C8 Eight

Selena’s POV

Why does it feel like I’ve somehow wandered into a concert?

People are cheering for no reason, and someone is actually chanting my name like I’m Beyonce, which is hilarious, because I’m definitely not Beyonce.

Last time I checked, she doesn’t stumble in heels and almost face-plant into a beer pong table.

Yet here I am, basically center stage, the crowd losing their minds, lights in my eyes, and the music blasting so hard it feels like my ribs are vibrating.

Everything is spinning, everything is loud, everything is hot, and somehow my hands decided to lift the hem of my dress, even though my brain is screaming bloody murder.

But my hands don’t care. Neither does my wolf, Issa. Neither does gravity. Neither does a shred of common sense.

I keep forgetting about the huge-ass bite mark on my neck, which is just perfect, because flashing a glowing mate mark at a human party is basically asking for attention.

Goddess, I’m a mess.

The last thing I remember clearly was sulking in my car, driving home, before I got distracted stalking Adrian’s social media like a total psycho.

He posts EVERYTHING, every stupid little human thing he does, so of course I ended up scrolling straight to his party post, address and all, and it felt like the universe handing me a sign.

So obviously I wasn’t going home to wallow in self-pity and guilt just because he said he wasn’t interested. Hell. To. The. No.

Especially not after Jane. Her death wasn’t going to be for nothing. I wasn’t giving up. So I barged in, demanding to know where he was, and some girl with way too much mascara and zero brain cells goes, “Oh, he went upstairs with Leila.”

LEILA. Freaking whore Leila. My neck burned so bad I actually gasped, like the mate mark had been stabbed with something hot. Issa whimpered inside me, waves of hurt rolling off her.

Our mate. Upstairs. With another woman. It felt like betrayal had turned into a knife and was stabbing me over and over.

And then suddenly some Ryan guy appeared with his dumb buddies and dragged me toward beer pong.

Why did I go with them, you ask? Because drunk me has zero survival instincts.

I beat them at first, then lost, then took… three, five, maybe ten shots. Everything blurred.

Next thing I know, I’m spinning, laughing, sliding across whatever surface I ended up on with the crowd screaming around me, dress sliding, Issa howling.

Before my dress could fully come off, someone yanked me down and I stumbled straight into a chest that smelled like storms and pure irritation.

Adrian.

I knew it was him because my whole body started buzzing and my mate mark was tingling.

He yanked my dress down so fast I nearly choked, and pressed me against him. Leaning down, with a voice deadly in my ear, he asked, “What in the goddess’s name do you think you’re doing?”

His deep voice ran down my spine and for some reason my pussy forgot we were pissed at him and started clenching. Ugh. What a slut.

I tried shoving him, really, really tried, but he didn’t budge an inch. He was a wall. A pissed-off, six-foot-five, muscle-brick wall.

The crowd groaned when he pulled me close.

“Yo, put her back!” someone yelled.

“Let her finish!”

“Booo!”

Adrian didn’t give a single flying shit. He just straightened and locked a very strong arm around my waist.

“This is over,” he announced. “Nothing to see here.”

They booed louder.

I gave them all the finger. Or tried to. My hand went the wrong direction and I accidentally flipped off Adrian’s chin.

Oops.

He dragged me through the crowd anyway, pushing past sweaty bodies and people spilling drinks, grinding on randoms.

Issa was purring inside me now, like a thirsty bitch, total traitor, eating up all the whole mate warmth, mate scent, and mate arms shit.

“Stop pulling me,” I slurred to Adrain, stumbling. “I can walk.”

I promptly walked straight into a wall.

He sighed the sigh of a man questioning all his life choices.

We finally made it to the ridiculously fancy stairway when a slurry voice exploded behind us. “Aye, dude! Where you taking her?”

Ugh. That dumbass tone.

I didn’t even have to turn to know it was Ryan. Honestly, no clue who he even was, but from his lack of scent, I figured he wasn’t a wolf anyway.

Adrian’s entire body tensed, every muscle of his going stiff. Then Ryan added the cherry on the shit sundae.

“C’mon man, let her go. She’s probably just looking for her next sugar daddy. Ain’t that right, sweetheart? I’m not old, but young cock would do, right?”

Those hurtful words made me retreat into my shell and Issa whimpered. I felt Adrian freeze beside me, and then everything happened so fast.

One second Ryan was talking, the next Adrian’s fist connected to his jaw.

Cheers exploded and people swarmed around them, chanting, “FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT!”

Ryan stumbled back and tried to swing but missed entirely. He was drunk. Stupid drunk. Adrian wasn’t. It was like his wolf had pushed to the surface. He shoved Ryan again, growling, “Say that shit again.”

“Adrian, stop!” I tried to get closer, tried to pull his arm, but that was dumb. I was drunk, had zero balance, and nausea had become my closest friend.

“Oh no-oh no—” I spun around and vomited right onto the floor.

Everyone nearby jumped back, yelling, “EWWW!”

Great. Amazing. Kill me.

Thankfully, Ethan appeared out of thin air, grabbing Adrian by the shoulders. “BRO! Stop! Goddess! He’s drunk!”

“He fucking crossed the line,” Adrian snapped, eyes still locked on a bloody Ryan, who was grinning like a maniac and pumping his hips toward me.

Ethan groaned. “I’ll handle Ryan. Just get her out of here, she needs to be cleaned up.”

Adrian was panting, rage still holding him.

“Go,” Ethan ordered.

Finally, Adrian stepped back. Then he grabbed me, again, and hawled me away from the crowd before I could puke on anyone else.

He carried me bridal style up the stairs. Not gently, by the way. When we reached a spare room, he dropped me to my feet and slammed the door. Hard. He was still breathing like he wanted to kill someone.

“Come here,” he growled, grabbing my wrist.

“I swear to Goddess Selene, stop dragging me like a damn suitcase—” I tripped immediately. Again.

He muttered, “Unbelievable,” and marched me into the bathroom anyway.

Turning on the tap, he grabbed a towel and started wiping my face.

Rough. Annoyed. But also… careful?

I blinked up at him, and he looked like he wanted to yell at me for ten hours straight.

Somehow, in the middle of it all, my dress ended up off. I don’t even know how. Squeaking, I grabbed his shirt–his shirt, because he’d ripped it off and tossed it at me before ordering me to put it on.

“Don’t look,” I clutched it over my body, which was nothing but bra and panties.

“I’m not.”

He totally was.

I glared but slid it on anyway, even as he completely ignored my glare.

His jaw clenched tight before he finally exploded. “What the fuck were you thinking coming here? Drinking yourself stupid? Stripping like a fucking whore? Letting those idiots see you? First old men, now you try young ones–what next, huh?”

It wasn’t the first time he’d hinted I was some gold‑digging whore but something about those exact words tore me open. They wouldn’t stop echoing in my head, going down into my chest until it felt like my ribs were on fire. My eyes stung, my vision going blurry.

My hand flew up before I even realized it and I slapped him so hard his head snapped to the side.

Turning back slowly toward me, his eyes were as dark as midnight. “Oh,” he said, quiet but just as dangerous. “Struck a nerve?”

His eyes traveled from my lips to my throat, then to my legs peeking under the giant shirt, and finally to the mark on my neck. Something about him changed–it was like he became darker, hungrier.

“Fuck it,” he muttered at last.

I barely had time to react before he grabbed my waist, yanked me into his hard, bare chest, and crashed his mouth onto mine.

A furious, hungry, claiming kiss.

“Adrian–what—”

But the words died against his lips as he kissed me harder. Fueled by the same fire I felt inside, my hands slid over his defined abs and I kissed him right back, just as rough, just as demanding. It turned into a silent war, a challenge over who would give in first.

Spoiler: it sure as hell wasn’t me.

Finally, he eased up on the fight, letting his lips trail down my jaw, over my throat, and settling right on the mark: kissing, sucking, driving sparks straight down to my throbbing clit.

Gasping, I wrapped my legs around his waist as he automatically lifted me, his monster of a cock straining against his jeans as he pressed my back up against the wall.

His hands gripped my thighs, then moved to squeeze my ass. My eyes rolled back and my fingers buried themselves in his soft, dark brown hair as he continued his assault on the mark.