Falling For The Demon Wolf-Chapter 46: Brewing Frustration

VIOLET

"I didn’t love him. Roman... hell, I didn’t even fucking like him."

The words echoed off the stone walls of my room, sharp and breathless, a confession I didn’t even mean to say out loud. But they were true. Every damn syllable.

I just tolerated him. That’s all it ever was.

Tolerated him because he is Roman, son of my fathers best friend also second best hunters that we have, and is my father’s choice. We’ve been friends since we were kids.

Roman was safe. Predictable. Human.

But Zain...

Zain was a fucking storm.

And I burned for him.

Every time he touched me, looked at me, even breathed near me—I unraveled. My body came alive in ways I’d never known were possible. That kiss in the dungeon hadn’t been about Roman. It wasn’t even about proving a point. 𝙛𝓻𝒆𝓮𝒘𝙚𝙗𝒏𝙤𝙫𝓮𝒍.𝓬𝒐𝙢

It was about us. About the fire that refused to die, no matter how hard I tried to suffocate it.

And Zain—he was too damn blind to see it. Too trapped in whatever war he was fighting in his own head to realize that I chose him.

I didn’t want Roman. I never did.

My body knew who it belonged to.

And my soul...

God, it screamed for Zain.

I sat on the edge of the bed, gripping the sheets so tight my knuckles turned white, teeth clenched against the tremble threatening to take over. My heart was still racing from the way he touched me. From the way he looked at me like I was his entire world and he was seconds from destroying it just to claim me.

His lips still lingered on mine. The taste of him. The need in him.

And the pain when he walked away.

I hated how much I wanted him to stay. How much it broke something in me every time he shut the door behind him like he didn’t care.

But he did.

I saw it.

Felt it.

That kiss wasn’t just possessive—it was desperate. Hungry. A silent plea I didn’t fully understand.

I exhaled shakily, my hands still trembling. "You think I want him?" I whispered to the empty room. "I fucking want you, Zain. You idiot."

I stood and paced, trying to work off the tension. But it clung to me, a second skin. I could still feel his breath on my neck, his growl in my ears, the way my body had responded to every rough, hungry touch like it was meant to be his.

And maybe it was.

Because this thing between us—it wasn’t normal. It was magnetic. Irresistible.

And terrifying.

I stopped in front of the mirror, staring at my reflection. My lips were still a little swollen, my eyes darker than usual, shadowed by want and something deeper.

I looked like someone who was falling.

No.

I looked like someone who had already fallen.

And maybe that was the scariest part.

Because if he broke me, there’d be nothing left.

Not even ashes.

Just the ghost of the girl who once believed she could survive a man like Zain.

And maybe I couldn’t.

But dammit, I wanted to try.

I didn’t move for a long time. The sun was beginning to set over the hills, casting a golden light into my room.

I Just stood there, hands braced on the edge of the vanity, my hair pinned to the top of my head with small tendrils dancing over my face, watching my reflection like maybe—just maybe—it would show me something I hadn’t seen before. Something that explained why I couldn’t breathe without thinking about him. Why I still felt his hands on my skin, like a brand. Why his voice lived in the space between my ribs.

I didn’t love Roman. Never did, never will. Even if the heavens fell today.

That was the truth.

But Zain...?

I didn’t know if it was love.

Maybe it was something worse. Something deeper. Something that crawled under my skin and dug its claws in and refused to let go. Something that made me ache.

I turned from the mirror, swallowing hard, and crossed the room to the window. The air outside was cold, but I shoved the window open anyway and leaned into it, hoping the bite of wind would clear my head.

It didn’t.

Not when the scent of the woods below still carried him in it.

The scent of rain and forest and wild things that had no business feeling like home.

God.

What the hell was happening to me?

I curled my fingers into the windowsill, heart thudding. I hated the silence. Hated the way the walls seemed to hum with the memory of his voice.

I should hate him.

But I didn’t.

Even when he was being an arrogant, possessive, infuriating bastard—I felt him. Felt something in me reach out every time he was near. It didn’t make sense. It didn’t need to make sense.

It just was.

And the worst part?

I knew he felt it too.

That kiss wasn’t a slip. It wasn’t an accident. It was a claim. A raw, unfiltered need that tangled with my own and exploded between us.

And then he walked away.

Like he hadn’t just lit my entire world on fire.

My fingers itched to throw something. To scream. To demand that he stop playing these games and just admit it—whatever this thing was between us, it was real.

But instead, I sank to the floor, my back against the cold stone wall beneath the window, and pulled my knees to my chest.

I was exhausted.

Confused.

Angry.

And still... the place between my thighs throbbed with need, my body remembering the way his hips pressed into mine, the way his mouth devoured every sound I made.

He had no right to touch me like that and then leave me burning.

That should be illegal.

No right to make me crave him, then act like I was the one who didn’t know what she wanted.

Because I did.

I wanted him.

Even if it scared me. Even if it ruined me.

I wanted him.

And the next time he touched me...

I wasn’t going to let him walk away.

I don’t know how long I sat there—long enough for the light to change, for the sky to dip into a deep, dusky blue. Long enough for the ache between my legs to dull into something more emotional, more unbearable. It wasn’t just lust anymore.

It was need.

For answers. For him. For the truth neither of us was willing to say aloud.

And I was done waiting.

I stood, shaky but determined, brushing off the dust from the floor and pacing across the room. My hands curled into fists at my sides. I didn’t know where he was, but that wasn’t going to stop me.

He said it wasn’t over.

Well, he was right.

I stormed out of the room, not even bothering to hide the fury building behind my ribs. Every guard I passed flinched or looked away. Good. Let them. Let them see the storm they were too afraid to name.

When I reached the end of the hall, I paused.

The war room.

I heard voices behind the door—Cian’s, low and tense, and Zain’s... his voice like velvet dragged over steel, dangerous and deep.

My heart slammed once against my ribs before I pushed the door open.

Both men looked up.

Zain’s expression hardened the moment he saw me, like he’d slipped his mask back on. But I could see it—barely. The fire still simmering behind his eyes. The tension in his shoulders. The way his fingers curled, like he was holding himself back.

I held his gaze, jaw tight.

"Release Roman."

His expression didn’t change. Not a twitch. Not a flinch.

"No."

I folded my arms. "He’s not your prisoner."

Zain stepped forward, slow and deliberate. "He is while he’s in my territory."

"He’s not a threat to you."

"He’s breathing," he snapped, eyes flashing. "That’s threat enough."

Cian cleared his throat. "Maybe we should—"

"Don’t," Zain growled, never looking away from me. "Stay."

"I’m not here to argue," I bit out, lifting my chin. "I just want him gone. Out of that cell. He doesn’t deserve to be treated like some criminal."

Zain’s laugh was low and humorless. "And what exactly do you think he deserves, Violet? A medal? You think I don’t know what kind of man he is?"

"I don’t care what you think you know," I said, stepping closer. "I just want him released."

He moved toward me now, closing the distance until the heat of his body soaked into mine. "You want him so bad?" he whispered, voice rough. "Why don’t you go crawl back into that cell and keep him company?"

I shoved him.

Stupid. Pointless. Like trying to move a brick wall with my bare hands.

"Don’t play games with me, Zain."

His eyes darkened. "I’m not playing anything."

"Then stop acting like you have any say over my life."

His hand snapped out, curling around my wrist. Not rough, not bruising—possessive. "I don’t act, Violet. I feel. And right now, I feel like throwing you over my shoulder and reminding you exactly why you stopped saying his name the second I touched you."

My breath hitched. My skin burned beneath his fingers. But I locked my jaw and glared at him like I wasn’t seconds away from combusting.

"You’re so full of yourself."

He leaned in, mouth brushing the shell of my ear. "No. I’m full of you. Your scent. Your taste. Your sounds. They haunt me, Violet."

My legs nearly buckled.

I yanked my arm back and took a step away, needing air between us before I lost what little control I had left.

"You’re not getting it," I muttered.

"No," he said, voice dropping. "You’re not."

Cian shifted awkwardly in the background, pretending to study something deeply important on a scroll.

Zain stepped back, face unreadable now. "He stays where he is. Until I say otherwise."

I clenched my fists at my sides. "This isn’t over."

"It never was," he said, and the weight of those words made my heart skip a beat.

I turned and stormed out again before I did something stupid—like drag him into the nearest shadow and let him ruin me all over again.

Because I wouldn’t give him that power.