Page 27 of The Alpha King’s Hidden Mute Mate

I turned a page. Then another. My pen hovered above the signature line, never descending.

Then that heat rose from my abdomen without warning.

Like someone had lit a fire inside me—not a slow burn, but an instant conflagration that swept through my entire body. My skin started burning, sweat beading on my forehead, my heart hammering against my chest at an impossible pace.

The wolf inside thrashed wildly, growling restlessly, like it had caught the scent of something—

Wait.

I could smell it.

That scent—jasmine mixed with sweet earth after rain, plus some indefinable fragrance that set my blood boiling—drifted from the end of the corridor, drilling into my nostrils, burning straight into my brain.

Mia.

My body automatically turned toward it. My feet moved without permission, pulled by an invisible rope through the corridor, around the corner, step by step toward the west wing.

"Your Majesty?" A passing guard saluted me.

I didn't respond.

Only one thought remained in my head. Find her.

The scent grew stronger, the heat higher, my breathing more rapid. I could feel my pupils dilating, fangs pressing behind my gums, every muscle tensing like a beast tracking prey by scent.

I stopped before a door.

Her door.

I pushed it open.

She stood by the window holding a white flower, about to place it in the vase on the table. At the sound of the door, she turned—the moment she saw me, light sparked in her eyes like fireworks exploding in the night sky.

She set down the flower and started signing at me. Her fingers danced rapidly, forming shapes I couldn't comprehend.

"Stop." My voice came out hoarse and low, barely recognizable even to myself.

Her hands froze mid-air. She tilted her head, questioning in her gaze.

I walked toward her. One step. Two steps. She instinctively backed up until her spine hit the windowsill. Nowhere left to go. I stood before her, looking down, feeling her warm breath brush my chin, smelling that scent in her hair that made me completely lose control.

Her lips parted slightly, silently asking something.

I reached out, gripped her waist, and pulled her against me.

Her body stiffened for an instant, then—

Then I stopped caring about anything else.

My mouth crashed down on hers in a bruising kiss, driven by the fire raging through my veins. I gripped her waist harder, fingers digging into soft flesh as I lifted her onto the windowsill, her back pressed against the cool glass.

She gasped silently against my lips, her mute body trembling with a mix of shock and unmistakable excitement. I could feel her pulse racing under my palm as I slid one hand up her spine, tangling in her hair and yanking her head back to expose the delicate line of her throat. I kissed there, not gently, sucking hard enough to leave marks. A silent shudder ran through her; her thighs parted instinctively, wrapping around my hips as she arched into me.

"Fuck," I growled against her skin, voice rough with fury and need. "You have no idea what you've done to me." The words spilled out, laced with resentment—for how she'd haunted every quiet moment, for how her scent alone could unravel my control.

I kissed her again, deeper, tongue invading without mercy. She tasted sweet and warm, her tongue shyly meeting mine, eager to please even as her body quivered with tension. That eagerness only fed the beast inside me. I ground against her, the hard length of my cock straining against my pants, pressing insistently between her legs. She whimpered soundlessly, the vibration of it traveling through our joined mouths, and her hips rolled forward in clumsy, willing response.

I tore at her clothes with impatient hands, buttons scattering across the floor. Fabric ripped under my fingers. Her shirt fell away, revealing smooth skin and the rapid rise and fall of her chest. I cupped one breast roughly, thumb flicking over the peaked nipple, pinching until she jolted. Her eyes flew wide—those beautiful, questioning eyes now dark with arousal and a flicker of uncertainty. But she didn't pull away. Instead, her fingers fumbled at my shirt, trying to tug it off, her touch frantic and cooperative. It snapped something primal in me.