“The Rift is flaring up,” I say. “It’s not safe. I need you to stay indoors. Lock the doors. Don’t go to work.”
“But I have to open the shop, the prescriptions?—”
“This could end badly, Caroline,” I cut her off, my tone leaving no room for argument. “Stay. Here.”
She swallows hard and gives a small, tight nod.
I walk to the door, my hand on the knob. “I’ll call you later.” I pause, looking back at her. “And our conversation isn’t over.”
She nods again, her eyes wide.
“Be careful,” she tells me.
I cross the room in two strides and lean in, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. Her skin is still hot. Then I turn and walk out, pulling the door shut behind me.
I’m halfway down the porch steps when I stop.
Fuck it.
I turn and stride back to the door. I don’t knock. I try the handle. It’s unlocked. I push it open and step inside.
She’s still standing in the middle of the living room, right where I left her. She looks up, startled.
I cross the room to her in three long steps. I don’t say a word. I just reach out, cup the back of her head with my hand, and kiss her.
I pour all the frustration, the fear, the lust of the last twenty-four hours into it. I slant my mouth over hers, my tongue tracing the seam of her lips, demanding entry.
She makes a small, surprised sound against my mouth, her hands coming up to grip my arms. For a second, she’s tense, but then she melts against me, her lips parting, her tongue meeting mine.
It’s everything I imagined and more. It’s a spark in a powder keg. It’s the answer to a question I’ve been asking for days now.
She still wants me.
I pull back, breathing hard. I rest my forehead against hers, my eyes closed. “Later,” I promise. Then I force myself to let her go, to turn and walk away.
I have a town to save.
Spell of Calm Breath:
Count seven in, hold three, exhale nine. Peace follows the rhythm.
The door clicks shut. The sound is small, final. I stand in the middle of my living room, my hand rising to my lips. They still tingle. I can still feel the pressure of his mouth, the possessive sweep of his tongue.
It was a claim. A branding.
My body is humming with a current that started the second he touched me. This morning, I woke with an ache, a low, persistent throb between my legs. I tried to soothe it, my own hands sliding over my skin, my fingers searching for that sweet, releasing friction.
Nothing. My body was a locked room, the key nowhere to be found. I was blocked, my own mind and flesh refusing to cooperate.
And now. Shit.
One kiss from Damon Wilder, and the dam hasn’t just broken. It has been obliterated. A liquid heat pools in my belly, making my knees weak. My skin feels too tight, sensitive to the brush of the cotton T-shirt against my breasts. My nipples are hard, aching points. The scent of him, clean night air, and something uniquely him, still clings to me, mixing with the sweat on my skin.
I need sex.
Guilt is a cold splash of water. Griffin. I should be thinking of him. I should feel ashamed for this reaction to another man. But the guilt is distant, muffled by the pounding of my own blood. When I think of Griffin, there’s warmth. It’s safe. It’s what I’m supposed to want. But it doesn’t feel like this. This isn’t a fire I can tend. It’s a wildfire, a blaze that will consume me whole.
Then there’s Silas. The thought of him sends a different kind of shiver through me. It’s not just desire. It’s fear. A cold, sharp fear that feels like ice against the heat Damon stoked. But it’s a potent mix. My Omega senses are screaming, a symphony of warning and awareness. He’s a threat. He’s powerful. He’s an Alpha who looks at me like I’m a puzzle he wants to take apart.
