Rejected By My Mate; Claimed By Lycan Quadruplets Chapter 82

Bryan's POV

The first night after the wedding should have been quiet. Some people would call it the night of peace, of settling into the reality of being bound to someone. For me, though? It was entertainment. And Irene—my dear bride—looked like she wanted to murder me from the moment we stepped back into the room together.

The air between us was thick with unspoken words. Her heels clicked against the polished floor as she walked past me, her gown trailing behind her like a curtain she wanted to hide under. I watched her, hands shoved in my pockets, letting my smirk stay fixed right where it belonged—on my lips.

She stopped right at the vanity, pulling at the jewelry around her neck with sharp, irritated tugs. The clinking noise filled the silence. I leaned against the wall, studying her reflection in the mirror. Even angry, she was breathtaking. Especially angry.

She finally turned, her eyes like daggers. “Bryan, let’s get one thing very clear before you get any ideas. This marriage—” she almost spat the word—“is nothing more than an act of convenience. Nothing more. Nothing less.”

Her voice was steady, but her fists clenched at her sides.

I tilted my head, biting back a laugh. “Convenience, huh?” I repeated, tasting the word like it was sweet. “Interesting choice. Because you say it like you actually believe it’ll stay that way.”

Her jaw tightened. She crossed her arms, lifting her chin as if that would shield her from me. “It will stay that way. Don’t test me.”

I pushed off the wall, taking slow, measured steps toward her. Each one made her shoulders stiffen more. “Convenience,” I said again, drawing out the syllables. “Tell me, Irene, do you really think you’ll be able to repeat that line once I finally get you in bed?”

Her breath hitched before she masked it with a scoff. “You’re disgusting.”

“Am I?” I asked smoothly, closing the distance. I stopped just inches away from her, enough for her to feel the heat rolling off me. “Or are you just terrified that one night, you won’t be able to hide how much you’ll crave it?”

That broke her restraint. Her hand snapped up, palm angled for my face in a slap.

But I caught her wrist midair. My fingers wrapped around her hand easily, and her eyes widened in shock.

“Tsk, tsk,” I murmured, tightening my hold just enough to let her know I wouldn’t release her. “You want to hit me on our wedding night? How cruel.”

“Let me go,” she hissed.

I didn’t. Instead, I tugged her forward until her chest brushed against mine, forcing her to tilt her head back to meet my gaze. Her lips parted, probably to curse me again, but I didn’t give her the chance.

I leaned down and claimed her mouth. Slowly. Not harsh, not rushed, but deliberately—like I had all the time in the world to dismantle her resistance.

Her struggles froze. Her eyes fluttered shut for just a heartbeat, then opened again as if she was angry at herself for slipping.

I released her wrist, my free hand sliding upward until I found the zipper at her back. I tugged it down in a languid motion, the faint rasp of metal filling the space between us.

The moment the fabric loosened, she gasped, but what escaped her throat after wasn’t just defiance. It was a sound she hadn’t meant to make—a moan, raw and unguarded, that slipped right into my ear and nearly made me grin against her lips.

I pulled back slightly, watching her face, watching the torment flicker there—the war between fury and something else she hated herself for feeling.

That look alone was worth every ounce of patience I’d had to stomach during the ceremony earlier.

I stepped back abruptly, letting the space between us stretch. Her dress had slipped slightly at her shoulders, her lips were swollen, and her breathing uneven.

And there she was—my proud, unshakable bride—looking completely undone for the first time.

I laughed. A low, satisfied laugh that echoed through the room.

“You should see yourself right now,” I said, unbuttoning my shirt as I walked toward the bathroom. “That little moan… I’ll be hearing it in my head all night.”

“Shut up!” she snapped, trying to gather her dress back into place, glaring at me with wide, furious eyes.

I just shook my head, letting the shirt fall to the floor before stripping down further. I didn’t care about her outburst. If anything, her anger made this game more entertaining.

“You’ll run,” I said casually as I reached the bathroom door. “You always do when you can’t face yourself. But you can’t hide from me forever, Irene.”

Her face flushed a deeper shade, and for a moment I thought she might lunge at me again. But she didn’t. She spun on her heel and stormed toward the exit.

I let the sound of her heels clicking away be my victory anthem.

The bathroom tiles were cool under my feet as I stepped inside, turning on the shower. The spray of water hit my skin, washing away the lingering taste of her lips, though it didn’t erase the memory of her expression—half hatred, half helplessness.

By the time I got out, towel around my waist, I knew she’d be gone. And sure enough, the room was empty, her absence ringing louder than her presence ever did.

I ran a hand through my damp hair, chuckling.

“Oh, Irene,” I muttered, sitting on the edge of the bed. “You really thought you could leave without me noticing how flustered you were?”

The more I replayed the scene in my head—the way she froze when I kissed her, the way her moan betrayed her—the harder it was not to laugh. Finally, the laughter burst out, loud and unrestrained.

“Perfect,” I said between laughs. “Absolutely perfect.”

When the sound faded, I stretched out across the bed, grabbing the phone on the nightstand. I dialed the line to the guard stationed outside.

“Send a maid to my room,” I ordered, my tone sharp, commanding. “And tell her to bring my dinner as well.”

“Yes, sir,” came the reply.

I hung up, leaning back against the pillows. Tonight wasn’t over. Not for me.