The Howlcrest Werewolves Legacy
Chapter 22: Hearing Her Pleasure Herself

Chapter 22: Hearing Her Pleasure Herself

I tried to turn away, to hide it, but Tristan was already there.

"Olivia," he murmured, his voice low and intimate. He stepped closer, his hand gently tilting my chin up until our eyes met.

And the way he looked at me—like I wasn’t a failure, like I wasn’t a disappointment—shattered me.

I let out a shaky breath, and the tears fell.

He didn’t hesitate.

His arms wrapped around me, pulling me into his chest. His scent—dark, woodsy, with that faint undercurrent of something wild—washed over me, and I clung to the front of his shirt, hating myself for how safe it felt.

His thumb brushed a tear from my cheek.

"You’re okay," he whispered.

I wasn’t sure if he was talking about me or Boyd or both, but I nodded anyway, a sob catching in my throat.

And then, softly—too softly for my parents to hear—he kissed my forehead.

Oh.

Oh no.

My heart lurched violently in my chest.

Was this the mate bond? Was that why his touch sent sparks racing down my skin, why his voice unraveled me? Or was this just him—the Alpha prince who spoke with quiet authority but held me like I was something breakable?

I didn’t know.

All I knew was that I was gone.

Utterly, hopelessly gone.

And when I peeked up at him, still pressed to his chest, his red eyes were dark and intense—like he knew exactly what I was thinking. Like he felt it too.

Boyd barked softly, and Tristan released me—though his hand lingered at the small of my back, warm and steady.

And to my utter horror, my parents were watching.

My mother’s gaze flitted from my tear-streaked face to Tristan’s hand, her expression twisting into something I couldn’t quite place—part disgust, part intrigue.

My father, though—he looked like he was calculating a thousand different angles, his jaw working as he watched Tristan hold me like I was already his.

"Shall we go?" Tristan asked softly, his thumb brushing a final, lingering stroke against my spine.

I nodded, too stunned to speak.

As we stepped outside, Boyd trotting at our side, I realized something else.

Boyd liked him.

The dog who growled at most strangers was wagging his tail, his nose bumping against Tristan’s leg like they were already friends.

I stared. "Seriously, Boyd?"

Tristan chuckled, the sound low and rich. "Smart dog."

My parents didn’t follow us immediately—they stayed by the clinic doors, watching, whispering. Plotting.

But for once, I didn’t care.

Because Tristan’s hand was still holding mine, Boyd was safe, and for the first time in a long time, I felt something dangerously close to hope.

*

TRISTAN POV

The moment I left her room last night, I realized sleep would be a luxury I wouldn’t have.

Her scent — soft, delicate, with an edge of rain-dampened skin and something distinctly hers — had already woven itself into every corner of my home. It clung to the hallway walls, the bedsheets she sat on, and worst of all, it lingered on me.

A torment.

She was a torment.

And it didn’t help that I could hear everything — the sound of her moving about the room, the soft rustle of her shedding those filthy, rain-soaked clothes. Then the shower turning on, the gentle splash of water as she stepped in.

I stood by the door longer than I should have, my hand gripping the frame so tightly it groaned under the pressure.

She’s your mate.

The bond hummed in my blood like a dangerous lullaby, whispering for me to go back in there, to strip down the barrier between us and claim her like every primal part of me demanded.

But she wasn’t ready for that.

No—Olivia was stubborn. Fierce. A cornered fox who’d rather gnaw her own leg off than accept help.

And it made me want her more.

I listened as the shower eventually stopped, as the soft rustle of fabric told me she found the shirt I left for her—my shirt. It wasn’t much, just an old, oversized vest, but the idea of her naked beneath it... fuck.

Then came the silence. I thought that was all and she will probably sleep but then a sound so soft I almost didn’t catch it—until I did.

A stuttered breath. A strangled moan.

My jaw clenched; that was the only thing I could feel clenched and not her pussy around my cock.

She was touching herself. I could only imagine my fingers in the place of hers, sliding in and out. Damn, I want a taste.

Would she want that? want me to touch her instead.

She was touching her clit, her pussy. To me. That I am sure.

My wolf snarled beneath my skin, the beast within me clawing at the surface, furious and starved. I could picture her curled up on the bed, thighs clenching, teeth biting into her lower lip as she tried to stay quiet.

I wanted to be the one to tear those sounds from her. To have her writhing not under her own hand, but mine.

But I stayed where I was, muscles coiled, heart thundering — until the room went quiet again.

Even then, I didn’t sleep.

I couldn’t.

Instead, I paced the halls until dawn broke, the air thick with her scent, with her release, until I finally decided I couldn’t stand it any longer.

I needed to do something. Anything.

So, I went to her parents.

It didn’t take much to find them—humans were predictable, and the scent trail she carried from her home to my territory was still fresh. They answered the door with the kind of wariness I’d come to expect.

Her father’s scowl. Her mother’s pinched lips.

And Boyd—her dog—curled up by the door, whining softly.

"You didn’t notice he was sick?" I asked, my voice a low growl.

The man bristled. "It’s none of your—"

"Your daughter noticed," I cut him off. "That’s enough."

Her mother opened her mouth, but whatever excuse was brewing, I didn’t care to hear it.

"We have an appointment at the vet in two hours," I told them, my tone final. "Be there."

They didn’t argue—though I knew it wasn’t out of respect. They were afraid.

Good.

By the time I returned home, the sun had begun to rise, and I positioned myself beneath the only window Olivia could possibly use if she tried to escape—which, of course, she did.

She was bold.

Predictable.

But bold.

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