Fated To Not Just One, But Three

Chapter 424: The Man I was meant To Kill

Selene’s POV

Goodness. I wanted to push him away. I needed to push him away. This wasn’t the plan. This wasn’t what I told myself. For five years my only purpose had been to kill this man. To get close enough, gain his trust, slip the poison into my blood, and end him. That was the vow I whispered over my mother’s grave. That was the reason I’d breathed every day since. And here I was — kissing him back, my hands trembling against his chest, my whole body on fire.

"Mate," my wolf howled in my head, the sound echoing like a curse. Yes. That’s what made this so cruel. The Moon Goddess, in all her twisted humor, had tied me to the very monster I was supposed to kill. My mother’s killer. My enemy. My mate. From the moment I’d first seen him at that party, my wolf had screamed it. Mate. And I had shoved it down, locked it behind iron walls, told myself it didn’t matter. Mate or not, I would stick to the plan. And he didn’t know we were mates. Thank the stars, he didn’t know.

But now... now his mouth was on mine, his scent all around me, his hands dragging heat from my skin, and I couldn’t stop myself. My fingers fumbled at the buttons of his shirt like a traitor, desperate, hungry, shame clawing at me even as desire burned hotter. I hated him. I wanted him. I hated myself for wanting him.

A strangled sound tore from my throat — part moan, part sob — as my wolf pushed harder inside me, wanting him to fuck us again. This is wrong, I told myself. This is not the plan. And yet my hands slid over his skin anyway, pulling him closer instead of pushing him away. His lips claimed mine again, harder this time, and the world tilted. My wolf howled in satisfaction, and I was losing—losing to him, losing to myself. His shirt fell open under my shaking fingers, his skin cold beneath my palms.

he parted my thighs, all I did was spread them

and possession. "Your turn," he rasped, his voice a low, thick sound that demanded obedience. He didn’t wait. He grabbed the hem of my blouse, pulling it up slowly, giving me time

He finally reached out, his thumbs tracing the line of my collarbone, then sliding down to the delicate lace of my bra. He didn’t unhook it; he simply slid his hands

raw and involuntary. The contact was shocking, the heat of his palms radiating through me. I leaned into him, burying my face

the soft skin of my neck. Then, with a quick, practiced motion, the clasp of my bra gave way, and the lace fell

my belly. He sank to his knees, his hands moving to the waistband of my skirt. He found the zip and drew it down with a slow, deliberate sound that felt deafening. As he pushed the skirt

fabric of my underwear, he hesitated. His fingers brushed against the soft, warm skin of my inner thigh, and my legs trembled violently. "Tell me to stop," he

hate twisted once; I should push him away. But the heat was too intense. The need was too strong. I reached out and grabbed a handful of

the sensitive skin of my inner thigh where his fingers had just been. My breath hitched. The contact was electric, a sudden, blinding shift in the air. He was reverent and brutal at the same time, using his