This all-consuming need that turned him into someone he didn’t recognize. Someone who took what he wanted, claimed what was his without thought for consequences.
Someone like the male he used to be. The warrior he’d tried to bury.
His hand slid into her hair, tilting her head to change the angle, to taste her deeper. She whimpered, and the sound nearly broke what was left of his control. He could take her right here, in the dirt and dust with the krulaati smell still thick in the air. His body wanted to. Every instinct screamed to claim her properly, to make sure everyone knew who she belonged to.
Including her.
The thought was so clear, so visceral, it shocked him back to reality.
What the draanth was he doing?
He jerked back like she’d burned him, stumbling a step away. They stood there, breathing hard and staring at each other. Her lips were swollen, color high in her cheeks despite the dust and tears. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, and her hands were still half-raised like she’d been reaching for him when he pulled away.
“Goraath—” Her voice was rough, breathless.
“No.” The word came out harsher than he’d intended. He stepped back again when she moved toward him. “That was... that shouldn’t have happened.”
“But—”
“You’re hurt.” He focused on that. On something… anything that wasn’t the way she looked at him, confused and hurt. “You need medical attention. Those cuts need cleaning.”
She glanced down at her palms like she’d forgotten about them. Blood had dripped onto her pants, leaving dark spots on the fabric. “They’re not that bad?—”
Before she could protest further, he scooped her up. She weighed nothing, fit against him perfectly, and he hated how right it felt. Her arms went around his neck automatically, like they belonged there. Like she belonged there.
“I can walk,” she said against his shirt.
“No.”
That was all he could manage. One word. Anything more and he might do something stupid like apologize. Or worse, kiss her again.
She tucked her face against his shoulder, and he felt her exhale, long and shaky. “You’re hurt too.”
“I’m fine.”
“Liar.” But she didn’t push, just held on as he carried her toward the house.
The house that had never seemed so far away. Each step was torture, her body warm in his arms, her breath against his neck. That hum in his chest getting stronger. Something primal roared with satisfaction… she was letting him care for her, trusting him. His instincts wanted to carry her straight to his bed, tend her wounds, then keep her there so she’d never be in danger again.
He locked it down. All of it. The fear, the want, the desperate need to never let her go. Built walls around it until he could breathe without wanting to roar. Until he could pretend that kiss hadn’t just destroyed every defense he’d built.
His hands were shaking. By the time they reached the kitchen door, he’d almost convinced himself he could handle this.
Almost.
Chapter 8
The kitchen counter was cold under her thighs. Juni sat where Goraath had placed her, hands palm-up on her knees, watching blood seep through the dirt and gravel embedded in her skin. Her whole body felt disconnected, like she was floating somewhere above it, watching from a distance.
Goraath moved through his kitchen with the ease of long practice, yanking open cabinets, and pulled out a battered metal box with an odd symbol painted on the side. The antiseptic smell hit her nose before he even opened it… sharp and medicinal, nothing like Earth’s sterile hospital scent. This was raw. Harsher.
“This will hurt.”
He set the box beside her hip, close enough she felt the heat radiating from his body. The last time he’d been this close, his mouth had been on hers. Hard. Claiming. Her lips still felt swollen from it, tingling every time she breathed. She waited for him to acknowledge it, say something, anything, but he just pulled out gauze and antiseptic like nothing had happened.
He turned his back for a moment and her eyes widened. Crap. His shirt was shredded across the back. Blood had soaked through in three spots where hooves had struck him.
Because of her.
