“Don’t you…” I avert my eyes. “Is this a lycan thing? Do you just—”
“Lycans have a few biological quirks I’m not explaining tonight.”
“Oh, that is outrageously unhelpful.”
“Noted.” He chuckles as my hunger seems to be increasing, but it feels different, not so bloodthirsty, and more…wanting.
“You could have mentioned this was a possibility before we left the cabin.”
“Would it have changed anything?”
I open my mouth, then close it. “No.”
“Then it wasn’t relevant.”
My gaze drops to his throat, to the pulse beating steady and unafraid beneath flushed skin. His scent floods my senses, wild and earthy, threaded with heat and something fiercely alive that calls to the hunger in me like a dare.
His voice lowers. “You’re shaking.”
“Because you ruined my hunt.”
“No,” he murmurs. “Because you’re starving and pretending you’re not.”
That’s the moment the tension snaps tight enough to cut. I surge forward, my fingers clamping into his hair, and the kiss lands like a strike meant to wound. Teeth scrape, breath collides. It isn’t gentle. It’s a challenge thrown between two predators, testing boundaries that neither of us understands.
Rogue’s hands clamp around my hips instantly, claws barely held back as he drags me flush against him. A growl rolls through him, deep and possessive, vibrating against my mouth until it sinks into my bones. He meets me. Muscle to muscle, breath to breath, the wolf rising just under his skin without taking over, and the shock of being matched instead of managed lands somewhere I wasn’t guarding.
I bite his lower lip, harder this time, tasting the heat of him without breaking skin. His breath punches out, and hisgrip tightens, fingers digging in just enough to remind me he’s stronger, steadier, anchored in a way I’m not.
“Easy,” he murmurs against my mouth, his voice rough, not commanding but coaxing, like he’s talking to both me and the monster clawing at my ribs.
“I don’t want easy,” I whisper, dragging my mouth along his jaw, inhaling the wild scent of him like it might quiet the ache burning through my veins.
His hand slides to the back of my neck, fingers threading into my hair, not pulling but holding me there, keeping the distance measured. Something in me sharpens to a point. My fangs press against the inside of my lip. The space he’s keeping between us has become the most intolerable two inches on earth. I chase his mouth again, pushing, testing, daring him to stop holding back.
This time, he answers with a deeper kiss, slower but heavier, like a storm rolling in instead of lightning striking. His breath mixes with mine, uneven now, control slipping just enough to feel dangerous. My nails scrape over his shoulders, and a rough sound tears from his chest, half growl, half warning.
The world narrows to heat and breath and the steady beat of his heart against mine. I push into him again, refusing to be steadied, wanting friction, wanting the clash. His grip shifts, one hand sliding higher along my spine, anchoring me as I try to take more than he’s willing to give. I catch his lower lip between my teeth and feel him still, a controlled, deliberate stillness, the moment before he commits.
Then he answers.
His mouth comes down on mine harder, and the pressure of it opens my lip against my own fang, the sharp copper tang of my blood blooming between us.
He tastes it.
I feel him taste it.
And a sound leaves his throat that isn’t a word, but is something I will think about the rest of my unnaturally long life.
For a heartbeat, he breaks away, breath hot against my cheek.
“You’re playing with fire,” he mutters.
I smile against his mouth, fangs grazing his lip again. “You’re the one standing in it.”
Something in him snaps.
Chapter Eleven
