A flush of dark satisfaction spreads through me at the crack in his perfect composure. Good. Let him feel a fraction of what I've been dealing with. The golden-eyed warrior who speaks of centuries as casually as I discuss my morning coffee is finally showing some real emotion.
"I don't need your protection," I snarl, jabbing a finger against his chest. "I need honesty. I need to know what the hell is going on instead of being kept in the dark like some fragile civilian."
"You're right." The admission seems to cost him. "You deserved better. That's why I'm here now."
We're standing toe to toe now, the electrical current between us intensifying with proximity, crackling like a live wire in water. I can smell him. That wild, earthy scent that makes something primal in me stand at attention.
"You should have taken me with you," I say, leaning closer until I can feel the heat radiating from his skin. The electrical current between us intensifies, like a storm gathering strength.
His eyes drop to my lips for a fraction of a second. "It won't happen again."
"Damn right it won't." My hand is somehow on his chest now, feeling the solid wall of muscle beneath the soft fabric. "Because next time, I'll shoot you."
His mouth quirks into something that's almost a smile. "I heal quickly."
"Is that supposed to be funny?" But I don't move my hand.
"No." His own hand comes up, fingers barely grazing my cheek. "But your anger is... beautiful."
"Beautiful?" I should step back. I should definitely not be leaning into his touch.
"Like wildfire." His voice drops to a register that makes my stomach flip. "Dangerous. Untamed."
"You abandoned me," I whisper, but the accusation has lost some of its heat.
"Unwillingly. And I came back." His thumb traces my lower lip, electricity following in its wake. "I will always come back to you, Astrid."
I'm not sure who moves first. One moment we're glaring at each other, the next my hands are fisted in his shirt and his mouth is on mine. This isn't the careful, questioning kiss from the car. This is rage and need and punishment all wrapped in one.
His hands tangle in my hair, pulling it from its ponytail as he backs me against the kitchen counter. I bite his lower lip, not gently, and he growls—actually growls—the sound vibrates through my body.
"I'm still angry," I gasp when we break for air.
"Good." He lifts me effortlessly, setting me on the counter, his body a wall of heat between my legs. "Be angry."
His mouth finds my neck, teeth scraping over my pulse point in a way that makes my back arch. My hands slide beneath his shirt, nails digging into the ridged muscle of his back. The connection between us sears like lightning in my veins.
I tug his shirt upward, needing to feel more of him. He breaks away just long enough to pull it over his head, revealing a torso sculpted like some ancient warrior god's.
"Your turn," he murmurs, fingers finding the hem of my tactical shirt.
I lift my arms, allowing him to pull it off, leaving me in just my sports bra. His eyes darken as they take in the newly exposed skin. One large hand spans my rib cage, thumb brushing the underside of my breast through the thin fabric.
"Astrid," he breathes.
I pull him back to me, legs wrapping around his waist to draw him closer. The kiss deepens, his tongue sliding against mine in a dance as old as time. His hand moves higher, cupping my breast, thumb circling over the sensitive peak until I gasp against his mouth.
Every rational thought dissolves under his touch. My training, my caution, my anger—all of it is swept away. His hand on my breast, his mouth claiming mine, the solid heat of him pressed between my thighs. This is madness. This is crossing every line I've drawn in the sand. This is...
This is exactly where I want to be.
His other hand slides up my thigh, fingers finding the sensitive skin where leg meets hip. I arch into the touch, shameless in my need for more. The electrical sensation between us hums like a live thing, binding us together in ways I can't begin to understand.
"I never should have left you," he murmurs against my throat.
For once, I don't argue. I just tug him closer, letting the anger transform into something else entirely—something just as dangerous but infinitely more pleasurable.
I'm not fighting the current this time. I'm surrendering to it.
