If restraint was a game, Luca was losing. Badly.

  Because his appetite had nothing to do with food.

  Her scent—sage, eucalyptus, rosemary—wove through the air, curling around him with every breath. More intoxicating than the strongest wine. The roasted chicken, the herbs, the rich scent of butter melting into warm bread—none of it mattered.

  Not when she sat just across from him, framed in lantern light, the flickering glow licking against her skin.

  She barely touched her meal. He barely touched his.

  Because how could he, when all he wanted was to sink his teeth into her? Breathe her in.

  To his left, Ailey and Emlyn murmured to each other, voices dipping into something soft and familiar. To his right, Kira was bickering with Milton over whether he should be allowed to make the bonfire bigger this year. Laughter came easily, conversation moved in rhythmic waves, effortless, natural.

  Except for Rosie.

  She wasn't uncomfortable—not quite. But she wasn't at ease either. Still deciding where she fit into all of this. If she fit into all of this.

  She did. She just didn't realize it yet.

  Luca forced his attention back to the conversation—tried to, at least. Kira's teasing, Ailey's yawn against Emlyn's shoulder, Milton's dramatic hand gestures—all of it blurred into meaningless noise the second he glanced at Rosie.

  And found her already watching.

  She looked away too fast, too sharp. But not before he caught it—the hesitation. The awareness. A split-second slip in her careful walls.

  His pulse spiked. He forced himself to refocus—tried to—but then she shifted in her seat. Just a small movement. Just enough for the collar of her dark hair to slip slightly, just enough to expose the curve of her throat.

  His grip slipped.

  The fork hit his plate with a sharp clatter, rattling against the ceramic.

  Rosie's head snapped up, brows furrowing.

  Milton, across the table, caught everything. The Beta's lips twitched, his eyes full of pure, unfiltered amusement.

  Luca didn't even have to look at him. He felt the smirk.

  And then—

  "Rosie."

  A single word, snapping his attention in a second. He barely had time to recover before Kira pushed forward.

  "Tell us something about yourself." He nearly cut in, but Kira was already moving. "Nothing serious. Just something. Like... what you like to do."

  It was strange, the way Kira interacted with Rosie, pushing, but not unkindly. Testing the waters. And Rosie was letting her, not shutting her out completely.

  Luca didn't know why that irritated him.

  "I like swimming."

  It didn't escape him that she chose to reveal something he already knew. Never giving too much away, his little mate.

  Kira perked up. "Oh, that's a good one."

  Ailey's face lit up. "I used to swim all the time before I got stuck carrying this lump around." She patted her belly, smirking.

  Kira poured herself another drink. "You any good?"

  Rosie hesitated. Not the guarded kind of hesitation, but something else. Luca recognized it instantly, jaw tensing at the certainty. A memory. And he knew exactly which one.

  A quiet chuckle slipped past her lips, fleeting but real. For the briefest second, her gaze met his—before she looked away, dropping it to her plate, like she hadn't meant to seek him out. Yet somehow she had, and the moment betrayed her.

  "Not as good as I thought," she murmured, smile still lingering through furrowed brows.

  The smile lingered, but so did the furrow in her brow. A contradiction. A quiet acknowledgment.

  Luca forced himself to focus on the table, on the voices around him, but the memory wouldn't fade. The feel of her against him, trembling, gasping for breath. Skin warm despite the cold water.

  "So, you're from the North, then?"

  Emlyn's voice cut through the conversation—casual, but direct. Rosie's fork paused mid-air, just before reaching her lips.

  She hadn't told them.

  Em, either oblivious or simply unconcerned, lifted a shoulder and gestured vaguely with his cup. "Your wolf's white."

  Realization dawned on her slowly, and before she could decide how to respond, Kira seized the moment, leaning forward, resting her chin on her palm.

  "You must stand out here. Winters aren't cold enough to need all that fur."

  Luca didn't know why that statement unsettled her more than anything else that had been said so far—but it did. He saw it the moment her expression shifted. A slow blink, her lashes sweeping down and up again, and just like that, the warmth in her gaze was gone, replaced with something colder. A wall. A shield.

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  Ailey, ever the unfiltered one, hummed lightly. "Makes sense, though. White wolves always come from the North."

  Rosie shrugged, casual, dismissive. Not quite a lie, but not an answer either. "I've lived in a lot of places."

  Milton raised a brow. "But you were born there?"

  A pause, just a fraction too long. "Yes."

  Barely a whisper, soft, restrained. The weight of that single syllable carried years of memories she had no intention of sharing. Her fingers now traced the rim of her cup, slow and deliberate—a distraction. She didn't want them to see her face.

  I don't want to drag them into this mess.

  Luca remembered the hurt in her voice, the false ease of her stride. However much she wanted to believe otherwise, she missed her family.

  Milton, seemingly satisfied with the information, returned to his meal with an easy nod. "Explains your size, too," he said absently.

  Rosie's head snapped up just as Kira's hand came down on Milton with a resounding smack.

  Milton blinked at her in confusion. "What?"

  Kira let out a long, exaggerated sigh. "Milton, you can't just say things like that."

  "What?" Milton frowned, genuinely puzzled. "She's small."

  "That's not the point—"

  Luca caught the flicker of movement before he caught the meaning—the faint twitch of Rosie's lips. A breath of amusement she barely contained, quick, almost imperceptible. But it was there.

  And for some reason, it did something to him, something that made him even more aware of how the small gusts of wind slipping through the open window carried her scent straight to him, of how the rush made his pulse spike.

  His grip on the table faltered.

  Too strong. Too close. It curled around him like a vice, settling in his lungs, his bloodstream, until all he could think about was her. The scent of sage and eucalyptus, of something distinctly hers, drowning out everything else—the roasted meat, the herbs, the wine. All of it faded to nothing.

  Goddess.

  Milton, the bastard, noticed. The Beta nudged his cup with an idle finger, pretending not to watch Luca struggle. But that glint in his eye? Undeniable.

  Luca reached for his drink, ignoring the silent mockery. Fuck.

  He needed a distraction. Ailey, bless her, provided one.

  "Oh! But since you've traveled so much—have you ever seen the Golden Sea?"

  Even Emlyn looked up at that. Rosie blinked, thrown off by the sudden change in topic. "...The what?"

  Ailey's eyes lit up. "The Golden Sea! It's right on the Southern border. The land is covered in grass so tall and bright that, at sunset, it looks like the entire earth is made of gold."

  Kira nodded. "They say it's the afterlife on land."

  Emlyn, ever practical, took a sip of his drink. "They also say it's a pain in the ass to run through."

  Ailey waved him off. "Only if you're a brute with no sense of agility." She turned back to Rosie, eyes shining with anticipation. "It's like something out of a dream."

  Meanwhile, Rosie toyed with her fork, fingers turning it between her hands in a slow, absentminded rhythm.

  A familiar habit, Luca realized. She liked to keep her hands busy while her mind worked through her thoughts. Then, to Luca's surprise, she spoke.

  "I've been there."

  Ailey gasped, positively delighted as the table went silent. "You have?"

  Rosie hesitated, like she wasn't sure if admitting it was a mistake. Then, she nodded. That was all she gave them.

  But it was enough for Ailey. The girl beamed, excitation flooding her eyes. "I knew it!" She turned to the others, triumphant. "See? It's real. I told you!"

  Kira chuckled, shaking her head. "No one said it wasn't real, Ailey."

  Ailey waved her off. "No, but none of us have seen it. And now we know someone who has!" She turned back to Rosie. "What was it like?"

  Nothing but the clinking of dishes and silverware could be heard in the background as she simply cut through the noise. "It's vast. And very... yellow. The wind never stops."

  Luca frowned. She wasn't lying. He would have smelled the sour tang of deception in her scent if she had been. But she didn't want to remember it.

  Ailey didn't seem to notice. "Oh, I would love to go one day."

  "You and half the pack," Emlyn murmured.

  Ailey turned back to Rosie, eyes wide. "You must have seen so much." Rosie hesitated, a second too long. "What about the Silver Cliffs? They sparkle at night, don't they?"

  Rosie's fingers curled around her glass, making the wine twirl softly. "They do."

  "And the Hanging Gardens?" Continued Ailey, not waiting on a response. "The ones that bloom all year?"

  Rosie hesitated, then nodded. She had seen them.

  She had seen everything.

  But Luca saw the retreat. Maybe those places weren't just places. Maybe they held memories she'd rather leave buried. And now, even Kira was noticing. But Ailey? Ailey was too caught up in her excitement to stop.

  "What about the Glass Lake? They say it reflects the sky so perfectly that it looks like you're walking on the clouds! Have you—"

  "Ailey."

  It wasn't a warning, not quite. But the way Luca said her name made the entire table still.

  Ailey blinked, confused. "What?"

  Kira, always quick on the uptake, let out a light laugh. "Gods, Ailey, let the girl breathe. She's not a travel guide."

  Ailey blinked again, then flushed. "Oh. Sorry."

  Rosie shook her head, just slightly. "It's fine." Luca didn't believe that for a second.

  A new voice cut in, steering the conversation away, and Rosie's shoulders eased—just a little.

  "I was wondering," Milton said, his gaze settling on Rosie, "you are the first female rogue I ever stumbled upon. Are there many in the wild?"

  Luca fought the urge to roll his eyes. Of course, Milton would latch onto this. Always the protector, always the enforcer—fishing for information under the guise of casual curiosity.

  Rosie idly twirled her fork between her fingers, her eyes distant, lost in thought. Then, as if reaching the conclusion that answering wouldn't cost her much, she murmured, "Free ones? No."

  The words settled like a stone in Luca's gut. He set down his fork, slowly.

  Free ones. Meaning others weren't. He could already see where this was going. Because females? There was only one reason they would be kept.

  The taste of vinegar turned sour on his tongue. Yet, Milton remained undeterred, the Beta in him pushing forward. "Were you free?"

  Fuck, he was blunt. Luca had to fight himself for a second, suppress the need to intervene, to save her from uncomfortably—he wanted to hear her answer.

  He watched her closely, catching the flicker of hesitation in her gaze. Not because she feared answering, but because she wasn't sure they truly wanted to hear it. He understood it then. She was cocooning them.

  "There are only two ways to freedom for a female in rogue territory," she said at last, voice flat. "She's either claimed—or she runs until she is. I was as free as it gets."

  Luca's gaze dropped, against his will, to the hidden mark on her breast. The mark of another man, burned into her skin like a fucking brand. That was what she called freedom?

  His jaw locked. His fingers curled into a fist beneath the table.

  Because compared to what awaited her without it—

  He swallowed hard, forcing the thought away before it could fully form. Milton might not have pressed further, but Ailey, blissfully unaware of the dangerous thread she walked on, cut in. "Why?"

  Rosie eyed them suspiciously, as if she was beginning to question whether they were toying with her. "It's a hunt out there."

  The words fell between them like a blade, sharp and irreversible. No one spoke, not right away. The fire crackled. A fork scraped against a plate. And still—no one spoke.

  Because to her, it was all it was. A simple truth, a reality.

  The blood pounded in his ears, a relentless, deafening drum. His fist tightened around his knife, the handle creaking under his grip.

  If any of those bastards had so much as breathed wrong in her direction—

  He would rip them apart. Tear through flesh. Snap bone.

  But the truth was undeniable—someone already had.

  One only needed to look at that cursed mark—the wretched stain left on her skin. It wasn't a token of love, nor passion, but a vicious imprint of dominance. A brand of possession. A wound that never fully healed.

  And yet, despite it all—

  She remained loyal to him.

  But for how much longer?

  Because he'd make damn sure it wouldn't be forever.

  Do you like the title? Luca is famished.

  I simply love writing Luka's POV! Seems like I can't stop myself once I start. Can you believe chapters 13, 14 and 15 were supposed to be only ONE chapter originally? I don't know what I was thinking.

  Tell me if you love Luca's parts as much as I do! Next chapter is the last one for a bit, though, so better enjoy it to its fullest.