Seduce the alpha

Aurora stirred long before the sun touched the windows.

Her eyes opened to the same silence she'd fallen asleep in—Zev's breath slow and even beside her. He hadn't moved. Neither had she.

She lay still, spine straight, careful not to rustle the sheets. His scent lingered—cedarwood and storm—but it didn't comfort her. It *reminded* her. Of proximity. Of danger. Of the whisper the inspector had left in the Queen's ear.

That smirk.

That nod.

*What did she see?*

The night hadn't dulled the question. If anything, it had sharpened it. Aurora had memorized the moment on loop, her heartbeat pounding behind her ribs like a protest she wasn't brave enough to speak aloud.

She risked a glance at him.

Zev. Still reclined, bare chest rising steady with sleep. Or maybe just pretending. He didn't seem like the kind of man who *ever* truly let his guard down.

Her fingers itched to reach for something—to test, to stir him—but she didn't dare.

Instead, she rose carefully from the bed, moving like mist across the floor. A soft wrap pulled tight around her. No shoes. No sound.

She needed answers.

And she wasn't going to get them from a man who ruled with silence.

Her fingers brushed the door handle.

The cold of it grounded her—a physical break from the heat she'd carried all night, tangled in sheets beside a man who hadn't touched her but had still left a mark.

She wanted air. Or maybe silence that wasn't shared.

One step more.

Then—his voice.

Low. Unhurried. But sharp enough to slice through the stillness like a blade drawn in velvet.

"Running already?"

Aurora froze.

He hadn't been sleeping.

She turned her head slowly.

Zev was propped on one elbow, towel gone, now shirtless in loose black trousers, eyes glinting with something unreadable in the pale morning light.

"You earned the bed," he said, tone cool. "Not my secrets."

Aurora's grip on the handle tightened.

"I wasn't running."

"You always say that when you are."

His gaze drifted down, lazily, like he could trace where her pulse had quickened even beneath the robe.

She let go of the handle.

"I just needed... to breathe."

Zev sat up fully now, the sheets pooling at his waist. His body stayed relaxed. But his attention—*that* was razor-sharp.

"Breathe here. Or you'll make me think the inspection turned you spineless."

Her heart skipped.

He knew.

Or guessed.

Or saw something in her that made him test her nerves for the second time in twelve hours.

"What did they say to the Queen?" she asked, voice thin.

"You ask too many questions for someone trying to seduce me."

He stood, stretching slowly, purposefully.

Aurora looked away. Not out of innocence—but self-preservation.

"And you answer too little for someone who sleeps like a wolf."

He tilted his head.

Then—he smiled.

Not soft. Not cruel.

Just that perfect curve that said he saw through her completely.

"I don't sleep," he said. "I wait."

Aurora lingered near the door, pretending to study the carved frame as if it were fascinating and not simply a distraction from the man now rising behind her.

She turned just as Zev stretched—slowly, deliberately—and crossed the room.

He moved like a king who didn't need a crown to command attention. Muscles relaxed, gaze unreadable, a small white towel clutched in one hand as he headed toward the adjoining chamber.

She found her voice too late.

"Where are you going?"

He glanced over his shoulder, no urgency in his stride.

"Isn't today the celebration for the Queen's sister's grandson?"

A pause. A glint.

"New baby Alpha. You didn't know?"

Aurora stiffened. She *had* forgotten. Everything about that morning—about court, protocol, presence—had been drowned out by one whisper and one smirk.

"Or," Zev added, his mouth curving just slightly, "are you paying too much attention to me?"

Her cheeks warmed before she could stop them.

And still, he didn't stop walking.

He undid the first button of his trousers, fingers calm.

"I like the way you stare at me, Aurora," he said, voice smooth but edged. "It's honest. You don't do anything else honestly. But that? That you do."

She blinked.

He reached the bathroom door, slipped his shirt off with no hesitation, revealing long lines and lean muscle that didn't need flexing to dominate the space.

"Will you be joining me?"

The words floated back casually, like an afterthought. Like a dare.

"Uh… no. I'll bathe once you're finished."

He chuckled once. Low. Wicked.

"Scared?"

Aurora turned away, heat dancing on her skin like sparks left too close to dry parchment.

Maybe she was.

Or maybe she just wasn't ready for what happened if she stayed.

Aurora lingered longer in her bath than she needed to.

The water had gone warm and then cool, but she still hadn't moved. She didn't want to dress in front of him again—not this morning. Not after last night. Not after the silence, the breath between them that had hummed with unspoken things.

When she finally returned to his chambers, a thin robe wrapped around her and damp hair braided loosely down her back, he was already dressed.

Zev stood by the mirror in a deep wine-colored suit, buttoned sharp across his frame. He was adjusting his cufflinks—slowly, like a man with time and power to spare.

He glanced at her reflection. "Little rabbit hurried to bathe," he said, voice quiet, but clipped with amusement.

She folded her hands behind her back, eyes low. "Alpha… may I?"

He looked up. "What?"

Aurora stepped forward. She didn't explain. She simply reached for his collar—delicate fingers smoothing the fabric, fixing the fold. Her hand brushed the side of his throat, soft and barely there.

He didn't move.

But she felt his eyes on her, steady as winter.

She adjusted the knot of his tie and stepped back.

"Done now," she said, voice still careful.

Then—after a breath—she added, almost playfully, "You should say thank you, Alpha."

His jaw tightened.

And then he chuckled—just once. Short. Sharp.

He turned away without answering, reaching for his ring.

"Careful," he said. "You're learning."

—

The celebration unfolded like clockwork—polished, practiced, and laced with honeyed tension.

Music threaded through the high golden hall, soft enough to flatter conversation but sharp enough to remind every guest where they were. Beneath the banners of the Seven Houses, nobles milled and mingled, trading laughter like currency.

At the center, elevated and unmistakable, sat the Alpha heir.

Zev wore wine-colored silk like armor. His posture was relaxed, but nothing about his presence was soft. His eyes moved lazily over the gathering, taking everything in. The clinking of goblets. The way some of his brothers lounged with assigned companions draped across their laps. The subtle glances from other Alphas' daughters—each waiting, smiling, *hoping.*

He acknowledged none of them.

Then came her.

Grace in every step, lips painted the shade of ambition. She moved like she already knew the ending of the conversation she hadn't begun.

"Luna Felicia," she announced with a tilt of her head, offering a manicured hand. "It's been too long...Alpha."

Zev didn't take it.

Didn't even look at her.

"Alpha Zev," he said flatly.

A brief flicker behind her eyes. But she recovered.

"Still so formal," she mused, seating herself beside him without invitation. "You haven't changed."

He said nothing.

"My father," she went on, "is eager to offer half his holdings in the West, should we align through marriage. He would honor you. I would, too."

Her fingers lifted, grazing just under his jaw.

He still didn't flinch.

"I'm not interested," he said evenly. "Not in your father's land. Not in you."

The silence around them expanded—no longer polite. Now curious.

She faltered. Briefly.

Zev sat forward, brushing off the nonexistent contact like dust.

This time, he looked up.

And the ice in his stare silenced every nearby voice.

"Did someone not tell you," he said softly, "no one is permitted to touch me?"

Felicia blinked.

Then—Zev lifted one hand, gestured cleanly across the room.

"Except her."

Heads turned like leaves in wind.

She had been standing there all along.

By a column near the edge of the hall. Still. Composed. Quiet only because no one had bothered to listen—until now.

His eyes didn't leave her.

"Aurora."

Their names, placed together in a single breath, changed everything.

She didn't move. Didn't smile. Just stared back at him, as if she already knew this moment was coming.

Zev's lips curved, slow and dangerous.

"Gorgeous."

And the room forgot to breathe.