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.

grabbing the back of my neck. I should have stopped. I should have remembered my mother, my plan, my vow. But when he parted my thighs, all I did was spread them wider. I dragged my fingers through the dark hair there,

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 to feel the friction of the cloth dragging across my skin, exposing the flesh to the cool air

nipples beneath my thin bra tight and aching. I felt utterly exposed, not just physically, but morally. This was the moment of no return. He finally reached out, his thumbs tracing the line

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

lightly nipping the soft skin of my neck. Then, with a quick, practiced motion, the clasp of my bra gave way, and the lace fell open. I was jealous, wondering how many times he had done

in my belly. He sank to his knees, his hands moving to the waistband of my

reached the thin 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 challenged,

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 his

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