Page 14 of Rebel for Claws (Rebellious Mates #4)

NINE

VIVIAN

T he air crackled with electricity and unspoken truths, and Vivian found herself studying the way the firelight played across Alaric's strong features. How did I go from wanting to fight this man to wanting to... well, definitely not fight him?

"I should probably let you get some rest," Alaric said, starting to rise from his chair with that controlled grace that made her pulse quicken. "Tomorrow will be?—"

"Wait." The word escaped before she could stop it, surprising them both.

Vivian felt heat creep up her neck at her own boldness.

"Could you stay a little while longer? We don't have to talk about anything serious.

I'm just..." Completely fascinated by you and terrified of being alone with these feelings. "What do you like to do for fun?"

Alaric froze halfway to standing, his light grey eyes widening with what looked suspiciously like panic.

A flush crept across his sharp cheekbones, and he actually stammered.

"I... fun? You want to know about..." He cleared his throat, running a hand through his short dark hair.

"That's not really... I mean, I don't usually. .."

Oh my God, he's blushing. Vivian couldn't suppress the smile that tugged at her lips. Here was this powerful, commanding Alpha who could probably reduce grown men to trembling with a single look, and she'd managed to turn him into a flustered teenager with a simple question about hobbies.

"Are you afraid of small talk?" she teased, settling back in her chair with newfound confidence. "Or is it always just business with you?"

"No, I'm not afraid," Alaric replied quickly, then seemed to catch himself.

His shoulders relaxed slightly, and that devastating smile she was beginning to recognize ghosted across his features.

"I just haven't had many... intimate, laid-back conversations in my life.

I'm not really sure what to say or how to act. "

The admission was so unexpectedly vulnerable that Vivian felt something shift in her chest. This man has spent thirty years wearing a mask, performing for everyone around him. When was the last time he just... talked to someone? Really talked?

"Just be yourself," she said softly. "The real you, not the Alpha everyone expects you to be."

Alaric studied her face for a long moment, and she watched his internal struggle play out across his features. Finally, he nodded. "Okay. But only if you'll come with me. Let me give you a tour of the estate—show you some of my favorite spots."

Favorite spots. The phrase sent an unexpected thrill through her. She was about to see the private world of Alaric Silvercrest, the places where he dropped his guard. "Lead the way."

They left the intimacy of her suite behind, and Vivian followed him through corridors lined with rich mahogany and ancestral portraits. The mansion was impressive but not too ostentatious—built for comfort and function rather than display.

"This is my personal gym," Alaric said, pushing open heavy double doors to reveal a space that made Vivian's pulse quicken for entirely different reasons.

State-of-the-art equipment filled the room, but what caught her attention was the weapons display along one wall.

Swords, knives, and traditional shifter weapons gleamed under the recessed lighting.

"Feel free to train here anytime," he continued, his voice carrying that Alpha authority even in casual conversation. "Those blades are all functional, not decorative."

Vivian moved toward the weapons with the focused attention of a master assessing tools of her trade. "These are beautiful," she murmured, noting the perfect balance and deadly edges. "You use them?"

"Daily sword practice at dawn," Alaric admitted, and she caught the hint of self-consciousness in his tone. "Old habits from my father's training."

He practices sword forms every morning. There's something incredibly attractive about a man who maintains that level of discipline.

Vivian ran her fingers along the edge of a particularly elegant blade, acutely aware of how Alaric's breathing seemed to catch as he watched her touch the weapon with expert familiarity.

"Let me show you the library next," he said, his voice slightly rougher than before. He guided her out of his personal gym and to the oak door at the end of the long corridor.

When Alaric opened the oak door, the library took Vivian's breath away. Floor-to-ceiling shelves stretched up two stories, filled with what had to be thousands of volumes. Comfortable reading chairs were positioned near tall windows, and the scent of leather and aged paper filled the space.

"This is where you come to relax?" she asked, running her hand along the spine of an ancient-looking book.

"When I have time, which isn't often," Alaric replied, moving to stand beside her.

"I've been developing a particular interest in our territory's history.

Especially..." He paused, seeming to choose his words carefully.

"Ancient bloodlines and the original shapeshifter abilities.

I want to try and understand it but there's not much literature around. "

Of course he does. The mate bond seemed to pulse stronger as another piece of compatibility clicked into place. We're both drawn to the same mysteries and the same lost history.

"Come on," Alaric said, his hand brushing against her lower back as he guided her toward another door. "There's one more place I want to show you."

They climbed a narrow staircase that led to his private office, but Alaric didn't linger there. Instead, he opened French doors that led onto a stone balcony overlooking the estate grounds. The December air hit them immediately, crisp and clean, carrying the scent of pine and snow.

"It's beautiful," Vivian breathed, taking in the view. Moonlight painted the landscape in silver, and stars glittered overhead like scattered diamonds.

"I come out here to think," Alaric said, leaning against the stone railing beside her. "When the weight of leadership gets too heavy, or when I need to remember what I'm fighting to protect."

Vivian studied his profile in the moonlight, noting how the strong lines of his face softened when he thought no one was watching. This is the real Alaric. Not the Alpha, not the strategist, just... him.

"What do you see when you look out there?" she asked quietly.

"Possibility," he replied without hesitation.

"A future where shifters don't have to hide who they truly are, and where hybrids and humans can live openly among us.

Where children grow up free to choose their own mates and destinies.

" He turned to face her, and his light grey eyes seemed to glow in the moonlight. "What about you? What do you see?"

"Home," Vivian said, the word surprising her with its honesty. "For the first time in my life, I think I see somewhere I could actually belong."

The air between them grew charged, thick with unspoken possibilities. Alaric stepped closer, his hand rising to cup her cheek with surprising gentleness. "Vivian..."

Her name on his lips sent heat spiraling through her body, and she found herself leaning into his touch despite every logical reason to maintain distance. The mate bond sang between them, urging her closer, demanding she close the space between them and claim what was hers.

Alaric leaned down, his breath warm against her lips, and Vivian's eyes fluttered closed in anticipation. But at the last second, rational thought crashed back into her consciousness. Too fast. Too much. I barely know him, mate bond or not.

She pulled back, her hand pressed against his chest to maintain distance. "I'm sorry, I just... I'm not ready for this yet."

Disappointment flashed across Alaric's features, but he stepped back immediately, respecting her boundaries without question. "Of course. I shouldn't have presumed."

"It's not that I don't want to," Vivian said quickly, then felt her cheeks burn at the admission. "I just need time to process everything. Several hours ago, I thought you were my enemy, and now..."

"Now you know I'm your fated mate," Alaric finished quietly, finally speaking the truth aloud. "I understand completely. We have time, Vivian. All the time you need."

The walk back to her guest suite felt charged with potential energy, neither of them speaking but both hyperaware of the other's presence. At her door, Alaric paused.

"Thank you for tonight," he said, his voice carrying genuine warmth. "I had a really great time getting to know you."

"Thank you for sharing your favorite places with me," Vivian replied, meaning every word. "I'm looking forward to tomorrow—working together to take down Thorne."

"To our continued partnership," Alaric agreed, though his eyes held promises of much more than professional collaboration.

As her door closed between them, Vivian leaned against it and pressed her hand to her racing heart. What did I just get myself into?

The next morning, Vivian stretched languidly in the king-sized bed, her body still humming with awareness from the previous evening.

The memory of Alaric's almost-kiss sent heat spiraling through her again, and she found herself touching her lips, wondering what it would have felt like to close that final distance between them.

He acknowledged we're fated mates. The reality still felt surreal, like something from the ancient stories her grandfather used to tell.

She'd spent thirty-five years convinced she'd never find anyone who could understand her, and now the mate bond pulsed between her and the most powerful Alpha in the territory.

What would it be like to just surrender to it?

The thought made her heart beat faster. To let herself be claimed by those strong hands, to feel his mark on her throat, and to lose herself completely in the primal connection that demanded she submit to her Alpha mate.

Her body responded to the fantasy with embarrassing enthusiasm, and she pressed her thighs together against the sudden ache.

A sharp knock shattered her daydreams, and Vivian bolted upright, expecting to see Alaric's commanding presence fill her doorway. Instead, a parade of staff members entered carrying garment bags, shoe boxes, and what appeared to be enough clothing to stock a boutique.

"Good morning, Miss Cole," the lead woman said with professional warmth. "Alpha Silvercrest asked us to ensure you have everything you need."

Vivian watched in amazement as they laid out an entire wardrobe.

Designer jeans, cashmere sweaters, silk blouses, elegant dresses, tactical gear that somehow managed to look fashionable, shoes ranging from combat-ready to runway-worthy, and intimate apparel that made her cheeks burn with their delicate beauty.

He really didn't spare any expense. The thoughtfulness behind the gesture sent warmth flooding through her chest. This wasn't the cruel, rigid Alpha from the rebellion stories—this was a man who'd somehow anticipated exactly what she'd need and want, down to the perfect balance of practical and feminine.

After the staff departed, Vivian headed for the luxurious bathroom, her reflection in the mirror catching her off guard. Her pale blonde hair was tousled from sleep and her violet eyes bright with anticipation she couldn't quite hide.

The shower was a revelation of hot water and expensive products. She found herself taking extra care, using the vanilla-scented body wash and conditioning treatment that made her hair fall in ethereal waves. When did I start caring about looking good for a man?

Standing before the array of new clothing felt like stepping into someone else's life.

She selected a white lace bra and panty set that made her feel both powerful and feminine, then pulled on dark jeans that hugged her curves perfectly and a cream cashmere sweater that felt like a cloud against her skin.

The leather boots fit as if they'd been crafted specifically for her feet.

I feel like a spoiled princess. The thought should have repulsed her after decades of rugged survivalist living, but instead she found herself embracing the luxury. For the first time ever, she applied light makeup, accentuating her unusual violet eyes and the natural rose of her lips.

I want him to see me as desirable, not just dangerous. The admission no longer terrified her. The mate bond had awakened something primal and feminine that she'd buried under years of independence and self-reliance.

But we still have a mission. Reality crashed back as she remembered Thorne's operatives hunting her, the ancient texts that needed deciphering, and the corruption that demanded exposure. She couldn't afford to get completely lost in romantic fantasies, no matter how tempting.

Another knock interrupted her thoughts. She opened the door to find Alaric dressed in khaki pants and a thermal henley that showcased his powerful physique, his light grey eyes immediately darkening as they swept over her appearance.

"You look..." His voice turned rough, and she watched his hands clench at his sides as if fighting the urge to reach for her. "Stunning."

The raw desire in his gaze made her body respond with liquid heat. He wants me. The knowledge was intoxicating, and she couldn't suppress the satisfied smile that curved her lips.

"Thank you for all of this," she said, gesturing to her new outfit. "Everything fits perfectly."

"Good." His eyes lingered on the way the cashmere hugged her curves before he visibly gathered his control. "Are you ready to dig into those lineage and bloodline records? I've already gathered everything in my office."

"Lead the way, Alpha," she said, then watched with feminine satisfaction as his breath caught at her use of his title.