16
TOLIN
I’ve been out here for two hours.
The woodpile is stacked so high it’s ridiculous. Enough wood to last three winters, not just one hibernation. But I keep swinging the ax, keep splitting logs, keep doing anything that isn’t going back inside that cabin.
My bear is furious with me.
He’s been pacing inside my skull since dawn, growling and snapping, demanding we go back to our mate. He doesn’t understand why we’re out here in the cold when she’s in there, warm and soft and smelling like heaven.
But I know myself. I know what will happen if I get too close to her right now.
Last night broke something in me. The taste of her, the sounds she made, the way she came apart on my fingers. It’s all I can think about. Every time I close my eyes, I see her face when she came. Every time I breathe, I smell her arousal still clinging to my skin.
If I touch her again, I won’t stop.
And when I claim her, when I finally bury myself inside her and make her mine, she’s never leaving. I’ll burn downher apartment building if I have to. Destroy every tie she has to her old life. Keep her locked in this cabin until she forgets there was ever a world outside these walls.
The possession is already building. I can feel it in my bones, in my blood, in the way my hands shake when I think about another man even looking at her.
She’s mine. My mate. My everything.
But she doesn’t know that yet. And I need her to choose me willingly, not because I’ve trapped her so thoroughly she has no other option.
So I’m out here. Chopping wood like a damn fool. Avoiding the woman I’d die for because I can’t trust myself around her.
The cabin door opens.
I don’t turn around, but I hear her footsteps on the porch. Feel her eyes on my back. My bear immediately perks up, straining toward her.
“You’re avoiding me.”
Her voice cuts through the cold air. Not a question. An accusation.
I bring the ax down on another log, splitting it clean. “I’m chopping wood.”
“You’ve been chopping wood since before sunrise. The pile is taller than I am.”
“Winter is long.”
“Tolin.”
I finally turn to look at her.
She’s standing on the porch with her arms crossed, wearing my coat. It swallows her whole, the sleeves hanging past her hands, the hem hitting her mid-thigh. She looks ridiculous.
My bear practically purrs at the sight. Our mate in our clothes. Wearing our scent.
“Come inside,” she says. “It’s freezing out here.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re being an idiot.”
“That too.”
She huffs out a breath, fog curling in the cold air, and marches down the porch steps. My whole body tenses as she stomps through the snow toward me, her boots crunching with each step.
