Page 3 of The Alpha King’s Hidden Mute Mate

I crashed into a wall.

No—not a wall. A man's chest, hard as granite, smelling of cedar and tobacco. My face pressed against the shirt over his chest, and I could feel the texture of muscle beneath the fabric and its warmth.

I looked up.

Then I forgot how to breathe.

He was tall—I had to crane my neck to see his face. His black suit fit perfectly, showing off broad shoulders and a narrow waist. A mask covered the upper half of his face, revealing only gray-blue eyes and a sharply defined jaw. Those eyes gleamed in the firelight, like some dangerous predator.

He looked down at me. We stood so close I could see flames dancing in his pupils.

His hand still gripped my wrist, palm scorching hot. My other hand had somehow landed on his chest, feeling his strong heartbeat—steady, like war drums.

My wolf—the beast sleeping inside me—suddenly stirred. I felt it churning in my chest, claws lightly scratching my ribs, like it wanted to get closer to something. Not fear. A strange flutter, like being drawn to something more powerful.

It went quiet. Quiet, lying there, tail wagging gently.

It was showing submission.

The realization made me shudder. My wolf had always been defiant, never backing down even to the big male staff at the orphanage. But now it had sheathed all its claws before this stranger.

He didn't let go.

I didn't pull away either.

Seconds passed. Maybe minutes. He finally moved—the hand supporting me slid from my arm to my waist, not forceful but undeniably confident. He raised his other hand in a gesture of inviting.

My wolf rolled over in my chest again, nuzzling my ribs gently, as if urging me. Say yes.

I nodded without thinking.

The next second, he swept me onto the dance floor.

His steps were steady and strong, guiding me so that even someone who couldn't dance kept up with the rhythm. Every turn, his palm pressed perfectly against my waist like a silent command. The distance between us wasn't proper—his chest nearly touched mine, and I felt his body rise and fall with each breath.

He lowered his head, lips nearly touching my ear. I felt his warm breath brush my neck, raising goosebumps.

"You know," his voice was deep and rich, like a cello's resonance, "your eyes are beautiful. Like moonlight on a lake."

My ears burned instantly. I ducked my head into his embrace, heart pounding like it would burst from my chest. I didn't know how to respond, could only bury my face lower, pressing my forehead against his collarbone, breathing in the cedar and tobacco scent greedily.

He laughed softly and continued. "And this dress. It suits you."

My face burned hotter. I wanted to say thank you, wanted to say his eyes were beautiful too, wanted to say his voice was wonderful—but I couldn't say anything. I could only bury my head deeper, though the corners of my mouth lifted despite myself.

He probably thought I was just shy and laughed again, not pressing further. His hand tightened slightly, pulling me closer.

We spun through the music. My skirt flared, brushing his leg. His large hand pressed against my bare back, thumb absently stroking my shoulder blade—the touch light as a feather but sending electricity up my spine.

I looked up at him again.

He was looking at me, too. Those gray-blue eyes held something inscrutable—curiosity? Interest? Something else? I couldn't tell. I only knew that under his gaze, my cheeks burned and my heart pounded like drums.

Another spin, this one wider. His arm supported me steadily, making me feel like a leaf falling in the wind—weightless, out of control, yet completely safe.

The music built toward its climax.

His gaze dropped to my lips and stayed there for two seconds.