Chapter 4

Julie POV:

The moment the ring was safe in Ron's hand, the last thread of my strength snapped. The world tilted, the edges of my vision turning dark, and I collapsed into unconsciousness.

I woke up to the scent of pine and storms.

I was in a massive bed, tucked under heavy, luxurious sheets that smelled distinctly of him. Ron. The room was masculine and sparse, but the quality of the dark wood furniture and the thread count of the linens spoke of immense wealth and power.

The door opened and he walked in, carrying a tray of food. He set it on the bedside table without a word. I was starving, and I didn't hesitate, devouring the roasted chicken and warm bread like a wild animal.

As I ate, he sat on the edge of the bed behind me. I tensed, but his movements were slow, deliberate. He gently lifted the back of my tattered shirt, exposing the raw, weeping wounds from Locke's whip.

I flinched, expecting a rough touch, but his fingers were surprisingly gentle as he began cleaning the wounds with a cool, soothing balm. His touch was so careful, so tender, it felt utterly alien coming from an Alpha known for his ruthlessness.

As he worked, a powerful possessiveness radiated from him. I couldn't hear his inner wolf, but I could feel it-a silent, roaring claim that echoed in the charged space between us. "Mine. Mine to protect. Mine to heal."

When he finished, he gently pushed me back against the pillows. His eyes were dark, intense, burning with an emotion I couldn't name.

"Now," he murmured, his voice a low, husky growl that vibrated through my very bones. "It's my turn."

He leaned down and kissed me.

It wasn't a gentle kiss. It was hungry, demanding, a raw claiming. But beneath the force was a current of overwhelming relief and rightness. As his lips moved against mine, a profound sense of peace washed over me. It was the feeling of a fractured soul being made whole, of a lifelong wanderer finally finding their way home.

I didn't just accept his kiss; I answered it. My hands came up to tangle in his hair, pulling him closer. That night, I gave myself to him, not as a prisoner, but as a willing partner, finding solace and a strange, fierce joy in the arms of my fated mate.

The next morning, I woke up wrapped in his arms. When he saw that some of my wounds had reopened slightly from the intensity of our lovemaking, a look of profound self-loathing crossed his face. He cursed under his breath, his expression pained, and immediately set about tending to them again, his touch impossibly gentle.

It was in the middle of this tender moment that my phone, sitting on the nightstand, began to ring. The screen flashed with a name that made my blood run cold: Locke.

Ron's jaw tightened. He picked up the phone and answered it, putting it on speaker.

Locke's voice, imbued with his arrogant Alpha's Command, filled the room. "Julie, this nonsense has gone on long enough. Get your ass back here now."

Ron's eyes met mine. A wicked, dangerous glint appeared in their depths. While Locke was still talking, Ron leaned over me, his body pressing mine into the mattress. He lowered his head and deliberately licked the sensitive shell of my ear.

A small, involuntary gasp escaped my lips.

"Where is she?!" Locke roared through the phone, hearing the sound.

Ron leaned close to the phone's microphone, his voice a low, possessive purr that was more threatening than any shout.

"She's in my bed," he said calmly. "In my arms."

He paused, letting the words sink in, letting Locke's imagination run wild. Then, just before he hung up, he delivered the final, devastating blow. He rested a hand gently on my flat stomach, his voice dropping to a soft, intimate whisper meant only for me, but loud enough for the phone to pick up.

"You're carrying my pup now. I'll be gentle."

It was a lie, of course. We had only just met. But it was a lie designed to shatter the one belief Locke held onto: that I was barren, and therefore, worthless.

The line went dead, but I could almost feel the shockwave of Locke's broken ego from miles away.

---