The Stalker Next Door: 45. The Queen of the Wolves

Mara had expected hesitation. Resistance. Maybe even another fight.

But when the sun went down, and she stood between them in the cabin’s narrow firelight, she saw it written plain across their faces.

They were done circling.

Done waiting.

Done pretending they could live without her.

The First prowled close, fire in his veins, eyes dark with hunger. His hand itched to grab, to pin, to brand. The Second stood stiff-backed and silent, but the tremor in his jaw betrayed him. His need was colder, deeper, no less consuming.

And Mara—Mara was the stillness between their storms.

“You both want me,” she said, voice soft, but unshakable. She slipped the thin strap of her shirt from her shoulder, letting it fall. “You both think you own me.”

The First growled low, stepping forward. “You’re mine, Mara.”

The Second’s eyes narrowed. “No. She’ll see she belongs to me.”

She laughed. A sharp, sweet sound that cut them both. “Wrong. I belong to no