The kiss isn’t gentle this time. It’s fierce, hungry, years snapping tight. Heat surges where our mouths meet, spreading through my chest and down to my belly. His hand slides to the back of my neck, fingers threading through my hair. The scrape of his stubble grazes my skin, sending a shiver racing through me.
I push closer; he meets me with restraint that feels more dangerous than hunger. The world narrows to breath, heartbeat, the solid weight of him.
When I finally pull back, my lips tingle. The air between us crackles.
He’s breathing hard, forehead pressed to mine.
“Lila,” he rasps. “If I touch you again, I won’t stop at one kiss.”
“Then don’t.”
His dark eyes bore into mine, and a hum, low and physical, moves through the room. The fire seems to burn brighter, the shadows sharpening.
My pulse speeds until I can feel it everywhere—neck, wrists, inside my mouth. Heat blooms under my skin, a heavy warmth that rolls through my body like a wave.
“Holt,” I whisper. “What’s happening to me?”
He goes utterly still. The gold in his eyes catches the lanternlight, deepening until it’s not just reflection—it’s coming from somewhere inside him.
“Breathe,” he says, voice wrecked. “It’s nothing to be afraid of.”
But he’s breathing fast, too, and the cords in his neck stand out like he’s fighting something invisible.
The heat builds. Every sense sharpens—the hiss of the logs, the rasp of his breath, the faint whisper of tinsel on the mantel. I can smell the snow melting on his skin, clean and wild.
My body knows what it wants before I do. I sway closer, driven by a need that’s both mine, and outside of my control.
He catches my waist, not pulling me in, just holding me there. His eyes flicker shut. When he opens them again, they’re glowing intensely—predatory, beautiful…
Beastly?
He growls low, the sound thick with need. The room crackles with it—heat, breath, wanting. The world narrows to him and the incredible pull between us.
Then he tears himself away from me, chest rising and falling like he’s been running for miles. “You have no idea what I’m holding back,” he mutters. “Not yet.”
He drags in a shuddering breath and backs to the cabin door.
“You have to trust me,” he says. “You need to stay inside. Lock the door.”
“Holt, wait?—”
He’s already moving, shoving the door open, snow blasting in around him. For a heartbeat he’s framed in the threshold—wind whipping his hair, eyes bright gold in the dark.
Then he’s gone into the storm, swallowed whole.
The door slams on its own weight. The fire flares, the lanterns tremble. For a long moment, I just stand there, heart hammering, skin still tingling where his hands were. The whole cabin smells of him—smoke, pine, something darker underneath.
Then the silence shatters.
A sound tears through the storm outside—low, furious, nothing human.
My body moves before my mind catches up.
I wrench the door open. The wind slams against me, but the cold barely registers. His name pounds in my chest.
“Holt!”
Snow whirls in white sheets. I stumble off the porch, boots sinking deep, my voice ripped away by the storm.
