Page 151 of Torin

Twice.

Again.

Then his whole body tightens. A roar rips from his chest as he comes deep inside me, pulling me so tightly against him that I can barely move.

I don’t want to move.

I hold on to him as the last shudders run through both of us, my face buried against his shoulder, his breath hot against my neck.

He stays there, his weight warm and heavy over mine, his heart hammering against my chest.

Slowly, my breathing begins to settle. My shoulder stings. My entire body aches. And I feel fucking incredible.

Torin lifts his head and looks at the mark on my shoulder. The feral hunger is still there, but there’s something else in his expression now. He touches the skin beside the bite with extraordinary care.

“My mate.” There’s so much satisfaction in those two words that I smile.

“Your mate.”

His irises flare.

Then he kisses me again, deeply enough to make my toes curl despite the fact that I’m fairly sure he’s just destroyed every functioning muscle in my body.

When he finally pulls away, he gathers me against his chest.

I go willingly, curling into him as he pulls the covers over us. A deep sigh of satisfaction spills out of me.

For days, I’ve been trying to get somewhere safe.

But lying here with Torin’s claiming mark throbbing at my shoulder and his body curved around mine, I finally understand what safe really means: not being hidden. Being free. And choosing exactly where I want to be.

Which is right here in his arms.

EPILOGUE

Three Months Later

Isit beside Professor Bennett at the front of a packed lecture hall, a microphone in my hand. Torin is near the back, looking unfairly good in a black shirt and dark jeans. Every now and then, I catch sight of him between the rows of faces, and each time, I feel a little less nervous. We’ve been taking questions for almost twenty minutes, and hands are still going up across the room.

The moderator points to a woman a few rows back, and one of the student volunteers carries a microphone over to her.

“Do you think you would have uncovered the full story if your father hadn’t tried to stop you?”

“No.”

I don’t have to think about it.

“I would have published. I had enough by then. I’d found connections between East Ridge and several missing women and suspicious deaths, and I had evidence that reports had been altered and other evidence buried by the sheriff’s department.”

I shift the microphone in my hand.

“But there were things I couldn’t get to. Police records I knew existed but couldn’t access. Evidence that had supposedly been lost. Witness statements that contradicted the official reports. Cases that had been closed before anyone asked some very obvious questions.”

The woman nods. “So, what changed?”

“My father got arrested.”

A few people laugh.