But my pack alpha is on the other side of the fucking camp, and I'm standing here with my hands in the air like an idiot while a woman I've never met trembles against my chest.
And then she inhales.
The sound she makes is something I've never heard before. It’s a low, shattered breath that turns into a whimper at the edges. Her fingers curl into my shirt as her body goes from trembling to rigid against me.
“Mine,” she whispers, the word slowly slipping into a moan.
"What?" The word comes out sharper than I mean it to.
“Mine,” she growls this time as her hands fist the fabric of my shirt, stretching it.
What the fuck did she just say?
My whole body goes still as she drags her face up my chest to the curve of my neck, breathing me in with these desperate, shuddering gulps, then a moan vibrates against my collarbone that I feel all the way down my spine. Her arms wrap around my neck as she pulls herself flush against me, every line of her body sealed to mine as if she's trying to climb inside my skin.
Is she scenting me?
She’s inhaling like she's starving for my aroma, and I have no idea why.
Betas don't do this. We don't scent strangers.
We don't growl “mine” at people we’ve never met.
We're the even-keeled ones. The ones who nod politely and shake hands and keep a respectful distance from everyone else. Whatever is happening right now isn't betabehavior, and her disconnected behavior sends a cold thread of unease through me.
"Stay here,” I say, trying to lean back. "I’m going to?—”
My words cut off when she launches herself up, thighs locking around my waist and hands gripping the back of my head. Then her mouth slams into mine so hard our teeth click.
The clipboard clatters to the dirt.
My hands grab her sides on pure instinct, as her weight shifts me sideways. My foot catches on a cable, and then I'm stumbling, two steps, three, and the canvas wall of the supply tent gives way against my shoulder.
We crash through the flap together. My momentum carries us to one side and I stagger, one foot shooting out to catch myself. For one lurching second I'm scared I’m going down before my shoulder blade connects with the shelving unit behind me, holding us both up.
Something topples behind me. Boxes and plastic containers. The whole rack shudders and screeches against the rough dirt. Pain flares between my shoulder blades where the shelf edge digs in, bright and sharp.
But she doesn't stop kissing me.
In fact, she doesn't even seem to register the noise or the fall or the metal biting into my back. Her mouth is still on mine, hot and open and desperate, her fingers twisting in my hair, her thighs squeezing my ribs like she's terrified I'll put her down.
Confused and a little shocked, my whole body locks up.
Legs, arms, spine, everything going rigid at once.
My brain cycles through my options and comes back with nothing. Absolutely nothing. I can’t move. I can’t even breathe. I stand here, holding her to me, like a deer caught in the headlights.
Finally, her mouth breaks from mine, and her tongue drags across my lower lip, slow and hot and deliberate. Then up, tracing the corner of my mouth, the line of my jaw, then the faint stubble on my chin. She licks me, tasting me, like she's trying to get deeper than skin, and a sound rolls out of her throat, low and satisfied.
Almost like an animal.
"Hey," I manage to say. "You need help. We should—" My words cut off when her ankles cross behind my back and her legs cinch tighter, pulling her hips flush against my groin.
There's no space left between us. She's sealed to me from chest to thigh, her heat bleeding through the thin scrubs and my T-shirt like there's nothing between us at all.
Her mouth finds my shoulder, and she bites down, right through the cotton.
I hiss, but it quickly slips into a deep moan. The sound is low and rough and completely involuntary. My fingers dig into her sides and my head tips back, hitting the shelf behind me with a dull thud.
