"And what about me?" I demand, my hands coming up to press against his chest. Against the precious heartbeat within. "How am I supposed to survive losing you? You're my pack, Ridge. My alpha. My heart. All of you. I can't… I won't do it again."
His eyes search mine, and the war raging inside him is plain to see. The leader versus the mate. The commander versus the alpha. He's fighting a battle with himself, and I'm the prize and the casualty all at once.
"You're the most stubborn, reckless, infuriating woman I have ever met," he breathes, his face inches from mine.
"And you're the most pig-headed, overprotective alpha I've ever had the misfortune to fall in love with," I retort, my breath catching in my throat.
Something in him snaps. The last thread of his control. His grip on my arms tightens for a second before one hand moves to cup the back of my head, his fingers tangling in my hair. And then his mouth is on mine.
It's not a gentle kiss. It's not a reassuring kiss. It's a punishment and a prayer, a desperate, angry clash of teeth and lips.
He kisses me with all the fury he's been holding back, all the fear and frustration and relief. It's a claiming, a branding, a raw, primal act that steals the air from my lungs and leaves me clinging to him.
I kiss him back with just as much desperation, pouring all my own fear and love into it.
This isn't about tenderness; it's about survival. It's about finding each other in the dark and refusing to let go, even if it burns us both to ash.
He breaks the kiss as suddenly as he started it, both of us breathing hard, our foreheads pressed together. The air in the tent crackles with the energy of our fight, our fear, and the raw desire that now pulses between us as our scents mingle together. His fingers are still tangled in my hair, holding me in place.
"You're a bad girl, Brylee," he snarls, his voice a low, dangerous rumble that vibrates through my entire body.
The words aren't just an insult; they're a judgment and a condemnation, and they send a dark, thrilling shiver down my spine.
My heart hammers against my ribs.
He's right. I broke every rule. I defied him, defied my parents, defied common sense.
And seeing this wild, possessive fury in him, feeling it directed at me… It awakens a part of me I didn't know existed. A part that craves this intensity, this consequence.
"Then punish me," I whisper, the words feeling both terrifying and absolutely right. I look him straight in the eye, my gaze unwavering. "I disobeyed you, Alpha. I put myself in danger. I deserve to be punished."
His eyes darken, the pupils swallowing the blue. A muscle jumps in his jaw. He knows what I'm asking for. The question is…will he give it to me?
"You have no idea what you're asking for."
"Yes, I do," I insist, my voice stronger now. "Please, Ridge. I need…I need you to show me."
A slow, predatory smile spreads across his face, but it holds no warmth. It's the smile of a wolf that has finally cornered its prey. "Oh, I'll show you. I'll make sure you remember this every time you think about defying me again."
He releases my hair and takes a step back, his eyes raking over my blood-stained uniform, which now hangs loosely on my frame. That gaze catches on my nipples, because I didn’t bother with a bra under the bodysuit.
"Strip. Now."
My hands shake slightly as I fumble with my uniform jacket. The fabric is stiff and uncomfortable, and I'm suddenly desperate to be out of it, to shed the last vestiges of the skin of the soldier I pretended to be and just be his omega.
I let the jacket fall to the floor. My hands move to my belt, but his voice stops me.
"Slower."
I obey, my movements becoming deliberate, sensual, as I unbutton the starched white dress shirt one slow movement at a time. I can feel his gaze like a physical touch, burning into my skin. I peel off the rest of my clothes until I'm standing before him in nothing but my skin, the cool air of the tent raising goose bumps on my flesh. I feel exposed, vulnerable, and more alive than I have in days.
The air still shimmers around Ridge, but no longer from his fury. Instead, the tension between us builds with all the potent, crackling force of lightning.
"On your knees," he commands, his voice low and authoritative.
I sink to the ground, and the rough canvas of the tent floor scrapes against my knees. I look up at him, my breath catching in my throat. He's still fully dressed in his combat gear, a powerful, imposing figure towering over me. The contrast between us is stark, intoxicating.
"Hands behind your back," he orders.
