The crowd presses close outside the temple doors, blindfolds clutched in hand. My heart is pounding, not from nerves about the trial itself, but because I knowhewill be here. Mr. Pine and Winterberry. That scent has ingrained itself upon me.
I catch Olcan’s seedy gaze in the crowd. He pushes toward me, but before he can approach, the massive doors groan open. The sound rolls like thunder through the cool night air, bringing with it the scent of ivy and eucalyptus.
We move as one into the temple. I slip deeper, hiding behind some taller male figures out of Olcan’s leery eyesight. Inside is different than yesterday. The open hall beneath the moonlight is softer, more intimate. Thick, padded cushions ring the bases of each column. Sheer curtains, silky and glimmering in the moonbeam. They hang down to partition the space, swaying slightly in the night breeze. The shadows are deep enough to hide sins, even though we will be blindfolded.
To my left, a long table is set out with bowls, platters, and glass dishes. Strawberries. Melted chocolate. A dish ofwhipped cream so perfect I lean in to slip my finger in it, popping it into my mouth.
Oh, wow, they weren’t kidding about tasting.
“Welcome,” a commanding voice draws our attention back toward the doors. The priest raises his arms in welcome. “Tonight’s trial is Taste. Please place your blindfolds on. Where yesterday was based on touching your mate, tonight is centered around relishing their flavor. Follow your senses, find your scented pair andtaste.”
The heavy doors slam shut, sealing us in. I slip my silk blindfold over my eyes and tuck my now-short hair behind my ears.
At once, the hall is filled with movement. Hurried footsteps, curtains swishing, low groans and murmured comments spilling into the shadows.
“Virgin? Where are you, virgin?” a grating voice calls out somewhere to my right.
I turn sharply away from it. The last thing I want is to be found by Olcan or his creepy brother.
A hand catches my wrist. I jerk, ready to swing, when a nose nuzzles into the hollow of my neck.
“There you are,” a deep, familiar voice groans. Pine. Winterberry. My knees nearly give way.
It’s him.
My lungs inhale his scent as he pulls me into the shelter of a column’s draped curtain. The absence of the moon dissipates on my skin. His arms settle around me, solid and warm, and every muscle in my body goes tight. Suddenly, the snickers of those girls resurface. What do I know about pleasing a mate? What if he expects things from me?
To distract myself from my thoughts, I ask, “What can I call you?” My voice is softer than I mean for it to be. “I don’t even know your name.”
His nose skims the line of my jaw. The growl vibrates through my skin. “Mate.”
The word hits me like a jolt. Oh gods. That’s why my body reacts to him. That’s why I’ve been craving him since the moment he touched me. The trials…worked. On myfirstseason.
His lips ghost along my neck. I’m blind, but every breath, every touch seems sharper in the dark. When he exhales, his nose brushes mine. His hands cradle my cheeks before his mouth claims mine in a kiss that’s slow at first, soft, teasing. Slowly breaking down my wall of doubt.
The second kiss is deeper, more tempting, dangerous. His tongue sweeps along my bottom lip, coaxing me to open to him. Gods, he tastes like winter wind over warm pine, sharp and earthy, andmine.
This is the last shred of doubt falling away to primal hunger. He groans, leaning into me. It appears he’s just as excited as I am. The evidence is hard against my stomach. The only time I ever even thought about the fact that we’re always nude is when I walked into the feast a few days ago, but now with his hardness pressed onto me, I’m going to be unable to think of anything else.
I fist his hair and pull him closer, losing myself in the hungry press of lips and teeth. He growls low in his throat as his mouth leaves mine, trailing heat down my neck, across my collarbone. His hands slide down, mapping my body like he’s memorizing me.
The cushions give under my hips as he lowers me, his weight braced above me. My thighs part under the confident glide of his palms, and then his mouth isthere— hot, insistent.
“Gods!” The sound rips from my throat before I can stop it.
He chuckles against me, the sound sending shivers up myspine. Around us, other wolves groan, gasp, cry out. It’s a symphony of primal hunger. But his focus is only on me. Every flick of his tongue is deliberate, devastating. The pressure in my core builds until I’m gasping, clawing at the cushions, and when I shatter, it’s with his hands gripping my thighs tight enough to bruise.
He doesn’t stop. He devours until I’m trembling, squeezing my legs around his head. Only then does he kiss his way back up, every inch of my skin a raw nerve.
“You taste delicious,” he growls into my ear, trailing a fang down my throat.
I shiver, causing my nipples to brush against his warm chest.
“May I taste you, mate?” he asks.
“I thought you already did?” As the words leave my mouth, I realize where he is, that his fangs are against the skin of my neck, patiently waiting. Gods, this is happening. Claiming: the act of a mate to claim you as theirs. Teeth marks are the equivalent of a wedding ring in our society, a brand for all to see.
“Uh… I…” Yes. I want to say yes, but I don’t even know his name or his pack. My brother, what if I’m leaving him alone?
