Seduce the alpha

[WARNING :BEWARE MATURE CONTEN]

Zev hovered over her, water still dripping from his skin, his eyes pinned to hers like gravity had shifted and she was the new center of his world.

"Tell me no," he said softly, his voice low but laced with tension. "Now. Or I won't stop."

Aurora's fingers brushed his jaw, the underside of his cheek still rough with stubble. Her eyes didn't waver.

"I don't want you to stop."

The words were a breath, but they broke something in him.

Zev growled—low, possessive—and kissed her, deep and slow, like he was claiming breath itself. His hands finally moved, one bracing her hip, the other cradling the side of her throat, not to hold—but to feel her pulse thrum against his palm.

"You don't know what you do to me," he rasped against her mouth. "I've fought myself every night since you stepped into that throne room. You kneel and I burn. You speak and I unravel."

She gasped into him, her hands sliding over his shoulders, nails grazing the back of his neck. His control slipped with every shudder she gave.

"I should take this slow," he whispered, voice cracked with restraint. "But every second you say yes makes me forget why I ever waited."

He kissed down her neck, over the curve of her collarbone, his teeth barely grazing skin as her back arched to meet him.

"You're mine," he murmured. "Even if fate hadn't said so—I would've carved it into the stars myself."

Aurora let her hands tangle in his wet hair, pulling him closer, voice trembling—but not from fear.

"Then stop talking," she whispered. "And show me."

Zev moved with a hunger that tasted like reverence. Every kiss, every breath between them—claimed with heat but handled like a vow. Aurora arched beneath him, slick with water, but it wasn't just her skin that was raw—it was her want, her will, her fear.

"Zev…" she breathed, his name drawn from her lips like a confession.

Zev moved over her like a storm held barely at bay—each kiss deepening, each breath shared like it might be their last. His body trembled with restraint, but when she wrapped her legs around his hips and arched into him, something in him slipped.

He paused.

Froze, almost.

And in that suspended heartbeat between breath and motion, he felt it.

The smallest resistance.

The tension she hadn't meant to show.

The way her whole body hesitated for half a second, like a door she'd never opened before.

His jaw clenched.

"Aurora…" he said, voice thick, throat tight. "You've never…?"

She didn't meet his eyes.

But she nodded.

Just once.

That was all it took.

Zev pulled back—*not away*, just enough to look at her. Water still clung to her lashes, but her gaze was steady.

"You didn't stop me," he murmured.

"I didn't want to," she replied quietly.

He closed his eyes.

Then kissed her again—this time slower, deeper, with a reverence that hadn't been there before.

"Then I'll give you this properly," he whispered against her skin, "or I won't take it at all."

And then—when he entered—

She gasped.

Her body tensed, lips trembling, and a soft cry escaped her throat. Not loud. Not broken. Just a sound of something *new*.

Tears welled in her lashes. Not from regret—but from everything the moment held.

Zev froze, his jaw clenching. He leaned down, pressing his forehead to hers. Then he kissed her eyelids—first one, then the other—gently, slowly, as if sealing her pain away.

"You're safe," he whispered into her skin.

"You're mine. And I'll never hurt what's mine."

Her hands gripped his arms, grounding herself. Breath by breath, the tension eased.

Zev didn't move until she opened her eyes again. Until she nodded—once, soft and sure.

Then he kissed her again, slower now. Every movement laced with care. Every breath spoken through touch.

His touch grew gentler—not hesitant, but deliberate. Measured. Like he was memorizing each gasp, each tremble, each part of her offered freely.

And as her voice broke again—his name laced with a kind of wonder—he knew this had stopped being just about possession.

It had become something far more dangerous.

And far harder to walk away from.

His body began to lose its edge—hips stuttering as control frayed—his breath wild against her collarbone. And that was when it hit him.

He *wanted* to release. Right there. Inside her.

And she—gods help her—was *waiting* for him to.

His eyes slammed shut.

*No.*

Not now.

Not like this.

With a guttural curse, Zev pulled back, body shaking. The sudden emptiness made her gasp. His hand gripped the sheets beside her like a man punishing himself.

"Why did you stop…?" she asked, voice small, aching.

He looked at her—jaw tight, gaze burning.

"Because if I didn't, I wouldn't be able to let you go."

Aurora lay back, heart hammering, skin flushed and wanting. But inside—beneath the ache—was something colder. Quieter.

The Queen's promise echoed.

*Give him an heir. And you'll be free.*

She had waited for that moment. Had braced for it.

But Zev…

He hadn't taken it.

And now, as his breath slowed and he reached to gather her close again—gentle, reverent, unaware—Aurora turned her face to the ceiling.

Eyes open.

*If he won't fulfill the Queen's wish…*

*Will she ever be free?*

—

Aurora lay panting on the bed, her body slick with warmth and water, her breath catching like threads in her throat. Her limbs trembled—not from fear, but from everything she'd given.

Zev hovered above her for a moment longer, his chest rising, falling, pulse wild beneath his skin. Then he leaned in, one hand brushing wet strands from her cheek, the other sliding behind her neck to cradle her gently.

His thumb traced her bottom lip—slow, reverent.

"Now the palace knows you're mine," he murmured, low and gravel-rich. "And I dare anyone to try and take you from me."

His smile wasn't soft. It was pride wrapped in possession. But his touch—his touch was tender.

She blinked at him, eyes heavy, lashes wet. Her fingers found his wrist and held it there, anchoring him to her, just for a moment longer.

"Sleep, Rabbit," he said, voice softer now, almost like a vow. "You've earned it."

She exhaled—slow and deep—and let her body melt into the sheets as his warmth surrounded her.

And as her eyes drifted closed, her thoughts swirled in tired fragments:

*He did it.*

*He finally made me his.*

*And yet... he still wouldn't release.*

Even in the storm of their heat, he'd pulled back. Still holding a piece of himself. Of fate.

Because he knew what it meant.

*He's not ready to give me everything.*

And maybe—just maybe—that meant he already had.

Her lips curved faintly.

Then sleep took her.

—

Zev woke to silence. Then to warmth.

Aurora lay beside him, curled beneath the blanket, bare skin draped in shadows and honeyed light. Her breathing was slow, steady—her face tucked against the pillow, brow soft in sleep. The storm they'd weathered hours before had left her utterly still now, like peace was something she hadn't known until him.

He watched her for a moment, the corners of his mouth curving in a rare, private smirk.

*Stubborn little rabbit… You gave yourself to me and didn't even flinch.*

His fingers brushed the back of her shoulder once before he rose, bare feet touching the cool stone.

By the time he was dressed in a black shirt and loose sweatpants, the hallway outside was already breaking into chaos.

Shouting.

Boots.

A scream cut off too quickly.

Zev didn't react. Just pulled his hair into a knot, rolled his sleeves, and stepped out of the chamber—barefoot, unbothered.

The palace hall was awash in tension.

Zev watched, unmoved.

The echoes of chains scraped against the stone as the trembling man fell to his knees.

A market guard—face bloodied, ribs cracked—was bowing, begging, weeping.

The King stood unmoved, cold eyes gleaming above him.

"He extorted coin from famine-stricken vendors," the King spat. "Robbed children, humiliated mothers. A dog in uniform."

The nobles stood in silence. The older prince watched but said nothing.

"Kill him," the King ordered, turning with the finality of a blade.

"I don't condone filth in my kingdom. Burn the carcass when it's done."

The hall began to shift. Guards reached for weapons.

Then—

"That's not judgment," a voice cut in. "That's theater."

All heads turned.

Zev stood near the archway, arms folded, voice low and absolute.

"That man's guilty. I don't doubt it. But if we burn every symptom, we'll never find the disease."

The King stilled mid-step.

Zev kept walking—barefoot, shirt clinging to his shoulders, black pants soaked from the rain in the courtyard.

"You think he acted alone?" Zev continued. "You think corruption grows in solitude?"

"No. It feeds when your court watches and says nothing."

He glanced at his older brother—silent still.

"When silence is safer than spine."

The King turned, voice sharp as steel.

"How dare my *youngest son* question my ruling in my hall?"

Zev stopped just below the throne's dais. He dipped his head slightly—mock respect.

"Are you going to throw me in the dungeon too?"

The hall went still.

Even the fire cracked quieter.

The King's hands flexed at his sides, but Zev didn't back down. His eyes lifted, locking with his father's—calm, unyielding.

Then he spoke—quiet, but loud enough that every guard heard.

"Kings rule by fear when they can't earn loyalty. I will never be feared, Father."

"I will be *followed*—because when I punish a man, the court knows I mean *justice*. Not spectacle."

Gasps whispered like wind.

The older prince looked away.

The King's jaw clenched—but he said nothing.

Zev turned to the guards, nodding once.

"Strip him of his post. Cell him for three nights. Let him name *who else* took silver behind your back."

Then he walked out, slow and steady, the crowd parting before him.

Not because of his name.

Because of his **voice**.

As the last echo of his words settled in the throne hall, and the King's fury bristled behind silent lips, Zev turned without another glance.

He didn't walk fast. He didn't have to.

And just before the guards pushed open the door to his wing, he paused—one hand on the handle, head tilted slightly as if remembering something worth far more than royal arguments.

His lips curved into a quiet, wicked smirk.

"Now… if you'll excuse me," he murmured, voice all velvet and teeth,

"I have a rabbit tangled in my sheets, and a promise I intend to keep."

And when he returned to his chambers—Aurora was still asleep, wrapped in his scent, unaware that the man she'd given herself to hours before had just *claimed the right to rule without a crown.*