Marked Twice by the Alpha King Chapter 120

**Third Person POV**

Jackson tossed Sophia's note onto his nightstand. *"Ceremony was wonderful, but exhausted. Heading back to Blackwood. See you tomorrow. Love you."*

"Thank god," he muttered, loosening his tie with a sharp tug. The pressure of playing devoted fiancé had been suffocating him all night. His shoulders relaxed, but the relief didn't last. His wolf paced beneath his skin, hackles raised as the image of Ava and Blake leaving together played on repeat in his head.

His teeth clenched so hard his jaw ached. Months had passed since he'd marked her, since he'd walked away for the political gold mine that was Sophia Morgan. But in his gut, Ava still belonged to him. That silver mark on her neck was his claim, his territory.

"Screw this," he growled, snatching his jacket. The walls felt like they were closing in, and if he stayed, he might put his fist through something—or someone.

The Moonlight Bar stank of cheap liquor and desperation. Perfect. Jackson shouldered through the door, and the place went dead quiet like someone had hit mute. Conversations died mid-sentence. Heads dropped. Nobody dared look the future Alpha in the eye.

Jim appeared instantly, his massive belly preceding him by a good six inches. "Mr. Hayes!" The bartender's smile was too wide, too eager. "Hell of a surprise. What can I get ya?"

Jackson slapped a heavy pack emblem on the bar. "Moonlight brew. Don't let me see the bottom of my glass."

Eight shots later, the room swayed pleasantly, but the alcohol hadn't helped worth a damn. His reflection in the bar mirror flickered between human and wolf, control slipping with each drink. Instead of numbing the pain, the booze just sharpened the images: Ava's fingers laced through Blake's, her lips against the Alpha King's mouth, her body under his, arching...

"Well, look who's drowning his sorrows."

A woman slid onto the stool beside him. Dark hair tumbling over bare shoulders, dress that left little to imagination, lips painted blood-red. For one dizzy second, Jackson's alcohol-soaked brain registered *Ava*—but the scent was all wrong. Too floral, too sugary. Nothing like Ava's clean smell of pine and rain.

"Shadow Creek's golden boy," she added with a smile that promised trouble. "All alone on his big night."

Jackson squinted at her. "Do I know you?"

"Not yet." She gestured to the bartender. "Diana. Northern Pack. Just passing through."

Jim slid her some pink concoction that smelled like fruit and flowers. She crossed her legs toward Jackson, her dress riding up just enough to make him forget what he'd been brooding about.

She nodded toward his empty glass. "Rough night? Thought you'd be celebrating with your Silverpeak princess."

"She went home." Jackson signaled for another shot. "Politics and pleasure don't always mix."

"Oh?" Diana's fingers brushed his wrist, light as a feather. "So what does mix with pleasure, then?"

Her touch sent heat straight through him. His wolf surged forward, already wound tight with jealousy and anger, hungry for an outlet. For payback.

"Risk," he said, letting his wolf show just enough to make his eyes flash silver. "Danger."

Diana didn't flinch. Instead, her own eyes glowed in response, her wolf rising to meet his challenge. "Your territory or mine?" she asked bluntly.

"I've got a place," he said, already standing. "Private."

The Hayes hunting cabin had gathered dust since his grandfather's day. Jackson kicked the door open, not bothering with lights. Moonlight spilled through dirty windows, casting long shadows across forgotten animal heads and antique weapons.

As he led Diana inside, a savage satisfaction coursed through him. Ava would feel this. Their bond might be fading, but it wasn't gone. She'd feel the echo of what he was about to do—just like he'd been tormented by her betrayal.

And that was exactly the point.

He didn't even wait to reach the bedroom. Jackson slammed Diana against the wall, his mouth crushing hers in a kiss that was all teeth and dominance. She responded with equal ferocity, nails raking down his back hard enough to draw blood even through his shirt. He growled, the sound more wolf than human as he ripped her dress down the middle.

"Rough," she purred, eyes flashing gold. "I like it."

Jackson didn't answer. Words weren't what he needed. He manhandled her to the dusty couch, flipping her over without ceremony. This wasn't about pleasure or connection—it was about revenge, about making Ava hurt the way he was hurting. Each brutal thrust was fueled by rage, by jealousy, by the burning need to reclaim what he'd foolishly given up.

And with every movement, he focused on their fading bond, making sure she'd feel every second of his betrayal.

**Ava's POV**

Moonlight snuck through the cabin window, throwing silver stripes across Blake's chest. His arm curled around me, thumb drawing lazy circles on my skin while I snuggled against him. After that nightmare ceremony, this felt like crawling into heaven.

"You were something else tonight," he murmured, his voice rumbling under my ear. "Standing in a room full of Hayes snobs like you owned the place."

I propped myself up on one elbow, unable to stop the smile spreading across my face. "Look who's talking. You walked in and the whole pack nearly pissed themselves."

His mouth quirked up at one corner. "Comes with the territory."

"What, rescuing wine-soaked warrior girls?" I traced the stubble along his jaw, loving how it tickled my fingertips.

"Protecting what matters." His voice dropped an octave as his thumb brushed my lower lip. "Nobody treats you like that. Not while I'm breathing."

He leaned in, his mouth just brushing mine when pain exploded through my neck. White-hot, searing agony like someone had slapped a branding iron against my skin. I jerked back with a strangled yelp, hand flying to the mark.

"Ava!" Blake sat bolt upright, fingers gripping my arms. "What is it?"