The door shut heavily behind him.
Ace stood still for a moment in the dimness of the house, as if he wasn't entirely sure he had really come back. The scent of the place hit him instantly—familiar, warm… and something else.
Sweet.
Too sweet.
"I thought you wouldn't be back for a few more days," she said, rising from the armchair.
Bista's steps were quiet, cautious, but her scent spread through the air immediately, wrapping around him like something sticky and familiar.
Ace lifted his gaze to her.
Tired.
Heavy.
And suddenly… darker.
That was the scent.
The one Ithilien had noticed.
The one that made her pull away.
"But I am," he growled, shrugging off his jacket in one sharp motion.
Bista stopped mid-step, unsettled by a tone she had never heard from him before.
Something in his voice was… different.
Foreign.
"It's not a problem that I came back to my own home, is it?"
"Ace…" she said more quietly. "Is everything alright? You smell… different…"
That was the spark.
The anger surged instantly.
No—it hadn't returned.
It had been there all along.
Just waiting.
Ace crossed the distance in a few quick strides and grabbed her before she could step back. His hand tightened around her arm, pulling her to him with a force that was no longer controlled.
She froze.
Fear flashed in her eyes.
He saw it.
And something in him… answered.
"How different?" he asked softly, leaning over her. "Not like your husband? Not like your alpha?"
His hand slid higher, stopping at her neck. His fingers tightened slightly, thumb and forefinger resting along her jaw. She stared at him with wide green eyes, not understanding what was happening.
"And you…" his voice dropped even lower, "you smell like a bitch in heat at the mere sight of me."
A low laugh left his throat.
It didn't sound like laughter.
More like a warning.
Bista flinched, trying to pull away.
"Ace, please…" her voice broke. "I don't know what I did—"
"You agreed to this marriage," he hissed. His grip tightened. "So don't pretend you don't know what you are."
Her breathing quickened.
The fear was clear now.
Ace watched her for a moment, as if something inside him was fighting.
A fraction of a second. Maybe two.
Then it was gone.
Only tension remained.
Instinct.
"Tonight you'll be a good wife," he added quietly.
His voice was calm and that was the worst part.
He wasn't shouting.
He wasn't losing control in any obvious way.
He was… switching something off.
He pulled her closer, his mouth finding hers in a sudden, chaotic kiss. There was no tenderness in it—only need, pressure, something wild tearing through him from the inside.
Bista tried to pull back.
"Ace—"
Her protest died.
His hand tightened.
"Quiet."
That single word was enough.
She went still.
Not because she wanted to.
Because she didn't know what he would do if she resisted.
Ace looked down at her, breathing heavily.
Something inside him was building.
Something he didn't recognize.
"Kneel," he said at last.
When she obeyed, he undid his trousers and watched as she complied. He gripped her hair and pulled her closer, forcing her deeper. He thrust a few times, feeding on her submission.
Ace watched her in silence, his jaw tight, his hands clenched— and then something inside him snapped.
Not relief.
Not satisfaction.
Just a deeper emptiness.
Sharp.
Unbearable.
He suddenly grabbed her and pulled her up, as if he didn't want to see this anymore, as if something about the moment had already stopped being enough.
"Enough," he growled.
He threw her over his shoulder and carried her toward the bedroom, his steps heavy, fast—
as if he was trying to outrun something inside himself.
But whatever it was… it followed him.
That same evening, Ithilien and Marco stopped at a small roadside motel in Idaho, halfway to one of the packs closest to the Oregon border.
The room was quiet. Dim. The kind of place that smelled faintly of dust and old furniture.
Ithilien sat curled slightly in a worn armchair by the window, a stack of university notes spread across her lap. Her eyes moved steadily over the pages, forcing herself to focus.
Studies came first.
They always had.
It was the only thing that still felt… stable.
Outside, the sky had already darkened, the last traces of light fading behind the trees. Marco was in the bathroom, the sound of running water muffled behind the thin door.
Ithilien turned a page.
Then—
she stilled.
A sharp, sudden pull hit her just beneath her collarbone.
Her breath caught.
Her hand moved there instantly, almost mechanically, pressing against the spot as if she could stop it. The sensation lingered—tight, burning, wrong.
She didn't need to guess.
Ace.
Something was happening to him.
Something intense.
Anger.
It rolled through the bond in waves—raw, uncontrolled, suffocating.
Her jaw tightened.
For a moment, she closed her eyes, trying to block it out, but it was already there, coiled under her skin.
Damn it…
She exhaled sharply and dropped her hand, forcing her shoulders to relax.
No.
She wasn't doing this.
Not again.
Not for him.
With a quiet, irritated movement, she pushed the thought away, focusing back on the notes in front of her. Words. Structure. Something logical. Something hers.
A second later, her phone buzzed on the armrest.
Ithilien glanced at the screen.
When are you coming back?
She stared at the words for a second longer than she should have.
Then her fingers tightened slightly around the phone.