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You met James Buchanan Barnes on your wedding day.
You’d heard of him before then, of course. He was the White Wolf—the most feared man of the Russian mob, having come from obscurity and helped re-establish the Romanoff family as a force to be reckoned with in the city. The White Wolf was known for being ruthlessly violent, leading a pack of enforcers who left no prisoners and no witnesses. You’d only heard tales of his violence whispered in the halls of your father’s mansion.
You’d paid the stories little mind, though, since it wasn’t your place to worry about such things. Your role as your father’s daughter was to look pretty and do as he told. And you were a good daughter. So when your father told you to get engaged and secure an alliance with another of the city’s powerful families, you did. You dedicated yourself to planning your wedding, making sure it would be an event worthy of your family’s name and reputation.
You were halfway down the aisle when you realized something was wrong. It had never been the plan for your father to walk you down the aisle. Though it had confused you when he’d told you as much, you’d brushed it off. But your father wasn’t anywhere to be seen in the church, not even sitting in the pews. You couldn’t find your mother either, or your older brother or other key members of your family.
Instead, your side of the church was filled with the lower dregs of your family’s organization. So many of your father’s enforcers stood watching you walk down the aisle, tension in their faces, that it almost gave you pause. You glanced worriedly to your fiancé, but he didn’t look concerned. No, he only looked greedy to get his hands on your body.
A shiver raced down your spine, but you couldn’t be sure if it was disgust at the way your fiancé was looking at you like you were a prize to be owned or if it was a warning against whatever your family knew and didn’t see fit to fill you in on. If nothing else, though, you knew how to play your role—so you kept walking, your step never faltering. Until the church doors behind you slammed open and the first shots rang out.
Ever your father’s daughter, you didn’t scream or cry for help; you broke out in a sprint, running up the rest of the aisle, staying as low to the ground as you could manage in your high heels. You bypassed your fiancé and the priest who had been meant to lead the wedding ceremony. The man of the church lay on the ground, struck by one of the first bullets, a pool of blood spilling from his head. Your fiancé had dropped to his knees and pulled out two guns, returning fire on whoever had stormed the church.
But you didn’t have time to look because you were focused on diving behind the church altar and covering your head, shielding yourself as bullets continued whizzing past, clipping the wood and sending shards flying everywhere. The church was filled with a cacophony of screams and gunshots. It was almost overwhelming, but you drew on the strength your father had cultivated in you, making sure you’d stay strong in any situation.
You huddled there for what seemed like forever, your whole body tense and shaking, curled into a ball with your voluminous wedding dress billowed around you. But no matter how terrified you were, your face stayed dry, your makeup perfect. You refused to shed a tear or show weakness. Even though all signs pointed to your father abandoning you to this fate—why else wouldn’t he have attended your wedding—his teachings were drilled into your head and they were all you had to cling to in that moment.
As time went on, the constant sound of gunfire was reduced to intermittent shots, the screams replaced by men shouting in Russian. You realized, with a sickening lurch of your stomach, why exactly that was. You didn’t dare stick your head out to see who of your father’s men might be left alive, and instead started looking for an exit. No one was going to save you, so if you were going to make it out alive, you’d have to save yourself. But before you could work up the nerve to try to flee, you heard heavy footsteps on the other side of the altar, where you’d last seen your fiancé.
A thump and a wet gurgle met your ears as you strained to listen.
“You’ll never take our families’ power,” came a strained voice you recognized as belonging to your fiancé. He coughed, the sound wet and foreboding. You hadn’t been around much violence, but you’d seen enough of your father’s men die to know your fiancé wasn’t long for this world.
“I’ve already wiped out most of your family, kozyol,” said a smooth, deep voice. There was no inflection or emotion to the man’s tone, only endless coldness. “Now, where is your printsessa hiding? I know her father’s men didn’t get her out of here.”
The coldness and the hint of a Russian accent told you everything you needed to know about the man—he was none other than the White Wolf. Fear trickled down through your heart and settled heavily in your stomach. Instinctively, you pressed yourself harder against the wooden alter at your back, like if you tried hard enough, you might be able to hide within the grain.
“Fuck you,” your fiancé spit out. His breathing was growing more ragged even as his anger notched higher. In truth, you knew his rage was likely quickening his death, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care much about him—not when you were in so much danger. “She’s mine.”
A cruel laugh sounded. “You’re in no place to make such declarations, kozyol,” the White Wolf said. Then, a gunshot rang out and you had to stifle a scream against your knees at the sudden sound. Your fiancé didn’t speak again.
As quietly as you could manage, you curled up into a tighter ball, trying to make yourself as small as possible. You forced yourself to breathe silently, which was no small feat when terror was flooding your bloodstream. You considered your options. The White Wolf was too close to try to run—there was no way you could outrun him or his bullets even if you kicked off your heels.
But you couldn’t continue hiding either, it was only a matter of time before he found you. You didn’t know what exactly the White Wolf wanted with you, but you were fairly certain it ended in your death. So the question was whether you wanted to meet your fate cowering like an animal or stand up and face it head on. The strength in your soul prompted you to stand, but before you could get your feet underneath you and rise up with your head held high to meet the White Wolf, you heard another voice.
“Can’t wait to find this bitch—gonna make that whore scream when it’s my turn with her,” said an oily, Russian-accented voice. The new man laughed, the sound grating and unpleasant. An even colder fear had you frozen in place while you listened, understanding the implications of the man’s words and no longer wanting to accept your fate. Death was one thing, this was another.
“Your turn?” the White Wolf asked, his tone deceptively calm as he spoke the two words.
The other man stuttered, clearly hearing the fury that lay beneath the White Wolf’s placid demeanor. “Well, Rumlow said…” he started to say, but was cut off on a choked sound. It wasn’t difficult to imagine the White Wolf had grabbed the other man by the throat, choking him and cutting off his words.
“Is Rumlow your boss?” the White Wolf asked in that cruelly cold voice of his. The other man made some choked, panicked sounds that even you knew meant he was begging and pleading for forgiveness. “I didn’t think so,” the White Wolf went on. He must’ve released the other man because you heard him gasping for breath. “The printsessa is mine—make sure the others know it,” the White Wolf growled. The other man scrambled down the stairs to the aisle and scurried off, still wheezing.
A sick sense of relief swept over you. For a few horrific moments, you’d thought the White Wolf meant to pass you around to his men, so learning he had no intention of letting anyone else touch you was a comfort. You didn’t know what it meant to have the White Wolf lay claim to you. Though you suspected you wouldn’t like whatever he had planned for you, it couldn’t be so bad as what the other man had in mind.
You knew you should stand and meet the White Wolf on your own terms, but your knees shook so fiercely, you didn’t know if they could hold you. Before you could gather your courage enough to try, you heard the White Wolf speak again.
“Hear that, printsessa?” he called softly, his voice quiet but close, like he was just on the other side of the altar. Cold realization washed over you. The White Wolf knew exactly where you were, and he was speaking directly to you. “You’re safe enough with me, so why don’t you come out?”
His statement didn’t soothe you in the way he clearly meant it to, and you looked down at your legs, willing them to work. You wanted them to carry you away, to carry you to safety the same way they had when bullets had started flying. But they were still wobbling too much. Tears of frustration pricked at your eyes, but you furiously blinked them away.
“Don’t run from me, printsessa,” the White Wolf went on, his voice a low rumble, almost a growl. He didn’t sound angry, though, only eager. “You won’t like what I do to you if you run and I catch you.” The White Wolf rounded the altar, his sharp blue eyes falling on your huddled form, surrounded by the fabric of your wedding dress.
Instantly, your body shifted, shoulders moving back and chin rising up, your expression morphing into one of haughty defiance. Your shaking legs hadn’t allowed you to stand and face him, but you could manage to hide your weakness. You refused to show the White Wolf fear. He was just a man—albeit an extremely handsome man, you realized begrudgingly. Even still, you were your father’s daughter and you would project as much strength as you could muster.
“There’s my printsessa,” the White Wolf said, a merciless grin spreading across his face. He was all sharp angles, his jaw looking like it was carved from steel, his smile a dangerous slash. Even his eyes, so intent and focused on you, looked unyielding as he stared down at you.
A shiver threatened to wrack your body at the way his lips wrapped around the pet name, the barest hint of warmth seeping into his tone with that possessive two-word phrase. It was enough to have sparks flaring to life in your core, but you tamped them down immediately, your face remaining still as stone. You refused to show he had any affect on you at all.
The White Wolf’s grin ticked up higher, like he could somehow read your thoughts, but he didn’t say anything. Instead, he held a hand out to you, almost like he knew how to play the gentleman. “Up you go,” he murmured, the snap of a command in his tone.
Reluctantly, you slid your fingers into his grasp, feeling the callouses of his palm rub against the smoothness of your own. Another shiver threatened, but then his fingers closed around yours and he yanked you up off the floor. Your legs felt weak beneath your weight and before you could stop yourself, you stumbled into the White Wolf’s chest. Your hands pressed against the front of his suit, feeling the firm muscles beneath the soft fabric of his shirt and jacket. His arms went around your waist, steadying you and drawing you in closer.
Looking up into the White Wolf’s face, you caught him staring down at you with hunger written plainly across his features. The craving in his blue eyes was so all-consuming, you felt as though you could drown in it. Against your will, heat began pooling in your core, your body betraying your mind and leaning further against his chest. You were enraptured by the White Wolf’s eyes, but a moment later, his voice interrupted your staring.
“Didn’t think a woman who ran like you did in those heels would be so unsteady on her feet,” the White Wolf, murmured, a teasing smirk curling the corner of his mouth.
At his comment, you stiffened, remembering yourself and who exactly was holding you. Locking your knees to make sure you didn’t stumble again, you pushed off from your enemy’s chest. His arms fell away and you refused to acknowledge the thought that you might have lost something as you stepped back from the man that had stormed your wedding.
Squaring your shoulders, you turned your nose up at the White Wolf. “My father will kill you for what you’ve done today,” you declared haughtily.
Steeling yourself, you looked out over the carnage of the church. Bodies littered the pews and aisle, blood spattered everywhere. Men that presumably worked for the White Wolf were stationed at the doors of the church, most also covered in blood. Your forced yourself not to react to the violent ends of the White Wolf’s attack, wanting him to think you weren’t phased by the realities of the world you lived in. You took a long, steady look—your stomach churning and wanting to rebel against the meager breakfast you’d had—before turning back to the White Wolf.
His sharp eyes were watching you closely and you had the unnerving thought he might very well see through your act. You were certain it wouldn’t end well for you if the White Wolf was the only one who looked close enough to see you for what you were, a scared girl completely out of her depth. So you gathered the strength your father had instilled in you and held steady, fighting against the urge to raise your chin higher, knowing it would only give away your insecurity. Instead, you stared back at the White Wolf as impassively as you could manage.
A smile so cold it reminded you of the winter wind chilling you to the bone spread across the White Wolf’s face, his white teeth flashing amid the dark stubble decorating his jaw. The expression made you want to shiver, but you held it off. “Your father was tipped off about my plans today,” he said, confirming what you’d already suspected. “And he left you here to die, printsessa—do you really want to put your faith in a man like that?”
“Whether I’m dead or alive, he won’t stand for the insult,” you said, your voice filled with false bravado. It broke your heart a little to say the words even though you knew they were true, so you soldiered on. “He will come for you.”
“Are you saying I should kill you, printsessa?” the White Wolf asked, something like interest sparking in his cold blue eyes.
“Death would be preferable to whatever you have planned for me, White Wolf,” you sneered. Your hands were fisted at your sides, nails biting into your palms. “You may not be letting your men take turns with me now, but who knows about tomorrow.”
Without meaning to, you seemed to hit a nerve because your words enraged him, fury contorting his handsome face. “You are mine, printsessa,” he snarled, letting emotion get the best of him for the first time. He caught himself, though, and took a breath. Before your eyes, he visibly calmed, smoothing his hands down over his suit jacket. His white shirt and dark jacket were both dotted with blood, though he wasn’t as covered as some of his men. “No one else will touch you but me, you have my word.”
A mocking laugh erupted from you before you could control yourself. “I don’t know how much I trust your word, White Wolf.”
Your enemy’s eyes flashed. “Then trust that your father was willing to let you die today, and it serves me well to make sure he doesn’t get what he wants,” he said, his voice calm, though you could detect barely leashed emotion beneath it. A muscle in his jaw popped as he looked out over the church in an approximation of disinterest. “So for now, you get to live.”
“I get to live,” you scoffed, your voice caustic and loud with your frustration. “As what, a toy—a doll for you to play with? What kind of existence is that?” You didn’t know why you were trying to rile up your enemy, but it worked. The White Wolf’s attention returned to you, his sharp blue eyes reading the expression on your face and you, once again, had the feeling he was seeing more than you wanted him to.
“I think you’ll enjoy being my little doll, printsessa,” the White Wolf said, a dark promise in his tone. Then he grabbed you suddenly, pulling you into his arms again. You fell into him, pressing flush against his body and feeling the bulge of his erection against your stomach. “Should I show you now—spread you out and make you cum on my cock on the altar where you were meant to marry another?”
You gasped in indignation, spitting out, “Don’t you dare.” Jerking a hand free from where he’d pinned them to your sides, you slapped the White Wolf across the face. The loud cracking sound echoed in the church, and it gave you some satisfaction—but only for a moment.
The White Wolf smiled slowly, his expression all teeth and hunger as need sparked in his blue eyes. It seemed he intended to take your words as a challenge because in the next breath, he was walking you backwards to the church’s altar. You fought against him, even as your body heated at the lust in his face. Wetness pooled between your thighs while you beat against his muscled chest, your own desire growing when you realized your fighting had no affect on the White Wolf.
“Is it not enough that you’ve turned my wedding into a massacre?” you raged furiously, a good portion of your anger directed at yourself. Your body was betraying you, wanting to let this man have his way with you, to satisfy the ache in the depths of your core, despite what he’d done to your father’s men—to your wedding. “Haven’t you desecrated this church enough, White Wolf?”
Your enemy reached behind you, pressing his chest to you, his eyes drilling into yours, and cleared off the altar with one clean sweep of his arm. “If your god wished me to stop, he could smite me right where I stand,” he said, his words rumbling in his chest, the vibration teasing through your body.
The White Wolf stepped back, raising his arms up and looking to the sky, as if challenging the whole of heaven. He had a determined look on his face and, in that moment, you thought he looked a bit like a god himself. It occurred to you that if he were to challenge any god or man, he would come out the winner. You’d never stood a chance.
After a moment, the White Wolf looked back at you. “Guess he doesn’t mind.” His gaze swept down your body, hunger etched into his face and burning in his eyes. “Let your god watch as I defile your body so thoroughly you’ll be begging me for more of my cock, printsessa.”
“I will never,” you spit viciously, using your rage to mask the way your body was throbbing for him. You slapped him again, but he grabbed your wrist.
The White Wolf only laughed at your protests, the cold sound sliding down your spine and stoking more heat to life in your core. Before you could start to squirm, he pushed you down on the altar, covering your body with his own, pressing you into the hard wood. He pinned your hands above your head, his hips settling against yours, his hardness flushing against your softness.
“Just wait and see, printsessa—I always keep my word.” With that, he slanted his cruel mouth against yours, taking your lips in a fierce kiss.
You tried to remain stiff and unyielding beneath your enemy, keeping your mouth closed in a firm like. You tried to fight him off, your hands pushing against his grip on your wrists and your hips trying to buck him off. All of it was worthless against the strength and determination of the White Wolf.
His lips pressed and tugged on your own, coaxing you with a brutal persistence. His teeth nipped at your bottom lip and sucked it into his mouth, working you slowly but surely open. Finally, your resistance waned and you gave in to him, opening for the White Wolf. Distantly, you hoped to lull him into your mouth and bite his tongue like the evil snake that he was, but the thought flitted away as he delved between your lips.
Your legs shifted, your knees widening as you tried to throw him off you, and he slid between them, settling heavily into the cradle of your thighs. The White Wolf’s hard, thick bulge pressed to your heated core and a breathy moan tumbled from your lips before you could stop it. You were lost to sensation, pleasure overwhelming your mind as you melted beneath your enemy.
The corners of the White Wolf’s mouth tipped up as he pressed his advantage, grinding his hips into the juncture of your thighs, wrenching more gasps and moans from your mouth. He slid his hands up from your wrists, tangling with your fingers even as he kept you pinned to the altar, his lips working against yours relentlessly. He fucked your mouth with his tongue and rocked his bulge against your clit, taking possession of your body as surely and he and his men had taken possession of the church.
It felt as though your mind had lost control of your body, the tethers of your anger drifting away on a sea of lust and pleasure until your own hunger for the White Wolf was all that was left. Your thighs spread wider and your knees climbed your enemy’s sides, opening yourself up for him willingly. Your fingers squeezed his, clinging to him and no longer trying to fight him off. You were lost, lost, lost—your tongue twined with his, your hips rising off the altar to meet his grinding thrusts. Your bodies came together in a mimicry of man’s most primal dance. Until you were interrupted.
“Boss!”
The shouted word pierced the cloud of desire that had fallen over your mind and your whole body tensed. The White Wolf pulled away a mere second before you could sink your teeth into his tongue like you’d originally planned. He lifted his chest off you, but kept you pinned to the altar with his hands and hips. You watched as his heavy-lidded eyes sharpened and turned to the man who had yelled.
“What is it,” the White Wolf ground out, his jaw clenched in frustration. Your lipstick was smeared all over his mouth, but he looked no less fierce for it. You didn’t know if he didn’t wipe it away because he didn’t care or because he didn’t want to risk letting you have a free hand.
Either way, something in your chest warmed at the sight of seeing the big, bad White Wolf marked with your lipstick. It gave you a feeling of power unlike anything you’d felt before. Nothing had ever truly been yours—your heart, your future, your entire self had belonged to your father. You were stunned to realize that the thought of marking the White Wolf as yours, of him letting his men see your lipstick on him, felt really fucking good. Confusion warred in your mind at the realization and you forced yourself to avoid those thoughts and pay attention to the conversation.
“The patriarch hasn’t left his stronghold, nor has he sent any more men,” the man reported. “We don’t believe he’s planning a rescue.” He cut himself off, and when you dragged your eyes from the White Wolf to look at the other man, you saw pity in his eyes. You turned your head away, refusing to see such a contemptible emotion directed your way. “At least, not yet,” the man added as an afterthought. You flinched.
Though the man couldn’t have seen your reaction, the White Wolf’s sharp eyes missed nothing. “Good,” he said in his cold, commanding voice. Your eyes flicked to his face. His expression was blank and impassive, but a fire had been set alight in his eyes.
You realized the cold cruelty was a mask the White Wolf wore around his men, and he’d all but shed it entirely in the short time he’d been around you. That treacherous warmth in your heart threatened again and you forced yourself to look away from your enemy. You focused your gaze on the wall of the church and tamped down on the flame in your chest.
“Clear the men from this room, kill any survivors and hold a perimeter,” the White Wolf said, issuing his orders in a sharp tone like he was cracking a whip.
The henchman muttered, “Yes, boss,” and stepped away from the altar, shouting as he passed on the commands to his brethren. As quickly as they’d stormed the church, the White Wolf’s men retreated, drawing back to leave you with their boss. You didn’t know whether to be relieved or frightened.
When you were alone, with only the dead left in the church, the White Wolf let his mask fall and he grinned down at you. The expression was just as sharp and cruel as the rest of him, and the effect nearly stole your breath from your lungs. Your body warred with itself, a shiver of anticipation trickling down your spine and heat pooling in your core even as your brain told you to be wary of him. You could think of only one reason the White Wolf would want to have you alone, and you couldn’t yet admit to yourself it was something you wanted desperately.
“Looks like you’ve been left to the mercy of the White Wolf, printsessa,” your enemy commented, his voice light and emotionless. He caught your wrists in one hand so he could smooth the edge of his thumb down the side of your face, still holding you pinned to the altar.
As you stared up into your enemy’s hard eyes, you could’ve sworn you saw something almost soft in his gaze. It sent your heart thudding in your chest. It was hard enough to resist him when he was being cold and ruthless. If he went soft and tender on you, you knew you’d be lost to him—not just your body, but your heart.
“When you’re mine, you can trust I’ll never be so callous with your safety,” the White Wolf said in a quiet voice, the words hushed and sacred. A promise.
Ignoring the heavy thump of your heart and the longing taking root in your chest, you gathered your anger around you like armor. Deliberately twisting your face into a snarl, you stared back at him with as much defiance as you could muster. “I’ll never be yours, White Wolf.”
The softness you thought you’d seen in the White Wolf’s eyes was gone, replaced so thoroughly with hunger, you were sure you’d imagined it. A cocky smirk swept across your enemy’s face as he tsked at you. “You say ‘never’ a lot, printsessa,” he mocked. With his free hand, he procured a knife from somewhere in his suit, the soft snick as it released sending a spike of fear and a thrill of excitement through you. “One of these days, you’re going to find you’ve made yourself a liar.”
An outraged, indignant sound burst from your mouth, but before you could retort, the White Wolf was slicing through the bodice of your dress, baring the lingerie you’d worn beneath. It was white and lacy, with intricate silk ribbons holding the delicate filigree together to hide your most intimate places. Bucky ripped your wedding dress down to your navel, his blue eyes sparkling with an insatiable greed at the sight of your body on display for him.
“Oh, printsessa,” he murmured in a low rumbling that went straight to your core, making you throb. When his eyes had taken a long perusal of your soft breasts and curved waist, the White Wolf’s gaze returned to yours. “Did you wear this pretty little getup for your would-be husband?” he asked in a taunting, cruel tone. He traced the flat tip of his knife around the edges of your lingerie, your body rioting at the feel of the cold steel against your skin. “Were you excited for him to peel it off you?”
Your expression hardened into a glare at his question, not wanting to think about what would have happened if you’d gone through with the wedding your father had wanted. Your fiancé had always coveted you like a prize, and you were certain he would have treated you with as much respect in the bedroom. It was no small part of you that was relieved you no longer had to marry that man, but you knew you shouldn’t say as much to your enemy—lest he get the wrong idea that you might be grateful.
“I wore it for myself,” you spit out indignantly, finding yourself telling the truth. You bit your lip against more words that wanted to tumble out. But that was answer enough for the White Wolf’s sharp eyes. He chuckled, the sound teasing through your body and making your core dampen further.
“Did I save you from an unpleasant marriage bed, printsessa?” he asked in a fake pitying voice, flicking his knife and slicing through the lace covering one of your breasts. He didn’t wait for an answer, just leaned down and took your nipple into his warm mouth. Your gasp was seemingly answer enough for him as he growled appreciatively at the feel of you. He teased your nipple into a tight, hardened peak with his tongue and teeth, laving it and nibbling on your sensitive flesh until you were breathing heavily.
When the White Wolf had tortured your nipple to his satisfaction, he let it fall from his mouth and blew across it, the feel of his warm breath on your wet, sensitive skin making you shiver in his hold. You wanted to squeeze your thighs together against the devastating ache in your core, but the White Wolf’s hips were still wedged between your legs, his bulge twitching against your slit through the layers of your dress.
The White Wolf noticed your body’s reaction to him and he grinned, catching your eye so you could see the spark of amusement in his gaze. He trailed his soft lips across your chest, his stubble rasping over your skin, and used his knife to push away the lace covering your other breast.
“Tell me you’re wetter for me right now than you ever were for him,” the White Wolf growled, his blue eyes darkening with intensity as he stared at you. “And don’t lie to me, printsessa.”
With your hands pinned above your head and your enemy wielding a knife, you knew you should have cowered, but instead you defiantly pressed your lips closed and glared at the White Wolf, letting him know you weren’t so easily conquered. It didn’t matter that he was right—that your fiancé had never gotten you even a little bit wet.
If you were honest with yourself, there had always been something about your fiancé that set you on edge, like you needed to be on high alert around him. You were glad he was dead, but that didn’t mean you were just going to easily spread your legs for the man who’d murdered him. No matter that you were so turned on, your desire was drenching the lace covering your slit.
You held the White Wolf’s gaze, refusing to think too hard about the fact that your enemy was pinning you down and holding a knife to your skin, and yet you felt less in danger than any moment you’d spent in the presence of your fiancé. The White Wolf was still the man who had stormed your wedding and killed so many of your father’s men the church would forever be stained in blood. You could not give in to him—even if an ever-growing part of you wanted to.
But your defiance didn’t have the intended effect. The White Wolf only laughed more, chuckling as he ducked his head and took your nipple into his mouth, delivering the same sinful torture upon it as he had your other. It wrenched a sharp gasp from your lips and your head fell back against the wooden altar with a thud. He attacked your soft tits with a relentlessness you’d never known before, licking and sucking on your nipples as if he could wring all the defiance from your body with his mouth. All you could do was lay there at his mercy, trying to stifle the breathy moans and lusty gasps that wanted to escape your lips.
So slowly you didn’t realize it was happening, your body loosened for the White Wolf, the tension fleeing your limbs as he inflicted blissful pleasure on you. By the time he pulled away, a satisfied grin on his face, you were nothing more than a puddle of desire on the church’s altar. Your body was soft and pliant beneath his large frame and it took all your restraint not to roll your hips against his, seeking the friction from his bulge that your weeping slit so desperately needed.
“Mmm that’s it, printsessa,” he rumbled, his deliciously deep voice settling low in your heated core. “Just needed someone to take care of your properly, didn’t you?” The White Wolf lavished your chest with kisses, the drag of his stubbled jaw sending a delightful shiver skating down your spine. You couldn’t help yourself, a wanton moan fell from your lips. “Such a filthy little slut for the right man, aren’t you?”
“And you think you’re that man?” you shot back, your voice breathier than you would’ve liked it to be as you still tried to defy the lust filling your head. “You don’t know the first thing about me, White Wolf,” you said, his name mocking as it passed your lips.
You didn’t fear any real retaliation for your defiance, and you refused to look too closely at that. For as long as you could remember, you were afraid of the men in your life, whether it was your father, his men or your fiancé. But you didn’t fear the White Wolf and, though you didn’t want to admit it, you knew it was because you felt safe with him. It was too unfathomable to consider, so you clung to your defiance, jutting out your chin as you looked up at your enemy.
“I know more than you think, printsessa,” the White Wolf challenged in a low voice, rising up so he hovered above you. “I know you are your father’s forgotten daughter, I know you are stronger than anyone around you believes you to be,” he said, his voice shaking with anger, though you somehow knew it wasn’t directed at you. “I know you’ll marry a man who disgusts you to earn the love of the family who would leave you to die.” His blue eyes blazed with an emotion you couldn’t name, but its intensity made you squirm. “I know they don’t deserve you.”
“And you do?” you countered. Anger, frustration and something else—something like hope—swirled in your stomach.
“I know I don’t deserve you,” the White Wolf murmured before pressing a kiss to your lips. It was such a sweet gesture, your hope sprouted wings and fluttered to life, soaring through your chest. When he pulled away, his expression was earnest, vulnerable. “But I’m not stupid enough to let that stop me from taking you and keeping you.”
A sound halfway between a scoff and a sob fell from your mouth as you clung to the anger that was quickly deserting you. You forced yourself to roll your eyes. “As if you could keep me,” you started to say, but it seemed the White Wolf was tired of letting you lie to him. He rocked his hips into yours, making your words dissolve into a moan. He ground his hard length against your dripping slit through the layers of your clothes, stoking your desire into a blazing heat that consumed your body.
“What was that, printsessa?” he asked teasingly, something like affection in his tone. Once you’d gotten control of yourself, you glared up at him, but he looked unrepentant about playing dirty. Before your eyes, his expression turned serious. “You will be mine,” he said, so much confidence in his tone you found yourself believing him.
You had to stop yourself from nodding and agreeing with him, but you were almost certain your defeat was written across your face. Despite your protests and defiance, the White Wolf had won you over. His relentlessness had penetrated the walls around your heart and, though it was still such a new and tentative feeling, you already knew deep inside that you were his.
Your pride didn’t allow you to admit any of your defeat to your enemy, but it didn’t escape the White Wolf’s sharp gaze because his expression morphed again. A self-satisfied smirk curled the edges of his mouth, the expression so sinful you didn’t know if you wanted to slap him again or pull him down for a kiss.
“Now show me what a good little slut you can be for your White Wolf,” he growled the command, rolling his hips against yours again. Your eyelids fluttered and a soft, gasping moan fell from your lips as pleasure rocked through you.
The White Wolf knew too well how to work your body up into a frenzy, his hips grinding his hard cock into your dripping pussy while his mouth lavished your nipples with kisses and bites that sent pleasure shooting straight to your core. As the White Wolf toyed with one of your nipples, he circled the other with the sharp tip of his knife, sending excited thrills through your body.
Your pleasure was rising higher and higher, coiling tight in your body as your legs clung to your enemy’s waist and your own hips rose to meet his hard, grinding thrusts. When he rubbed his hard cock against your clit and sank his teeth into the soft flesh of your breast, your eyes flew open as the tension in your body suddenly snapped. A sharp cry escaped your mouth and your body trembled as you came.
Your whole being unraveled, your soul laid bare beneath the White Wolf and his attentions, your body quaking and your lips moaning his name as your orgasm ripped through you. “Wolf!” A sob tore from your throat and tears spilled from your eyes as shame and pleasure overwhelmed your mind. It was too much to comprehend that you had come so hard for him and you both still had most of your clothes on.
“That’s it, such a good girl, coming so well,” he murmured the soft praise as his grinding hips worked you through the aftershocks of your release. “Such a good little slut for your White Wolf.” He kissed away your tears. “My printsessa,” he said, his voice a low rumble. The possessiveness in his tone washed over you, making your heart thump in agreement.
It was undeniable, even as you fought against it, but in your heart you knew you were his. What was worse, you found you wanted to belong to the White Wolf. You wanted more of the safety and pleasure he offered you so freely. Love was something you’d always had to fight for, compete for, set aside all your wants and needs for. That was how your family had taught you to love.
But here was a man who offered it without asking for anything in return except to be his. It seemed too easy, and maybe it said something about you that you didn’t chafe at the idea of belonging to such a ruthless man as the White Wolf, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care anymore. You knew, in that moment, that you’d be a fool to pass up on what your enemy offered. So you spoke, responding to his last words.
“My White Wolf,” you whispered through lips swollen from his kisses and your crying. The words and the admission in them came easier than you would’ve expected. Your eyes were open as you stared at the man who was no longer your enemy, watching for his reaction. He didn’t disappoint.
The man above you froze, shifting up so he could see you properly. You knew your absolute surrender was written all over your face because you let him see it, you wanted him to know that you were giving yourself to him. With your eyes, you pleaded with him to keep your heart safe.
His expression softened into a look so pure and vulnerable, it almost seemed out of place on the face of a man you knew had murdered countless. Instinctively, you knew you were the only one who had ever seen this man without his shields, and you cherished it for the gift it was.
You wiggled your hands against his hold until he let you free. Slowly, you brought your arms down and reached for him, cupping his face in both your hands. “Mine,” you said fiercely, telling him again that you were choosing him.
A gentle, genuine smile curved the White Wolf’s mouth. “Yours,” he growled before ducking down and slanting his lips to yours in a searing kiss. It was short, but it felt like you had both sealed your fate with it. The punctuation at the end of your vows.
When the White Wolf pulled away, his voice was gruff with emotion. “I’ll make you my wife one day soon, printsessa,” he promised, his eyes darkening as they raked down your body. “After we burn this dress you wore for another man.” Before you could respond, he began tearing the garment from your body, using his knife to rip it to shreds while being careful not to hurt you.
Happiness and excitement bubbled up in your chest, freed from someplace so deep in your heart you couldn’t remember the last time you’d felt that part of yourself. You giggled before you could stop yourself, delight sizzling through you at the eagerness with which your White Wolf tore your dress from you. “Gonna make me Mrs. White Wolf?” you asked teasingly, affection warming your tone.
The man who was no longer your enemy paused in his destruction of your white wedding gown and cocked his head to the side, almost looking like a wolf in that moment. His blue eyes focused in on your face. “Do you not know my real name, printsessa?”
Your laughter died on your lips and your face screwed up as you thought, but you realized you didn’t. Shaking your head, you stared up at the man who had made you cum hard enough your whole world had realigned and were forced to admit you didn’t know his name. “No, I—I guess I don’t.”
“My name is James Buchanan Barnes,” he said, ripping through the last of your skirts with a flourish and pushing the offending fabric from your body. He paused as he dragged his gaze up your body, blue eyes sparkling with hunger and happiness when they met yours. “So you’ll become Mrs. James Buchanan Barnes—Mrs. Barnes for short.”
Something warm and overwhelming filled your heart and you smiled up at your man. “Jamie,” you murmured, reaching your hands out to him. He shed his jacket, tossing it onto the altar above your head, then climbed back up your body.
“Most of my friends—what few I have—call me Bucky,” he said, a grin on his face and fondness in his eyes as he stroked your cheek with his thumb.
You tilted your head into his soothing touch, but were quickly distracted by his white dress shirt, running your hands up his chest to his collar. Your fingers made quick work of the buttons as you responded to him. “I want to call you Jamie,” you said, looking up at him with a pout as you pushed his shirt open and let your fingers start to explore his chest. He was all cut muscle and golden skin. There were scars dotted across his pecs and abdomen from old wounds, and you traced those delicately wishing you could kiss each of them.
“You can call me anything you like, my printsessa,” Bucky said, smiling down at you with affection written plainly across his face as he shed his shirt and discarded it on top of his jacket. “So Jamie it is.”
Ducking down, Bucky dragged his lip slightly over yours in a ghost of a kiss. Grumbling through a smile of your own, you tilted your head, capturing his mouth in a proper kiss. He lips curled in a smile before he devoured you with his kiss, his mouth demanding and possessive as it moved against yours. When he finally pulled away, you were both breathless.
“Ready for my cock, printsessa?” Bucky rumbled, grinding his hardness against your dripping slit through his pants and your lingerie. “Ready for me to claim you on the altar where you would have wed another man?”
Heat and need coursed through you, your wet folds rubbing against the drenched lace between your legs and the hot, hard length of him. But it wasn’t enough, you needed more. Before you could think better of it, your lips were moving and you were begging your White Wolf for what you wanted so desperately. “Please, Jamie—need you inside me, please!”
Bucky chuckled, the sound so self-satisfied you might have glared at him if you weren’t half mindless with lust. “Told you you’d be begging for my cock, printsessa,” he murmured, pushing up onto his knees and staring down at your bared body. The ruins of your wedding dress lay in tatters around you, framing your body for his eyes only. “I’ve already made a liar out of you and I haven’t even buried my cock in that sweet cunt of yours.” He trailed the edge of his knife down your body, digging into your soft skin but never piercing your flesh.
The delicious drag of the blade made you shiver, but the loss of contact against your pussy had your mind clearing somewhat and you bit out a response. “I’m not a liar,” you huffed indignantly, shooting him a half-hearted glare. Bucky only looked amused, so you tossed your head and lifted your chin defiantly as best you could in your position. “I just changed my mind.”
At that moment, Bucky pressed the flat edge of his knife against your clit and the feel of the cold steel against your heated flesh had you whimpering. Bucky grinned down at you. “You’re a liar and a slut, printsessa,” he said, bending down and planting a hand beside your head, watching as pleasure contorted your face. He dragged his knife against your clit, watching as your hips twitched in response. “But it’s alright—you were only lying to yourself,” he said distractedly, too caught up by the sight of his knife dragging through your folds. “And you’re my slut, aren’t you?”
“Uh huh,” you said, nodding while you gasped and writhed beneath Bucky’s knife. He was being so careful, and you were trying not to move too much so you didn’t hurt yourself, but it was too much of a tease. You needed more. “Jamie,” you whined, hands fisting in your tattered dress at your sides.
With a flick of his wrist, Bucky caught the lace of your lingerie on the tip of his knife and he sliced through it, baring you finally. You whimpered as the cool air of the church brushed against your heated core. Bucky tore the remnants of your lingerie from your body and tossed it aside, letting his eyes roam over you unhindered.
“So beautiful, printsessa,” he murmured, his tone reverent as he worshiped you with his eyes. When he’d looked his fill, he began dragging his knife along your body, tracing your soft curves with its sharp edge. Shivers wracked your body, but Bucky was careful, deliberate. He circled your nipples with the tip of the blade, making you gasp as excitement thrilled through you, shooting directly to your slit and making you throb desperately.
“Jamie, please,” you begged in a soft, hoarse voice. Your words broke off on a moan when Bucky trailed his knife back to your core, teasing your clit with the blunt edge of the knife. He slide it through your dripping folds and you fought to hold yourself still when all you wanted was relief. It was blissful torture, and Bucky’s eyes sparkled with delight as he watched you struggle beneath him. “Ple-ease,” you moaned brokenly, sobs heaving in your chest.
Chuckling, Bucky pulled the steel blade away from your throbbing core, holding your gaze as he licked your arousal from the silver edge. The breath froze in your lungs at the dangerously sinful picture he painted. For a moment, you were stunned by the knowledge that this man—this violent, ruthless, cruel man—was all yours. Your heart warmed at the thought. He hummed in delight, the sound a low, deep rumble in his chest that went straight to your clit, and you were spurred into motion.
Your fingers shaking in their eagerness, you reached for Bucky’s belt, undoing it and reaching into his slacks to pull out the cock you’d felt pressed against your most sensitive place. He was thick and hot in your hands, feeling like steel wrapped in velvet, and so big your pussy got wetter at the sight of him.
You circled your fingers around his girth while he twitched in your hands, making saliva pool in your mouth as you ached to take him down your throat. While you stroked his cock loosely, Bucky hastily threw his knife down beside you and pushed his slacks and boxer briefs down his legs, your focus getting distracted when his muscular thighs were revealed to you. You took a moment to appreciate the sight of him, his thick thighs bracketing his big, hard cock. It made you want to sit between his legs and worship his cock, but Bucky had other ideas.
He leaned down over you, bracing himself on a forearm beside your head. His lips found yours in a kiss while you continued stroking his length, twisting your hand around his tip and smearing his precum down his length until he pulled away with a groan. “Let me inside that sweet pussy, printsessa,” he rasped, an almost desperate pleading note in his voice. “Gonna stuff you full and fuck you just like my good little slut deserves.”
Moaning and nodding your head, you guided his hard length to your slick folds, rubbing the tip of him through your wetness and teasing your clit until you were both panting against each others’ lips. Finally, when you couldn’t take it anymore, you notched the head of his dick at your entrance and his hips pressed forward until the crown of his cock pushed into your tight heat. You both moaned raggedly, staring into each others’ eyes.
“So fucking tight, printsessa, so perfect,” Bucky rasped, dragging his lips across your jaw and planting kisses down the column of your throat. “Feels like you were made for my cock.”
Nodding distractedly, you wrapped your arms around Bucky’s shoulders and held on, moaning loudly when he pushed deeper into your fluttering channel. He was so hot and hard, but he was moving too slow and you needed more. Your knees climbed the sides of Bucky’s chest, opening yourself for him as your legs wrapped around his waist so you could urge him deeper. “Please, Jamie,” you whimpered, arching your back and writhing beneath him, trying to take him faster. “Need all of you inside me, need you to fill me up with your big cock, please,” you begged, whining the last word.
A growl tore from Bucky’s throat and he shoved his cock deep, burying himself in your pussy and making you cry out sharply as your tight hole stretched to accommodate his thick length. “Fuck—fuck! Now I know you were always meant to be mine,” he snarled as he filled you up, pausing for a moment to give you time to adjust. When you huffed a confused sound, he went on. “If it wasn’t meant to be, you wouldn’t fit me so perfectly,” he rumbled before sucking the skin of your neck between his teeth hard enough to leave his mark on your body.
Your heart thumped in your chest and you let yourself believe Bucky’s words—it was meant to be. He filled you up so perfectly and you felt so safe and cherished in his arms. “Jamie,” you whispered, threading your fingers through his soft brown hair. You chose to believe him, it was meant to be. You were meant to be his and he was meant to be yours. But you had both chosen each other too; you had chosen your fate and met it together.
It only took a moment for that feeling of rightness to sink in and then your body was begging for more of your White Wolf. You rolled your hips in an effort to get him moving, unsure if you could get your lips to work enough to form words. Your walls clasped desperately around Bucky’s thick cock, needing the friction that would drive your pleasure higher.
Bucky recognized your body’s pleas and began moving his hips, at first only rolling in small thrusts, grinding the base of himself against your clit as the tip of him brushed the entrance of your womb. It felt so good, nearly taking your breath away, and yet it wasn’t enough. You wanted him to fill you up and fuck you hard.
“Jamie, please, I need more—fuck me harder, fuck me like your little slut, please,” you begged, your voice raspy with desire.
“Mm,” Bucky hummed, rising up so he hung above you. His darkened gaze roved over your face, taking in the way your expression was twisted with pleasure and need. “You beg so sweetly, printsessa,” he murmured, a smirk curling the edge of his mouth as warm affection shone in his eyes. He pulled his hips back until only the tip of his dick was still inside you before slamming deep into your waiting heat, wrenching a lusty cry from your lips. “Such a gorgeous little slut for my cock.”
All you could do was moan in response as he set a brutal pace, fucking you so thoroughly your mind went blank but for the pleasure that consumed you. You clung to your White Wolf with your arms around his shoulders and your legs circling his waist, your hips rising to meet his with every thrust. You moaned with abandon, unafraid of letting the man who was no longer your enemy hear how good he made you feel.
“That’s it, printsessa, such a good little slut,” Bucky growled out through gritted teeth, his cock plowing into your wet pussy over and over, driving your pleasure higher and higher. “Taking my cock so well,” he murmured in your ear, nipping at the lobe and making you gasp. “Only sluts take it this good.” He dragged his face up to look you in the eye, his gaze intense. “You’re my perfect little slut, aren’t you, printsessa?”
Bucky’s question did obscene things to your body, making your heart riot in your chest and your pussy gush as you gasped for the air you’d need to answer him. “Yes, yes, yes, yes,” you chanted, nodding your head for good measure in time to the rhythm of his fucking. “Your slut, Jamie.”
“My slut, my printsessa,” he murmured affectionately, stealing a kiss from your lips. Then he shifted the angle of his body, pushing your thighs up and wider for him, pinning you to the wooden altar with his heavy weight. “Gonna fill you up with my cum, printsessa,” Bucky muttered, his eyes fixed on the spot where your bodies joined. “And then you’re gonna walk out of here with my cum leaking down your thighs—d’you hear me?”
“Fuck yes, please Jamie—cum inside me,” you said on a filthy moan, your head thrashing as your pleasure ratcheted higher. You clung to Bucky’s shoulders, nails digging into his skin to ground you as your mind threatened to float away on a wave of bliss. “Please, Jamie, ‘m so close, I need—please,” you sobbed, not entirely sure what you needed but knowing he was the only one who could give it to you.
“Shh,” Bucky murmured, pressing kisses to your face before shifting his weight onto his knees. His hand circled your throat, pinning you to the altar. His fingers squeezed the sides of your neck lightly.
Your body settled. Bucky didn’t grip you too hard, but you found it was exactly what you needed. Your eyes opened into slits and you stared up at him, feeling devotion in your heart and knowing it was written plainly across your face. There was nothing you could do to hide it, the White Wolf had you thoroughly undone and vulnerable for him, your soul bared in your eyes. A look of surprise flitted across Bucky’s face before his expression softened and he smiled down at you. Quickly, though, lust overtook him.
“Cum for me,” he rumbled, his free hand finding your clit as he kept pounding into your cunt. His cock hit a spot deep inside you on every thrust and that, along with his fingers mercilessly rubbing your clit, had sparks flaring all over your body. “Cum on my cock like a good little slut, printsessa,” he growled the command. He pressed deep, bullying your clit and squeezing your throat until you were lost.
You came with a choked scream, your body going taut and your hips rising up off the altar to take Bucky’s cock further inside you, as deep as it would go. Pleasure overwhelmed your mind until you were staring mindlessly up at him, consumed by wave after wave of ecstasy sweeping through your body. When your awareness returned, the first thing you saw was the awe on Bucky’s face. You grabbed him and dragged him down for a messy kiss, his cock still pounding into your clenching pussy.
“Cum inside me, Jamie,” you murmured when you pulled away, letting him see your eyes and how desperate you were for him. “Please, cum inside me.”
Bucky squeezed his eyes shut for a moment like he needed to gather himself, and when he opened them again, they were sparking with determination and lust and something deeper—something you weren’t quite ready to name. “You’re mine, printsessa,” he gritted out, his hips moving faster as he rutted into your still pulsing channel. “Mine.”
“Yours,” you replied, crying out as he slammed into your oversensitive pussy, reveling in the feeling of him using your body to get off. “Always yours, my White Wolf.”
“Your White Wolf,” he growled in affirmation. He shoved his cock inside you, plunging as deep as he could go, his thrusts turning sloppy as he chased his release. After a few more strokes, he came with a loud groan, pressing the tip of his cock against the end of you. His dick twitched as he spilled his seed in your pussy and you moaned softly at the feel of him filling you up, some of his cum leaking out of your hole.
When he was spent, Bucky collapsed on top of you, letting your legs fall around his waist as he lay his head on your still heaving chest. His arms wrapped around you, holding you tight to him. You threaded your fingers through his hair, enjoying its softness as you both caught your breath.
After a short while, Bucky picked his head up and looked at you, satisfaction written plainly in the grin on his face. You couldn’t help but smile in return, drawing him in for a kiss. Your White Wolf kissed you tenderly, though it still had a possessive edge you didn’t expect him to ever lose. That was fine with you, it made you feel cherished in a way you never had before.
He pressed one last kiss to your lips before he moved away enough to speak. “We’ve lingered long enough, printsessa,” he said, nuzzling your cheek like he was reluctant to let you get too far away. “Your father deserves to come and collect his dead.”
It was then that you were reminded of the bloodshed in the church and you startled a little, making the mistake of glancing around. Immediately, you were overwhelmed by the carnage and you buried your face in Bucky’s chest. He chuckled, but petted your head soothingly for a moment. Then, he sat up and pulled himself carefully from your body, though you still hissed at the loss of him.
Bucky helped you to sit up, your back to the rest of the church so you didn’t have to look at the evidence of his violence again. The last of your ruined wedding dress fell around you in tatters and your lingerie was discarded, so you were left in nothing but your heels. Bucky eyed your destroyed dress with no small amount of contempt. “Hope you weren’t partial to that dress, printsessa,” he muttered, though his tone held no remorse.
You hopped off the altar with as much bravado as you could muster, pride surging when you landed on your feet and your knees didn’t give out. Although you were confident Bucky would’ve caught you if they had, it was nice to remember you could stand on your own even after he’d made you cum so hard.
“Let my father find it and wonder what you did to me,” you said flippantly, tossing your messy hair over your shoulder, resisting the urge to smooth it down. You knew you looked a sight, standing as bare as the day you were born in the church where you were supposed to be wed, looking freshly fucked, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care overmuch.
Catching your eye, Bucky grinned, seemingly enjoying the sight of you naked and defiant. “That’s my girl,” he murmured, bending to steal a kiss. Then he gathered his white shirt from where it had fallen and helped you into it.
You quickly buttoned up the shirt and when you looked back to Bucky, he had his suit jacket thrown over his bare chest, his pants sitting low on his hips. He looked so sexy, you wanted to drop to your knees right there behind the church’s altar and take his cock in your mouth in your own form of worship. You’d clean him up properly and see how deep into your throat you could take him before he came on your tongue.
Bucky let out an appreciative hum, drawing your attention back to his face in time to see him rake his eyes down over your body, barely hidden beneath the sheath of his shirt. “You look like you just got fucked, printsessa,” he commented, possessiveness tinging his tone and a smirk curling the edge of his mouth.
You stepped up to him, running your hands up his chest beneath his jacket, feeling him suck in a breath at your touch, and grinned shamelessly. “That’s because you so thoroughly defiled me, White Wolf,” you murmured, repeating his words back to him. Pressing up on your tiptoes, your lips brushed against his stubbled jaw as you spoke in his ear. “Now get me out of here before I beg you to fuck my face with your fat cock.”
A surprised sound escaped Bucky’s mouth and he dragged you in for a kiss with his hand buried in your hair. It was short and hot, leaving you panting for more, but before you could say anything, Bucky grabbed your hand and led you toward the side door of the church.
The bright sunshine hit your face and you blinked against it, somehow disbelieving it was still daytime. So much had happened in the church, it felt like the outside world should reflect the fact that your entire life had changed—and not in the way you’d thought when you’d entered the building that morning. It took you a moment of blinking to adjust to the bright light of the day and take in your surroundings.
Bucky’s men stood around, watching the area closely with guns in hand. They all stiffened to attention when they realized who had exited the church. When you looked to Bucky, the cruel mask of the White Wolf was back in place. Something about the barely leashed violence in his expression had your core throbbing with need.
“Update,” your White Wolf growled.
A tall man with broad shoulders, black hair and a mean-looking face stepped forward. “No movement yet, but we’ve picked off a few spies,” he reported in a raspy voice. “The old man’s waiting and seeing what we do next.”
“Good,” Bucky said, nodding decisively. “Let’s clear out.” He began to walk toward a bank of SUVs, his fingers still tangled in yours, tugging you along behind him.
You could feel the moment the White Wolf’s men noticed your joined hands, their gazes following your arm to your body, clad only in Bucky’s white dress shirt and your heels. You didn’t know if they could see his cum trickling down your thighs, but you could certainly feel it. You gathered your strength and held your chin high, squaring your shoulders and meeting the gazes of the men around you.
Bucky must’ve noticed the shift in his men too because he stopped and looked around. His eyes fixed on the mean-looking man who had spoken. “There a problem, Rumlow?”
The man called Rumlow didn’t show any emotion, but he paused before speaking like he was deciding if he should. “She’s his daughter,” he said after a moment.
You had to hand it to Rumlow, it wasn’t outright defiance, which you were certain the White Wolf would’ve punished the man for. It didn’t even sound like he was questioning his boss, only pointing out a fact that had clearly given him and the other men pause. You looked to Bucky to see how he’d respond.
The White Wolf was staring at his man with a thoughtful expression, then he turned to you. Your insides lit up at the attention, but you didn’t let it show on your face. “Who do you belong to?” Bucky asked, his voice harsh, though you didn’t flinch.
You almost smiled at the question, but stifled the urge, knowing it was neither the time nor the place to show the affection and happiness bubbling up in your heart. There was a certain amount of theatricality to the world your family and the White Wolf inhabited, and since you’d grown up in it, you could easily play the part Bucky wanted.
So you looked back to Rumlow, then met the eyes of the other men facing you, your chin held high. “I belong to the White Wolf,” you declared. Your voice was loud and clear, ringing out down the street so as many of Bucky’s men could hear you.
Rumlow’s expression shifted somewhat, understanding and a bit of respect in his eyes. He nodded and stepped back, falling in line with the other men. He and the others started to move to follow the White Wolf’s earlier order, but Bucky’s loud voice stopped them.
“Make sure it’s known throughout the city—the princess is mine,” he barked, glaring around at his men. You weren’t sure if it was meant to taunt your father or ensure no one tried to take you as their own prize, but you felt the ripple of fear that went through the crowd of men. It satisfied something in your heart to be claimed so publicly and you finally let a small smile slip out.
A second later, they jumped into action and Bucky smirked with gratification. He turned to you. “Ready to go home, printsessa?” he asked in a quiet voice, too low for anyone else to hear.
You nodded, giving him a small smile, a ghost of the one you wanted to show him. “I’m ready, Jamie—take me home.” You looked at him with nothing but trust and devotion in your eyes and Bucky grinned, the expression appropriately wolfish. He bent and gave you a quick kiss.
Letting Bucky lead you to an SUV, you allowed your mind to wander to what lay ahead for the two of you. Your father would no doubt be unhappy with the fact that you hadn’t been killed in the attack on your wedding since you being alive and in the possession of the White Wolf would only complicate things. He’d be even more furious when he learned you’d declared your loyalty to the enemy.
But you knew Bucky would keep you safe. He was too much a force of nature to be taken down by someone as weak and ill-prepared as your father. So you weren’t worried. You were only excited to start your life with your new man. Your future was finally one you were happy to meet, because you had James Buchanan Barnes at your side. Your White Wolf.