Chapter 150: His Claim
Josie
I blinked, caught off guard by his words, my mouth parting but no sound coming out. Did I just hear that correctly? No, I must have misheard. I forced my face into a mask of indifference, pretending I hadn’t caught a thing. If I ignored it, maybe it would disappear.
Thorne only shrugged, a knowing glint flashing in his eyes. "Kiel already told me you wanted to attend Marcy’s engagement," he said casually, like it was nothing, like he hadn’t just knocked the air out of me with his words.
My lips pressed together as my thoughts scrambled. Kiel, that snitch. I wanted to mentally grab his cheeks and squeeze them hard—why had he made me go through all that effort convincing Thorne, when he had already told him everything? A spark of irritation mixed with embarrassment burned in me.
"Well," I muttered, lifting my chin, "since you knew already, I’m glad. I suppose I should leave now." My tone was brisk, but inside my heart was pounding, uneven and restless.
Thorne slapped his hands against his thighs and rose in one smooth motion. The sound was sharp in the quiet room, and I startled. "You can’t leave so fast," he said, his voice firm. "I want to talk to you about something important."
The heat in my body spiked at his words. Something important. My throat tightened, and I forced myself to ask, "What is it?"
He tilted his head toward the chair opposite him. "Come around and sit. It’ll be easier if we talk properly."
I froze. Sit? Across from him? My feet stayed rooted to the floor. "I’m fine standing," I said quickly, shaking my head. My arms crossed tightly over my chest, a flimsy shield against the heavy weight of his gaze.
He sighed, a sound rough and low, and rubbed the back of his neck. "Josie... I just want to make you more comfortable with me."
Comfortable. The word sat wrong with me, prickling along my skin. I swallowed and forced a smile that felt brittle. "I’m fine the way I am. Really. And I should go back to the room before someone wonders where I’ve gone."
"Josie—"
But I didn’t wait for him to finish. I spun on my heel, my pulse racing, and ran out of the room before he could try again to stop me.
The weekend came faster than I expected.
I stood before the mirror, draped in a black dress that hugged my frame with quiet elegance. The fabric shimmered faintly under the light, the kind of understated glamour that made you look twice without realizing why. I added simple jewelry, a delicate bracelet, and earrings that caught the glow every time I moved. My reflection didn’t look like me—it looked like a version of me who belonged in celebrations like these.
When Thorne saw me, his brows lifted slightly, but he said nothing. Instead, he offered his arm, a silent escort into the pack’s grounds where Marcy’s engagement was already in full swing. The hum of laughter, the swell of music, the warmth of so many bodies gathered—it all wrapped around me like a wave.
I threw myself into the occasion. I laughed with Marcy, teasing her as she glowed under everyone’s attention. I fussed over little details, held her bouquet at one point, and when the time came, I was even among those who carried the rings forward for the exchange. The moment was beautiful, happy, drenched in love and promises.
But no matter how hard I tried to lose myself in the celebration, I felt his eyes on me.
Thorne never stopped watching. His gaze followed me like a shadow, steady and unyielding. It was the same look he’d worn at his friend’s wedding—the kind that made my chest tighten with something too dangerous, too consuming. I didn’t want to drown in it. Not again.
I reminded myself sharply: don’t put your heart in his hands, Josie. Not when he could break it without flinching.
The music shifted, a slower rhythm weaving into the air. Thorne moved closer, his presence washing over me before I even looked up. "Dance with me," he said.
The words stole the breath from my lungs. My instinct was immediate—refusal. But then I noticed the curious eyes around us, the small smiles, the way a few heads tilted, waiting for my answer. If I said no, it wouldn’t just be a rejection of him—it would look bad, for him, for me, for our pack.
I forced myself to smile. "Yes."
His hand slipped into mine, warm and grounding, and he guided me to the center of the floor. The music swelled, and his arm wrapped around my waist, pulling me close. My other hand rested reluctantly against his shoulder, and we began to move.
It was too much. The nearness, the steady rhythm, the way his breath grazed my ear when he leaned in. The dance wasn’t just a dance—it was a conversation without words, a pull and push of something electric between us. My body betrayed me, shivering under his touch even as my mind screamed to resist.
When the song ended, others stepped forward. Different Alphas, each asking politely for a dance. I agreed every time, eager for distance, eager to prove—to myself, to him—that I could smile and spin with others and be happy without him.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him. At one point, a glass in his hand, tilting it back in one long swallow. His gaze never wavered, though, sharp and burning from across the room.
I didn’t stop.
I let the music carry me, let the laughter of my dance partners fill the air. Maybe it was petty, maybe reckless, but part of me wanted him to see—wanted him to know that I didn’t need him to be happy.
But then, the moment another male stepped forward, his hand reaching for mine with a smile, Thorne moved.
He was across the room in an instant, his hand gripping mine before I could take the other’s. His jaw was tight, his eyes stormy, and without a word, he pulled me from the floor.
"Thorne—" I started, heat flaring in my chest.
But he didn’t stop. His grip was iron, dragging me through the crowd, past the lingering stares and whispers. My voice rose, sharper. "Let go of me!"
He didn’t answer. He shoved the car door open, all but guiding me—no, forcing me—into the back seat. The door slammed shut behind me with finality.
"Drive," he told the driver, his voice low, commanding.
I glared at him, fury bubbling in my chest. "What do you think you’re doing? You can’t just—"
My words broke off as his hands framed my face, his mouth crashing onto mine with desperate force. The kiss stole my breath, scorching, demanding, leaving me no room to think. His lips moved against mine like he was carving his claim, like he needed to prove something neither of us dared say aloud.
When he finally pulled back, his voice was rough, raw, trembling with possession.
"You’re mine."