Chapter 334

Joclyn

I paced my room, my mind swirling with unshakeable thoughts. Why does he look at me like that? Earlier today, in Luna’s office, while discussing the perfume, he had that same look in his eyes. Trajan… What is it about him that sets him apart from every other man I’ve encountered?

I sighed and sank onto my bed, my gaze drifting to the mirror. My reflection stared back—a woman in her late forties, wearing a short, strappy nightdress clinging to her figure. Despite my age, I still looked decades younger. The beautiful Joclyn. The woman cursed by her own beauty. Every man who looked at me wanted me for one thing, and I hated it.

From a young age, men had seen me as nothing more than a tool for their pleasure. I’d escaped countless attempts at molestation, each incident solidifying my distrust and disdain. When I was offered the chance to become an Elder at just twenty-two, I accepted eagerly. Being an Elder meant freedom—no man could disrespect me, and while they might lust after me, none dared approach. Elders were required to remain unmarried, childless, and wholly dedicated to the pack. It was a life of solitude, but it was safe.

I ran my fingers through my silver-blonde hair, shimmering in the dim light. How could I, a she-wolf who had never known a man’s touch, now find myself yearning? Yearning for a man ten years younger than me.

I swallowed hard, running a hand over my neck as I threw my head back. Trajan. The way he looks at me—different, not like those who saw me as an object. There was something deeper in his gaze.

“Get a grip, Joclyn,” I growled, collapsing onto the bed. My knees bent, and my hands traveled over my thighs, my mind betraying me with thoughts I tried to suppress. Trajan…

I squeezed my eyes shut, clenching the sheets as my thoughts spiraled. The urge to close the distance between us, to feel his touch, was unbearable.

Knock, knock.

My eyes flew open, my body freezing. Who could that be at this hour? It was past seven in the evening. I quickly adjusted my dress, pulling it down, though its transparency left little to the imagination. My room was dimly lit, and I assumed it was one of the maids bringing dinner.

Sitting at my vanity, I began tying my hair into a ponytail. “Come in,” I called. The door creaked open, and through the mirror, I saw a figure enter with a tray.

“Just leave it on the table,” I said absentmindedly, humming softly. A moment later, I stood to turn around—and bumped into a solid chest. I stumbled back in shock, but strong hands caught me before I could fall.

I gasped, my eyes shutting instinctively as my heart raced. “Joclyn?”

My breath hitched at the sound of his voice. Slowly, I opened my eyes, and as the moonlight filtered through the window, I saw him. “Tra… Trajan?” I whispered, staring up at him. My hands had instinctively wrapped around his neck, and his arms were firmly around my waist, steadying me.

His gaze traveled down my body, and I followed his eyes. My dress had ridden up, revealing far more than I’d intended. My cheeks burned as his eyes lingered, his jaw tightening. Trajan’s gaze snapped back to mine, and guilt flashed across his face. He released me immediately, stepping back as if he’d committed a grave sin.

“I’m so… so sorry,” he stammered, turning away. I sank onto the bed, still stunned, unable to process what had just happened. He glanced back at me, hesitated, and then approached again. My dress had bunched up, exposing my legs. With a nervous expression, he gently pulled it down, covering me.

“I’ll leave now,” he muttered, turning toward the door. “Trajan,” I called, finding my voice. “Don’t leave.” He paused, his shoulders stiffening. Turning back to me, his eyes met mine, though they briefly dipped to my dress before he shook his head.

“Why have you come?” I asked softly, stepping closer. He hesitated, then picked up something he had placed on the table. As he handed it to me, I realized it wasn’t a tray—it was a portrait.

I gasped, holding it up to the moonlight. It was a beautifully drawn image of me picking flowers in the garden, every detail captured with care. “Did you make this?” I asked in awe.

Trajan didn’t respond. Instead, he walked further into my room, stopping near the wardrobe where my robe hung. Taking it, he returned to me and draped it over my shoulders. “You should wear this,” he said, his voice low. “I can’t… I can’t concentrate with you dressed like that.”

I stared at him, stunned by his thoughtfulness. I don’t want you to concentrate, Trajan. I want you to lose control. Shaking off the intrusive thought, I chastised myself silently. Get a grip, Joclyn. This is not who you are.

Trajan helped me into the robe, buttoning it carefully before stepping back. “I made the portrait for you,” he said finally. “I planned to leave it at the door like I usually do, but… you asked me to come in.”

I swallowed hard, guilt washing over me. I had mistaken him for a servant. “Thank you, Trajan,” I said quietly, clutching the portrait to my chest.

He nodded, his expression unreadable. For a moment, he seemed to debate something, but then he stepped back toward the door. “Goodnight, Joclyn,” he said, his voice soft yet firm.

I stood frozen as he left, the door clicking shut behind him. My gaze drifted back to the portrait in my hands, my heart pounding in my chest. Trajan… why do you make me feel this way?