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Sylvan, however, had so much understanding in his eyes. No fear or pity, just understanding. It made me want to step even closer. I hated it. He’s just trying to get on your good side, I reminded myself. “Don’t pretend you get me, lycan,” I said. “I’m not whoever you knew with this disease. I’m not one of you, and I never will be. It’s not with unjustified hatred for your kind that I say this; it’s because I’m not like any kind. I am both and neither at the same time, and that is something no one will be able to understand. So come off the righteous, sympathetic shit and stop trying to psychoanalyze me.”

“If you’d only let someone in, maybe they will be able to understand you,” he said.

“Ugh, you are so infuriating!” I turned to storm off, but his fingers wrapped around my wrist, pulling me back so hard I crashed into his body. My chest heaved against his, and I tilted my head back to look at him as I yanked my arm from his grasp. “I loathe you,” I said.

He laughed, the vibration of it rolling through our bodies now flush against each other. “I loathe you, too.” He said it without much ferocity, adding, “Leech,” as an afterthought, just as mildly.

“Beast,” I countered, my voice coming out tight and breathless.

The heat that radiated off his body was laced with anger and frustration, but there was something else there. I felt it sinking into my marrow. His scent encompassed my senses, sharp and bruising, warm and woodsy, and spiced—teakwood and leather. Sylvan.

Blood raced through my veins, heat gathering low in my stomach so intensely I thought another feverish attack was impending. I started to retreat, but Sylvan’s hand cupped the nape of my neck, holding me in place. “You don’t have to hide who you are around me,” he whispered. “Stop fighting.”

I started to tug away, to tell him he couldn’t tell me what to do, but something in the warmth of his hand against my skin, in the intensity in his eyes and the intoxicating scent I couldn’t quite place leaking from his pores, brought back his poetic words to my mind again.

The little control I had slipped from my grasp, and maybe I should’ve stepped away, but I melted into him instead. We seemed to move at the same time with sudden force. There was nothing gentle or cautious about the kiss. It was ravenous, seeking, blistering. His hand splayed across my lower back, pressing me into him, though there was already no space between us. His other hand slipped into my hair as my mouth opened to his.

Each stroke of his tongue radiated to my center. Damp heat pooled between my thighs, and the ache grew to an almost unbearable level. The whimper that left my lips pulled an overwhelming scent of arousal from him. A low rumble deep in his chest left me throbbing. He gathered me in his arms, my legs twining around his waist, the vials on my belt rattling between us before my ass landed on a surface.

Books and pages tumbled off my desk, thudding to the floor. I reached back to press my hands against the mahogany, to steady my trembling body, but I only succeeded in knocking more items off. I was guided onto the desk, my body sprawled across it, my head practically hanging over the edge.

Something shattered loudly, but Sylvan’s hand was still in my hair, his lips burning a path down the column of my neck. His fingers slipped beneath my dress as his tongue swept along the hollow of my throat. And holy fucking gods … I gasped. “Sylvan.” His name was a moan on my lips as my cunt clenched desperately, needily. I was so completely enraptured by him. So willing at that moment to let him strip me bare right atop my desk and bury himself inside of me.

Through the haze, I fought to regain my logic. Every part of me was burning, my breath short, and a sudden longing to taste his blood filled me with such force I was practically drooling. His neck was so close. I could just … I could … If … “Stop,” I gritted out, struggling to keep from writhing. He lifted his gaze to mine, and I shoved my hand against his chest.

He barely budged but his fingers slipped from my hair. Hands bracketed on my thighs. My legs were still splayed open, my dress hiked up to my waist. His gaze fell on my bite scar, and something like rage permeated the air. He stepped back, giving me space, and I finally found the strength to gather my composure. The air between us was still sizzling, and when my chest finally stopped heaving and my mouth ceased watering, something sparked in Sylvan’s eyes. Amusement.

“You said my name,” he said, with a way-too-satisfied grin. “You didn’t just say it either, you⁠—”

“Fuck you,” I mumbled, and he laughed, the sound making my stomach flutter. I shoved the black and gold lace back over my legs and my hair fell over my shoulders, partially covering my eyes. My hands flew to my head, finding one of the large pins was still there, but dislodged and doing nothing to keep my wild waves back. I tugged it free with some difficulty and set it aside as I scooted to the edge of the desk. I quickly ran my fingers over my belt, which had inched up my waist. Everything seemed intact, at least.

Books and loose pages were scattered on the floor, and my paperweight had broken into several pieces. “Look what you did, you graceless moron.” I hopped off and gathered up a few of the broken shards. “A friend gifted me this paperweight.”

“What I did? I believe it was your ass that displaced everything.”

“You positioned me.”

He grinned when I stood, my face angled up to his. He slid his tongue over the top row of his teeth as if to hide a smile, but the glint in his eyes gave him away. That tongue though … the feel of it against the hollow of my neck. I ignored the ripple of pleasure cascading down my spine, but a fleeting look across his face told me that he sensed it.

“Well, help me clean up,” I snapped.

“Aura?”

I hated the friendly tone in which he’d said my name.

“How much do you know about your lycan biology?”

I nearly dropped the glass shards I’d gathered into my palm. “Excuse me?”

“Purposeful shifting, your cycles—including Heat, sex, and your reproductive⁠—”

“Stop talking right now.”

He grinned before beginning to gather the fallen books. In silence, we continued to clean, all the while stealing glances. We both pretended not to catch the other looking, but after what had just occurred, it was hard to just continue things as usual.

“So,” I said, a little too loudly. “Lobofebris. This book talks about transmission.” I removed it from the stack and placed it at the edge of the desk. “This one is on the history of attacks, with some cases that very clearly insinuate the lycans behind the attacks had been infected.” I set that one beside it. “And this one is about the Lucerin⁠—”

I didn’t get my sentence out before he snatched the book. He flipped it open and stared at the words, his eyes drinking in whatever is on the page with such speed that had I not known better, I would’ve assumed it was an exciting story. “What is it?” I asked.