Claiming Emerald: Four Alphas At Her Feet
Chapter 53: Ares...

Chapter 53: Ares...

Finally, he turned his head, meeting her gaze with an expression that was almost... hollow.

"Ares," he said.

His name tasted foreign in her mouth, like something sacred and ancient, like something whispered over battlefields and carved into the bones of myth.

At the sound of it, he stilled.

It was so subtle, barely a twitch in his posture, but Emerald felt it. Like hearing his name spoken aloud triggered something in him, something buried deep.

She repeated it, this time softer. "Ares."

His breath caught again; his eyes darkened. "Don’t say it like that."

"Like what?"

"Like it means something."

Emerald tilted her head. "It’s your name. When’s the last time someone called you that?"

"Don’t," he said sharply, his voice low.

She blinked. "What?"

"Don’t start getting curious. I’m not telling you my life story."

She sat back with a scoff. "There it is."

"There what?"

"That delightful charm. For a moment there, I forgot you’re an asshole."

Ares smirked faintly, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

"Ares..." Emerald tested the name on her tongue again. "The god of war. Fitting, isn’t it?"

She looked back at the wound on his side. He was no longer bleeding, and she had done a good enough job stitching him up.

The name lingered in her mind.

Ares... So that was who he had been before he became a myth, before he became The Rogue King.

She gathered the items she’d used, packing up the mini medkit. "Well, Ares... maybe try not picking so many fights."

A low chuckle rumbled in his chest. "I picked you. That might’ve been the worst one yet."

"I’ll get you some water," she muttered, grabbing the empty glass from her bedside.

He didn’t stop her.

—

As she stepped out, the door clicked shut behind her. The corridor was dim, quiet in a way that was almost unnatural. The whole estate felt like it was holding its breath.

Still, her feet moved on instinct. She remembered every inch of this place... the paintings, the creaky floorboard by the third sconce, the way the light spilled in through the upper arches when the moon was full.

But when she stepped into the kitchen, her breath caught as her eyes landed on... Rick.

He stood at the counter, back partially turned, eating slowly from a ceramic plate, shirt slightly unbuttoned, like he owned the place. Well, technically, he’s Alpha of the pack, so, yeah, he does.

She didn’t want to speak. She didn’t want to breathe.

But of course..., at the sound of her footsteps, he glanced up mid-chew, then smirked, casual as ever.

"You always used to sneak down here at night."

Emerald said nothing. Instead, she bit back a groan and walked past him toward the jug of water on the far end of the counter, pretending he didn’t exist.

Of course, she wasn’t that lucky.

"Just asking if you’ve thought about what I said," he replied, finally turning to face her.

She didn’t answer as she poured water into the glass. But he didn’t need a response; he took the silence as an opening.

"You could reject the others, you know," Rick continued. "Come back to me. You and I, our packs combined, we’d be unstoppable."

Emerald turned slowly, water in hand, and stared at him in disbelief. "So this is what it’s about?"

Rick’s brows furrowed. "It’s about us."

She gave a bitter laugh. "Not at all. This is all about power, image, and dominance. It’s actually impressive. Tell me, did you ever even love me? Or was it just about the mate bond?"

"I did love you," he said defensively.

"No," she cut in sharply. "You loved the idea of me. The compliant Luna who stood two steps behind you and stayed silent when you needed to feel big in front of your Beta and entire pack."

Rick’s eyes narrowed.

"You think I don’t see through you?" Emerald hissed. "You’re jealous. Not just of them, but of me. That I walked away. That I made something of myself without you."

"You’re being unfair..."

"No," she snapped. "You were unfair. For years. And now that I have men who respect me, who would do anything for me, you suddenly want me back?"

Rick stepped closer, his voice rising. "I’m offering to take you back even after what you did."

Emerald’s jaw dropped. "What I did? Rick, I didn’t do anything! If you still believe I hurt Alia, after all this time, then you’re even more delusional than I thought, and this conversation shouldn’t even be happening."

"You were jealous," he said. "You always were. You hated her."

"I pitied her," Emerald bit out. "Because she thought you loved her."

She turned to leave, glass in hand.

Rick’s hand clamped around her arm suddenly, yanking her back. The glass slipped from her hand and shattered on the floor.

"What the hell?!" she barked.

He pressed up against her from behind, his voice low and hoarse, buried against her neck. "Stop playing hard to get. I know you miss me."

"Let me go."

His hand slid down her side, fingers grazing her hip. "Don’t lie. Haven’t you missed this? My touch... my lips on your skin?"

Her whole body tensed.

Even Viola, her wolf, growled, but not entirely in anger. There was still a sliver of old bond, of memory... and that made it worse.

"You remember, don’t you?" he whispered. "How good we were?"

"No," she snapped. "I remember how I lost myself."

Then her eyes shifted past the open archway, catching a glimpse of movement, a figure slipping silently down the hall.

Without a second thought, she raised her knee and drove it straight into Rick’s groin. He choked out a pained grunt and staggered back.

She shoved him backwards, sending him stumbling into the table.

"You touch me again," she growled, "and I’ll chop off your damn hands."

He didn’t respond; he was still wheezing, hand between his thighs.

Emerald turned and bolted, rage and disgust burning in her chest. She left the shattered glass behind and moved quickly through the halls, her heart pounding.

Ares.

She needed to get back.

Once she was back in her room, she was surprised to find the bench near the fireplace empty.

Her stomach dropped.

He was gone.

"Ares?" she called, stepping in.

Nothing.

Then, she noticed something at the edge of the bed. It was a small piece of paper, neatly folded in half. With trembling hands, she picked it up and opened it to read: I’ll be seeing you soon, my angel.