Beneath the Alpha's Moon

LUCIAN'S P.O.V.

Sitting at my desk, buried under a mountain of paperwork, I sighed. This was never-ending. Numbers, contracts, signatures—endless.

"We should be with Teresa," Ares growled in my head, his voice a low rumble, impatient as usual.

"Shut it, Ares," I muttered, rubbing my temple. "She's fine. She doesn't need me hovering over her like a lovesick pup."

"Lovesick? You? Please. You're too proud to admit it," Ares shot back with an annoyed snort. "She's our mate. Stop pretending like you don't care."

I clenched my jaw, flipping over a page as if I cared about the damn thing. "She's in the house. That's enough."

"Enough? You're pathetic," Ares growled. "Get up. Go to her. Now."

"No."

"Yes."

"Ares—"

"Don't make me do it."