“Was the alcohol enough?” Thane asked. Another step. His voice was close now, dangerous and low. “Did it burn the memory out of your mouth, or just make you crave more?”
“Stop,” Riven whispered.
But Thane was already stepping into his space. Riven felt the wall at his back before he realized Thane had moved that fast, crowding him into it. His breath hitched. Thane’s hands bracedon either side of his head, boxing him in without touching him. His eyes glittered like sharpened glass.
“Did you wish I’d walk into that bar?” Thane murmured. “Did you spend the whole night looking at the door, hoping the Beast would come collect you?”
Riven said nothing. He didn’t have to. Thane could see the truth of it all over him.
“Thought so,” Thane said, with the barest curve of a smile. His mouth was inches from Riven’s now. “You don’t even know what you want, do you?”
Riven hated the way he shivered at that. Hated how true it felt.
“I think you want someone to tell you what you are,” Thane continued. “What you’re for. But the question is, are you bold enough to take it?”
Riven’s breath came in shallow pulls, chest rising and falling too fast. The scent of Thane—smoke, steel, power—wrapped around him like a chain. He tried to speak, but the words wouldn’t come. All that came was hunger.
And inevitability.
“I hate you,” Riven said hoarsely, even as his hand curled in Thane’s shirt.
Thane only smiled, predator-slow. “Then stop thinking about me.”
Riven didn’t. Couldn’t. Instead, he surged forward and crashed his mouth to Thane’s.
The kiss landed like a gunshot in the silence.
And the rest would burn.
Chapter 23
The door slammed shut behind them.
Riven wasn’t sure if Thane had kicked it closed or just used the sheer force of his presence, but the sound echoed through the small guest room like a warning. The lights were dim, the furniture bare save for a narrow bed and a dresser, neutral and anonymous. A room meant for no one in particular—except, apparently, for what was about to happen now.
Thane didn’t speak. He stalked forward with a dangerous calm, his eyes never leaving Riven’s face. He looked like a man barely restraining a storm, and Riven couldn’t pretend he wasn’t drawn to it.
Riven’s back hit the wall with a soft thud, the plaster cold against his spine. He opened his mouth to speak, but Thane was already there—crowding in close, bracing one hand on the wall beside Riven’s head.
“You still taste like alcohol,” Thane murmured, voice rough and low. “But under it…I think I can still find me.”
Riven’s breath caught.
Thane leaned closer, his mouth hovering just off Riven’s lips, his fingers trailing down the center of Riven’s chest, slow enough to make it feel like a threat. “Is that what you want?” Thane asked, his voice like a razor dragged soft over skin. “You want me to remind you?”
Riven’s body answered before he could. Heat surged, want curling low in his stomach. He didn’t trust his voice, didn’t trust anything about this—about the way Thane could smell his need like blood in the water.
When he didn’t answer, Thane’s lips barely brushed his cheek as he spoke again. “Get on your knees.”
The command was soft. Almost gentle, but it brooked no argument.
Riven didn’t move at first.
His pride screamed at him not to. His shame, louder. But the part of him ruled by want won out in the end—by the memory of Thane in his mouth, heavy and demanding, by the weight of his mark on Riven’s skin.
Slowly, he dropped.
Thane watched him the whole way down, gaze sharpened by hunger and possession. When Riven settled on his knees, Thane’s hand drifted into his hair, not tugging, just curling there in a claiming hold.
