Until we were both balanced on the edge of breaking.
When she turned to me, it wasn’t as a Scotswoman. There were no enemy lines between us—no history, no borders. When her eyes drank in my half-naked form, there was no animosity. Only drunken desire. Only need.
We held our ground against everything urging us forward.
Then Wulfric growled—low and furious at me for denying him. The sound ripped violently through the room.
Euphemia whimpered, clutching her belly.
She gasped my name.
And I stepped out of the shadows.
Chapter 20
Euphemia
His vicious, lingering growl sent a tremor through my thighs, my chest aching as though it might burst open at the sound. Before I could make sense of it, another cramp tore through me—every bit as violent as the wolf’s call. Tears stung my eyes as I gasped his name, a prayer torn from my throat.
This was nothing like the hunger I had known before. That had been bearable—something I could endure. My sacrifice for my family had been part of our shared struggle.
This was different.
This felt deeper. Older than time itself.
My lips trembled as he drew closer, tears blurring my vision despite my efforts to blink them away.
“Euphemia,” he sighed—my name shaped like a vow.
I reached for him blindly, my hand shaking until his warmth closed around it. The sudden rush of his scent made me gasp, my body answering without permission. His sharp hiss told me the reaction was mutual.
When he didn’t move closer, I lifted my gaze.
His jaw was clenched tight, his eyes glowing amber—burning with restraint rather than hunger.
“Make it stop,” I whispered, tugging on his hand.
His eyes flared as his knuckles brushed over my heated cheeks—cool, soft, grounding.
I leaned into his touch without thinking.
“I will ruin you tonight,” he growled.
The words didn’t frighten me. They settled low and deep, stirring something hungry. I reached for his breeches.
He moved too fast to track.
In a blink, he’d spun me around, guiding me toward the nest. His hands were already working—lifting my dress, tugging it free—before nimble fingers found the laces of my chemise.
I sank down onto the soft bedding, grinding against it, aching for relief. I clutched the shirt he’d handed me earlier and dragged it beneath me, pressing my face into the fabric and breathing him in. The musk clung thick and heady, filling my lungs.
He loosened the final ties and pushed my damp undergarments down my legs.
The freedom from cloth felt right—necessary—but it did nothing to ease the heat coiled inside me. If anything, it only made the ache sharper.
He swept my braid over one shoulder, and I shivered as his lips grazed my bare skin. The touch was light—almost reverent. His fingertips traced slowly down my spine before settling on my hip, steady and possessive.
Then, without warning, he flipped me onto my back.
