Defying the Rogue Alpha
Chapter 163: Sacred

Slowly, cautiously, Lucas’s hand drifted lower, between her thighs, pausing there like a man on the edge of a cliff unsure if he should jump. Even though he missed her so badly it felt like bleeding, he refused to rush, refused to risk frightening her.

But when Ava let out a soft, desperate moan against his mouth, Lucas’s restraint crumbled. That sound — her sound — was the sweetest magic he had ever heard. He grinned against her lips, relief flooding him so fast it made him dizzy.

Then, to his utter delight, Ava’s hands fumbled boldly for the bulge straining against his pants. She brushed her fingers along the length of him, caressing him through the fabric with tentative but hungry strokes. Lucas’s hips jerked in response, and he might’ve actually whimpered — a very manly whimper, he told himself.

"Easy, sweetheart," he rasped, laughing a little under his breath. "You’re going to break me."

Still chuckling low in his chest, he unfastened his zipper with shaking hands, giving her easier access to his flesh. When her fingers found him skin-to-skin, Lucas threw his head back with a guttural groan. If Kade heard, he honestly didn’t care. Let him listen. Let him take notes.

Ava knew, in the back of her mind, that what they were doing was reckless — dangerous even. If Herod found out, the consequences would be bloody and brutal. But right then, none of that mattered. All she knew was her body wanted Lucas with a fierce, primal hunger she didn’t have words for. She needed him to fill the aching hollow inside her, to stitch the broken pieces of her soul back together.

Ava straddled him without hesitation, throwing one leg over his lap. Lucas’s eyes darkened, his pupils blown wide with need as he watched her. She could feel the slick heat pooling between her thighs, feel the wild thundering of her own pulse.

Slowly, she slid down onto him, gasping as he filled her, stretching her in a way that felt both agonizing and perfect all at once. Lucas groaned, the sound ripped from his throat. His hands gripped her hips, steadying her, but he made no move to control her rhythm. No, he held her like she was a wild thing, too precious to cage.

Ava rocked her hips experimentally, and Lucas’s head thudded softly against the wall behind him.

"If this is a dream," he said, panting slightly, "I swear to God, Ava, don’t wake me up."

She giggled breathlessly, feeling drunk on the heady mix of lust, love, and the tiny flickers of memory starting to ignite inside her mind. She remembered this — not the act, but the feeling.

And as she moved faster, riding him with growing confidence, she realized something else: tomorrow might be hell. Tomorrow, they might have to fight tooth and nail to survive. Tomorrow, she had to choose.

As Ava approached her climax, her body trembled with an intensity that mirrored the storm raging within her. The rhythm of her movements quickened, driven by a primal need that overpowered any lingering doubts. Her moans grew louder, echoing off the stone walls, a symphony of passion and desperation.

Lucas, ever mindful of their precarious situation, leaned forward, capturing her lips in a fervent kiss to muffle the sounds. The taste of her, the feel of her body against his, was both a comfort and a torment. He feared discovery, but in that moment, the risk was worth the reward.

When his own release surged through him, he clung to her, their mouths still locked, sharing in the silence their kiss provided. His groans were swallowed by her lips, their connection deepening with each passing second. As the waves of pleasure subsided, he held her close, her head resting on his shoulder, both of them breathless and entwined.

Lucas’s thoughts turned to the gravity of their situation. He had come to rescue Ava, to save her from the clutches of those who sought to use her. But now, with the revelation of her pregnancy, he realized that he was fighting for more than just his mate—he was fighting for their unborn child. The weight of responsibility settled on his shoulders, but so did a renewed sense of purpose. He would give his life to protect them both.

*****

Dorian descended into the dungeons, his footsteps echoing ominously as he approached the cell that supposedly held Alpha Lucas. Dorian’s mind was focused on the man behind the bars. He still couldn’t fathom how Lucas had ended up here, imprisoned. Had he truly lost all sense of strategy, charging into enemy territory without backup?

Peering through the small barred window, Dorian began without preamble. "My first time here, I was put in a cell such as this," he said. "I had to prove that I could be trusted, be loyal." Dorian paused, watching for any reaction from him.

He remained silent. Dorian continued, his tone laced with sarcasm. "But you? You waltz in here, thinking with your dick instead of your head. What happened to the calculated leader I once knew? Is this what love does to a man? Makes him reckless?"

A flicker of emotion crossed his face, but he remained silent. Dorian sighed, leaning against the cold stone wall. "You know, I used to admire you. Respected you. But now, I see a man blinded by emotion, willing to risk everything for a woman." He shook his head, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "Love makes fools of us all, doesn’t it?"

The king had given Dorian a task: uncover what Lucas was planning. After all, no one understood Lucas’s mind the way Dorian did. Once upon a time, they’d been brothers in arms, bound in blood, an unspoken bond forged over battlefields. But the man behind the bars now? The shell of Lucas? He wasn’t the master tactician Dorian had once known. He wasn’t even a proper adversary.

He was... tired.

And Dorian hated that more than anything.

Lucas was never supposed to break. But this? This was the curse of mateship. Loving someone so much, you started trading your teeth for tender words, started bartering your brilliance for longing stares. Dorian snorted quietly. Mates. Nature’s way of ruining perfectly good war generals.

"I remember when I was all of that for you," Dorian said, carrying the weight of years he’d pretended didn’t matter. "Your anchor. Your right hand. Your Beta. Until you killed my son."

The grief still lived in him, bone-deep and merciless. "I tried to rise above it." He chuckled humorlessly, rubbing a hand over his face. "But you didn’t even acknowledge my grief. Your Beta’s son was murdered by you, and you extended no condolences. No apology. Nothing."

He leaned closer to the bars, squinting through the dim light, trying to read his face. "That’s when I knew I couldn’t do it anymore. Couldn’t pretend you were still the man I’d followed into hell and back."

Dennis, doing a passable job at mimicking Lucas’s slouched posture and quiet restraint, tilted his head just slightly and said, "You’re telling me this. Why?"