“You…” she whispers, voice raw.
“Mine,” I rasp, the word tearing out of me. “My… water.”
She shivers, heat rolling off her in a fresh wave, and a low purr starts in my chest.
I have tasted her. I have taken her water into my body. The dust has not marked us yet, and the bond has not snapped into place, but here in the dark, I know the truth.
I am already hers.
And if any other male tries to touch her, I will tear the world apart.
Chapter 14
WE ARE NOT DISCUSSING THE WET SPOT
MIKAELA
If I had even one functioning brain cell left, it would be screaming at me.
Instead, all remaining neurons have dissolved into a warm, golden puddle.
I’m still pressed against the rock, legs shaking, lungs trying to remember their job.
Sarven is braced over me, one hand planted on the wall by my head, the other still cupping my thigh. His glow has gone up at least three levels; this little pocket of tunnel looks like someone dragged a sunrise into it. And his eyes are fully crimson, pupils narrowed almost out of existence.
He isn’t moving.
He isn’t even breathing.
He’s vibrating. A low tremor runs through his entire frame, transferring straight into my body where we’re pressed together.
“Okay,” I whisper, my voice sounding wrecked. “That was…”
What, exactly? Extremely ill-advised? Extremely, obscenely good?
Sarven doesn’t answer. He doesn’t blink. He just stares at me with a terrifying intensity, his nostrils flaring wide as he inhales the scent of what just happened.
He looks like a starved wolf who just tasted blood and is trying to decide whether to devour the rest of the prey.
“Sarven?” I try again, softer.
He flinches.
His head snaps down. He looks at his hand, the one he just licked clean, as if it belongs to someone else.
“Taste,” he grinds out. It sounds like rocks breaking. The earbud pulses a few times before giving me a translation. “Taste… life.”
He leans in so suddenly, another delicious shiver echoes through me as he drops his head and presses his face into the curve of my neck, inhaling so hard the scale-tunic shifts upward toward the flow.
Then he rubs his jaw against mine. Hard. Hot skin scraping over my jaw, my neck, my shoulder. As if he’s coating me in his scent.
“Mine,” he growls against my throat. “Water… mine. Heat… mine.”
My heart hammers a frantic rhythm against my ribs. This isn’t the gentle spoon-carver. This is the predator who sat in the shadows for weeks, sharpening a blade and watching me with a hunger he finally let off the leash.
And God help me, I don’t want him to stop.
I tilt my head back, baring my throat, and his breath washes hot over my skin. His teeth graze over me… testing. Threatening.
