The Ulfric library was tucked away in the grand estate, a sanctuary of burnished wood and hushed whispers.

The moment I stepped inside, the familiar scent enveloped me—aged leather bindings and the faint mustiness that clung to volumes untouched for decades. I drew in a deep breath, letting the comforting smell of knowledge and secrets fill my lungs.

When Richard would bring me here, while he talked business down the hall with Helga’s husband and sons. I’d curl up in one of the oversized leather chairs, flipping through books too old for my age, barely understanding a word—letting the murmur of voices beyond those heavy doors lull me into quiet.

Now, beneath it all something else lingered. That same wild scent from the balcony—pine and smoke, earth after rainfall, and something untamed that made my pulse quicken.

It was Skoll’s scent. Too fresh. Too present to be memory or imagination but he wasn’t here and my imagination was running wild.

When I was younger, that scent unnerved me—wild and sharp, like something that didn’t belong indoors but when I got older…when puberty hit and everything inside me began to twist and awaken, that scent started doing other things, to my mind, body and soul.

But there were other memories too. In this very room, I would touch myself when I was fifteen years old. Tucked in one of those oversized leather chairs, heart pounding, breath caught.

Imagining Skoll’s face, his scent and imagining that he was kissing me instead of his fiance at the time.

Gods. I had a huge crush on him.

Russell’s voice cut through the haze of memory like a blade. “Sneaking away from the party?”

I turned, forcing neutrality into my features. “Just needed a breather.”

He stepped closer, his smirk already curdling into something smug. “Oh, come on, Kaylee,” he drawled, voice dripping with amusement. “You really think I don’t know what this is?”

My brow twitched. “What what is?”

“You, leading me here.” Russell’s gaze dropped—dragging over the lines of my dress.

I stiffened, heat blooming up my neck, shame and disbelief clawing through my ribs.

Oh no.

Russell thought—His fingers brushed mine. “You don’t have to be shy,” he murmured and his thumb swept across my knuckles. A lover’s touch laid over something too familiar, too assumed.

The walls felt closer. The air, thick. My body locked and I wrenched my hand back. Pulse spiking. Not with desire, with dread.

“Russell…” I began, but he was already reaching again, his palm ghosting toward my waist.

I caught his wrist mid-motion, fingers tight. His blue eyes snapped to the contact, and for a second, he just stared.

Then the smirk cracked and something cold and ugly bled through. “So,” Russell said quietly, “you are just a cock tease.”

The words hit like a slap. “Excuse you?”

Russell yanked his wrist from my grasp. “You act like you’re better than everyone,” he hissed. “Like you don’t know exactly what you’re doing. That dress. The way you smile. Flirting with Colin and every man in the room—just enough to keep them circling but you never actually follow through, do you?”

My stomach knotted. Rage blooming beneath my skin. “Where the hell did that come from?”

Russell stepped in, voice dropping to a venomous whisper. “Oh, come on. I’ve seen you. The way they look at you, how Collin Teller was looking at you.”

“You’re being ridiculous, he’s a family friend. I’ve known him for years.”

“Play innocent but at the end of the night? You always leave them with nothing.”

“Screw you, Russell,” I bit out. “I didn’t bring you here to fuck.”

“Then why are we alone?” His tone turned cold—cutting.

I squared my shoulders, swallowing against the burn clawing its way up my throat.

Don’t flinch. Don’t cry. Don’t give him the goddamn satisfaction.

But my body betrayed me and my pulse roared in my ears, breath too fast, too shallow. And then—Tears.

Hot, angry, unwanted. Slipping past my lashes before I could stop them.

Not sadness.

Not fear.

Fury.

“This isn’t working.” My voice cracked, but I forced the words through clenched teeth. My hands curled into fists at my sides, trembling.

Silence. A pause that stretched, then—A low chuckle. Soft. Dismissive.

“You’re joking.”

I met Russell’s gaze head-on. “I’m not. I don’t want this.”

The smirk faltered, just for a breath and then it snapped back into place—polished and poisonous. “Not what you want,” he echoed, like the idea tasted bitter on his tongue. Like it was laughable.

Russell moved even closer. Too close and his fingers grazed my arm.

“Kaylee…” His voice dipped, softened to a coaxing lull. “Look at you, getting all emotional,” he murmured, voice lined with mock concern. “Shaking. Crying. You really think you have a choice?”

“I do have a choice,” I bit out. “And I’m making it now.”

Russell exhaled through his nose, sharp and irritated. Like I was a stubborn pet refusing to heel.

“And what exactly do you plan to do?” His smile barely covered the contempt brewing beneath. “Run off and bake cupcakes while your mother drags the last of your family’s name through the mud?”

My stomach twisted, bile rising behind my teeth. “What is wrong with you?”

“Oh, don’t act clueless,” he sneered, voice dipping into something darker. “Your whoring mother already dragged your family name through the dirt. And you?” His gaze swept over me, slow and full of contempt. “Parading around in that dress like a desperate little witch, thinking any of us would ever take you seriously?”

Something inside me snapped and my palm met his cheek before thought could catch up.

The crack of flesh on flesh echoed through the library as Russell’s head whipped to the side—and for a heartbeat, silence. Just the sound of my own jagged breath.

Then his mask shattered.

He lunged. Fingers like iron clamped around my jaw, squeezing until it ached. His face inches from mine, breath hot and venomous.

“You little bitch,” he hissed. “You should be grateful I’m even considering you. I could have anyone. Anyone. But here I am—offering you a way to fix the mess you call a life—and you're too blind to take it.”

“Let. Me. Go,” I choked, voice raw and high, tears slipping free as I clawed at his wrist.

Russell didn’t and his grip only tightened. His eyes flicked to my lips, then back to my face with something hungry and cruel.

“How about this,” he whispered, silk over broken glass, “I walk out first. Give you a moment to fix your face. We pretend none of this happened.”

“Get the hell away from me!” I screamed, struggling hard as his body pressed against mine.

“No,” His voice was low. Steady. Smug and completely in control. “And let’s face it,” he said, driving me back step by step, “you need me. To clean up your image. To keep the Council off your family’s back.”

My spine collided with the desk. Hard and pain flared sharp at the base, stealing my breath.

Russell loomed. “I have an even better idea, why don’t we fuck on this desk, right now, get it over with—and stop pretending you don’t want it.”

I tried to shove him back but he was solid. Unmovable and I thrashed harder—legs kicking, breath ragged, the thunder of my heartbeat deafening.

No. No. No.

And then—Something broke inside me.

The air shifted and my magik answered with rage.

The moisture in the air vanished. Ripped away and Russell choked—gasped—his lungs struggling in the sudden, suffocating dryness.

He faltered, just for a second and then his eyes flared with temper. A snarl tore from his throat, animal and unhinged as his fist slammed into my gut.

Brutal. Devastating.

The world tilted, pain exploding through my core and my knees buckled.

A sharp, wet crack echoed inside me and my magik flickered.

Then vanished.

I crumpled forward with a guttural gasp torn from my lungs as white-hot pain flared across my abdomen. My body curled inward, instinct desperate to shield the damage.

My knees gave but Russell didn’t let me fall. Fingers snarled in my hair—fistfuls of it—yanking me upright so fast my spine screamed. A broken whimper escaped my throat before I could swallow it.

Nausea surged. Fire lit every nerve and then—the desk. My lower back slammed into the edge, sharp and unforgiving. Agony burst through my ribs in a fresh shockwave.

I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t scream.

Just trembled, crying and caught between the cold, unyielding wood and Russell’s crushing weight.

His breath grazed my ear, “The whore’s daughter bites back.” His voice was poison—low, simmering with rage and mockery.

And then—Russell was gone.

Yanked back so violently my body nearly pitched forward with him. The heat of his presence ripped away, leaving nothing but cold air against my sweat-slicked skin.

The sound came next.

A bone-crunching slam.

Wood splintering.

Bookshelves crashing in protest.

Russell choked.

I staggered, one hand clutched to my ribs, vision swimming in violent static.

Then I saw him.

Skoll Ulfric.

A mountain of muscle and shadow, standing amidst the many bookshelves like he belonged in the wreckage.

One hand wrapped lazily around Russell’s throat—casual, almost bored and the other rolled his shoulder with slow precision, like waking from a long sleep.

This wasn’t a fight.

This was play.

“Am I interrupting something?” Skoll asked, his tone low, almost drowsy but his eyes—those burning green eyes—were sharp. Hungry. Fixed not on Russell.

They were on me and something in me clenched but I couldn’t answer with the ache in my stomach pulsing. It twisted now into heat, rising along my spine, curling at the base of my skull.

“You grew up,” Skoll murmured, assessing and I blinked. My throat worked around stunned silence. 

What was he doing here? And where the hell had he come from?

“Skoll,” Russell rasped, his voice broken, clawing at Skoll’s grip. “When did you—get back—?”

Skoll tilted his head, watching the warlock like he was deciding whether or not to finish what he started. 

Then he sighed. Not with mercy, with disappointment and just like that, Skoll let Russell go.

He crashed to the floor, coughing, cursing and scrambling backward like a kicked dog.

Skoll didn’t spare him a glance because his eyes were already back on me. Focused. Unyielding and he took a step forward.

Then another.

On instinct, I pressed back into the desk, pulse thundering in my throat.

Why are you flinching? I asked myself. 

Skoll saved you, but instincts didn’t care and it was like I was twelve years old again, and terrified of the Lycan.

“You’re shaking,” Skoll said and his voice was calm. Observational but it was like a hunter remarking on a wounded thing. “Are you alright?”

I couldn’t answer. My mind spun, trying to stitch reality together.

It was like Skoll Ulfric had risen from the dead but he wasn’t dead. He had walked away from this life. Years ago. After his siblings—

His scent hit me again…

Masculine. Cedarwood, smoke and something darker. Something feral and primal that filled the space between us like mist. Like hunger.

I clenched my fists and tried to stand straighter. 

“I’m fine,” I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand, smearing tears and mascara.

I inhaled a breath, and my ribs ached.

Skoll’s hand moved before I could flinch. Two fingers—just his thumb and forefinger—gripped my chin, tilting my face up until our eyes locked.

The touch wasn’t cruel but it wasn’t gentle, either.

“Lie to me again,” Skoll said—low, dark, and full of warning. 

I shook my head, “I’m not li-” 

“And I’ll throw you over my knee, right here…” He leaned in, his mouth barely an inch from mine. I could feel his breath, warm and wild, curling against my lips. “I’ll drag up that pretty dress, bare your ass, and spank the truth out of you.”

My breath hitched and I blinked back tears.

“Y-you wouldn’t dare.”

Skoll's eyes darkened. “Would you care to try me?” His gaze dropped, slow and deliberate, trailing over my trembling hands. 

The shallow stutter of my breath and every detail—catalogued.

Before I could consider my next form of actions or words, from behind, Russell’s voice slithered in, jarring and unwanted. “Skoll, my date and I were having a disagreement—”

Of course he’d try to talk his way out because the man standing before me wasn’t just the eldest Ulfric son.

Skoll was once the Alpha Lycan of the Greater Toronto territory and the Pit Lord of the underground fight ring. No one defeated him for the position, he willingly walked away.

And now he released my chin, and was calmly unbuttoning the cuffs of his dress shirt. Rolling them up methodical and unhurried.

Like he had all the time in the world to destroy.

“Bambi,” Skoll said and his voice was soft. Too casual. “Is that true? This was all just… a disagreement, a couple's spat?”

I blinked.

Bambi.

I sniffled, forcing my gaze past him to where Russell hovered behind—pathetic, bruised, still trying to salvage his pride.

My voice shook, but I didn’t care. “I tried to break up with him and then he-”

Skoll moved before the words finished leaving my mouth.

No warning. No tension. Just motion.

My breath caught—a pavlovian response to violence that I'd never quite unlearned. My father had moved like that too, the sudden shift from stillness to destruction that gave you no time to run. 

I hated how familiar it felt, watching another man unleash controlled rage. I hated even more the sick fascination that kept me rooted to this spot. 

Why was I always drawn to men who could break things with their bare hands?

One second Russell stood there, and the next—Skoll’s fingers lashed out and caught him by the jaw.

The warlock flinched too late.

Too slow to retreat.

Too slow to stop what was coming.

Skoll yanked him forward with that effortless, inhuman strength—dragging him into the moment, into the brutal realization that Russell wasn’t in control anymore.

A dark smirk curled Skoll’s lips and it wasn’t humorous.

It was a promise.

“Let’s see if you can bite back,” he growled.

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This is an early draft, so if you spot anything or feel something, I’d love to hear it. Doesn't have to be long, a few words. Your comments and feedback help shape the final version.

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