Chapter 2: Scars and Scalding Coffee

Cedar branches whipped Beatrice's face as she ran from the Gathering. The real burn came from her wrist where Dominic's grip had branded her. The mate bond pulsed there like a fresh wound, raw and alive.

Her lungs burned. Each breath carried his scent mixed with her own rising panic. The ancient whisper in her blood stirred, hungry.

Break him, it cooed. Or I will.

She skidded into a small clearing and pressed her palm against rough bark. Sap welled under her nails. Five years of planning crumbled against one touch from him.

The voice quieted when she whispered a binding spell. It never truly left. She straightened her shoulders and forced her steps into that deliberate prowl she'd mastered.

The local diner glowed ahead. Beatrice slid into the corner booth, vinyl sticking to her thighs through her jeans. Her fingers reached automatically for glasses that no longer existed.

"Black coffee," she told the waitress. "Hot enough to burn."

The woman avoided her eyes. Word spread fast in Silver Hollow. They all knew what had happened at the Gathering.

Beatrice wrapped her hands around the mug when it arrived. The heat sank into her bones, reminding her of blood rites and deliberate pain. She took a slow sip, letting it sear her tongue.

The bell above the door jangled. His scent hit first. Cedar and storm and something darker now. Her pulse slammed hard enough to slosh coffee over the rim.

Dominic slid into the booth across from her. His knees brushed hers under the table. Electricity arced between them. She jerked back but the damage was done.

"You shouldn't be here," he rumbled, voice low enough for only her ears. His shaved head gleamed under the lights, scar along his jaw stark.

Beatrice took another deliberate sip. "Public place, Dominic. Last I checked, alphas don't own diners." Her amber eyes met his brown ones. The bond tugged low in her belly.

He rubbed the scar over his left ribs. The gesture looked unconscious. His jaw worked like he chewed on words he refused to spit out.

"That stunt at the Gathering." Not a question. "Running from me again."

Her smile felt sharp. "You grabbed me first. Or have you forgotten already?"

Dominic leaned forward. The movement brought his scent crashing over her again. Heat pooled low despite everything. She saw the same war in the tightness around his eyes.

"This isn't a game, Beatrice. Whatever you've become, it threatens the pack." His hand twitched toward hers on the table then stilled.

She set the mug down harder than necessary. The burn on her fingers felt grounding. "The woman you rejected died that night. You killed her publicly, remember? Called her too weak. Too soft."

His shoulders dropped a fraction. For one breath he looked like the man who'd once traced notes in her books. Then the alpha mask slammed back into place.

"I thought I was protecting you." His voice came out rough. "From this. From what you've turned into."

The bond flared. A wave of his regret flooded her senses, bitter on her tongue. Her fingers itched to reach across and touch that scar. She traced an invisible rune on the table instead. The magic steadied her. Barely.

"Protecting me by humiliating me under the moon's gaze?" Her tone stayed librarian-precise, laced with cutting sarcasm. "How very noble of you, Alpha. Tell me, does that guilt warm your bed at night?"

His eyes darkened. The air between them thickened. Under the table his knee pressed against hers again, deliberate. Neither pulled away. Sparks raced up her thigh.

"I dream about a lot of things," he said, voice dropping to that dangerous register. "Most involve you screaming my name."

Heat flooded her face. The bond sang between them, demanding. She felt his heartbeat sync with hers. Her lips parted on a shaky exhale.

The waitress refilled her coffee, shattering the moment. Beatrice jerked her leg away. The absence felt colder than it should. Dominic's fist clenched on the table, knuckles pale.

"Everything about this is wrong," he growled. "Your scent. Your power. The way I still..." He cut himself off, rubbing that scar hard.

"Still what?" She leaned in despite herself. Their faces hovered too close. She could see gold flecks in his eyes, pupils blown wide. "Say it, Dominic. For once, be honest about what you want."

His hand lifted slowly. She held still as his fingers brushed a strand of hair from her cheek. The touch stayed feather-light, almost reverent. Nothing like the alpha who'd chased her through the trees.

Pain lanced through her wrist. Not desire. Something sharper. Wrong. The blood magic fought the bond, jealous and ancient.

Dominic hissed and clutched his ribs. His face twisted with raw agony before the alpha control snapped back.

"Fuck. This thing between us is poisoning us both."

Beatrice pressed her wrist against her thigh. The moment lay shattered between them. She wanted to hate him for it. The hollow ache in her chest felt too much like that night five years ago.

He stared at her, chest heaving. For a second she thought he might reach for her again. Instead he stood abruptly. The booth creaked under the sudden shift.

"Stay out of pack business, Beatrice. This version of you... I don't know what to do with her." His gaze raked over her, hungry and haunted.

She didn't answer. Just watched him stalk to the door, that powerful frame moving with predatory grace that still flipped her stomach. The bell jangled as he left.

The bond stayed wide open and screaming.