing back. The first push burned like fire, stretching me open with clumsy force. He wasn't gentle. Good. I didn't want gentle from a Lattimore.

He sank in with one brutal thrust, burying himself to the hilt. The sound I made wasn't human. Half snarl, half moan that echoed off the warehouse walls. Pain and pleasure detonated behind my eyes.

"Tight," he grunted, one hand fisting in my hair to yank my head back. The position arched my spine, changing the angle so every shallow thrust dragged against that spot inside me. "Still fighting me even now."

I clenched around him deliberately, earning a choked curse. "Hate you. Hate this."

"Liar." He started moving then, hard and relentless. Each snap of his hips drove me forward against the crates. The sounds were obscene—wet slap of skin, my broken grunts, his controlled breathing that fractured more with every thrust.

Sweat slicked down my back, making my torn shirt stick to my skin. I reached back with one hand, grabbing his thigh and digging nails in hard enough to draw blood. The scent of it hit the air, sharp and coppery, making both our wolves crazy.

Lattimore's rhythm faltered for a second. Then he leaned over me, chest to my back, teeth finding the fresh mark on my shoulder. He bit down again, reopening the wound. Blood welled hot and immediate. The bond screamed in triumph.

I came first, sudden and violent, cock spurting against the side of the crate without a single touch. My vision whited out, muscles clamping down around him like a vice. The orgasm tore through me, leaving me shaking.

He followed with a low growl, hips stuttering as he spilled deep inside me. Heat flooded my guts, marking me from within. For a moment the bond hummed with perfect harmony.

Then reality crashed back.

Lattimore pulled out abruptly, the loss of him making me feel sick and empty. Cum trickled down my thigh, cooling instantly in the night air. I stayed bent over the crates, chest heaving.

He tucked himself away, movements jerky. His hands shook as he zipped his pants. I could feel it through the bond—the disgust rolling off him, mirroring my own. Still, he paused. His gaze landed on the reopened bite. With a muttered curse he tore a strip from his own shirt, pressing the cloth against my shoulder with careful pressure before catching himself and stepping back.

"Get up," he said, voice flat.

I straightened slowly, wincing at the pull in muscles I hadn't known existed. My jeans were ruined. I yanked them up anyway, ignoring the way my hands wouldn't stop trembling. The bite on my shoulder throbbed in time with my heartbeat, visible now under the moonlight.

Lattimore stared at it. His expression flickered before his face shut down again.

I jerked away when he reached toward the mark. "Don't."

He dropped his hand. I noticed his watch had stopped, hands frozen at some meaningless hour.

"This can't happen again," I said, the words tasting like vomit. My voice cracked on the last syllable.

Lattimore's laugh was hollow. "We said that last night."

"I mean it this time." Even as I spoke, the bond twisted painfully. My fingers found the medallion again, rubbing the silver in tight circles.

He stepped closer again, invading my space without touching me. His scent wrapped around me—sweat and blood and that dark undertone that was purely him. "You think I want this? To feel you every time I close my eyes?"

I wanted to hit him. Or kiss him. My wolf whined inside me. Instead I turned away, grabbing my torn jacket from the floor. The fabric ripped further as I shoved my arms into it.

"Go home, Lattimore. Before your pack notices you're gone."

He didn't move. I could feel him watching me, the bond stretching taut between us like a wire about to snap. When I finally glanced back, his fingers were stroking the scar through his eyebrow.

"Tomorrow," he said. Not a question.

I didn't answer. Just walked past him toward the door, shoulder screaming with every step. The mark he'd given me pulsed hot under the moonlight.

The night air hit me like a slap when I stepped outside. Fog rolled off the river, thick and cloying. My legs felt shaky as I headed back toward Valcourt territory, the bond tugging painfully with every yard I put between us.

Halfway across the neutral zone, I stopped. Leaned against a graffiti-covered wall and just breathed. The taste of him was still in my mouth. Self-loathing made my stomach churn until I had to swallow back bile. My knuckles cracked loudly in the quiet as I flexed them over and over.

What the fuck was wrong with me? Getting fucked by the man whose pack had murdered my friends. And craving it so badly my teeth ached with the need to mark him back.

The medallion felt like ice against my overheated skin. I pulled it out, staring at the small silver disc my mother had given me. Loyalty, she'd said. Pack above all. The words mocked me now.

By the time I reached our borders, dawn was bleeding pink across the sky. I moved careful and quiet, sticking to the shadows between warehouses and abandoned factories. My nose twitched at every scent, hyper-aware of how I probably reeked of sex and Lattimore and shame.

Almost made it.

"Kid."

Elena's voice stopped me cold ten feet from the safe line. She stepped out from behind a rusted dumpster, cinnamon gum snapping between her teeth. Her long braid was already wrapped around her wrist like she was preparing for a fight. Her nostrils flared once, twice. Those sharp eyes narrowed on my face, then dropped to where my jacket didn't quite hide the fresh bite.

"You smell like you've been rolling around with the enemy," she said, voice deceptively casual. But there was steel underneath it, and something that looked a lot like hurt. She shifted her weight, braid tightening around her wrist. "Care to explain before I drag your ass to the Alpha?"

My heart hammered against my ribs so hard I thought it might crack them. The bond flared in warning, Lattimore's distant presence sharpening with sudden alarm that wasn't mine. I opened my mouth, searching for a lie that wouldn't come. My fingers found the medallion again, rubbing it frantically.

The mark on my shoulder burned like accusation under the rising sun.