And the rest...Fill you. Until you can't walk.
That part, I understand.
It should revolt me. It should make me run for the wrench. But instead, a hot, heavy liquid sensation pools in my belly. My body responds to the threat before my brain can process the mechanics of it. My hips rock forward, just a fraction, seeking the friction.
Jax squeezes his eyes shut. A groan tears out of his throat, vibrating through my chest.
He pulls back abruptly, putting three feet of distance between us. He looks at me with wild, tortured eyes. He looks at his hand—the one I kissed—and curls it into a fist, but he doesn't reach for the spike.
"Don't touch me again," he says, his voice shaking. "Unless you want me to finish it."
14
JAX
The barometer is dropping. I feel it in my teeth.
It’s a deep, dull ache in the marrow of my jaw, a warning that the sky is about to crack open. The air is so heavy with electricity that the hair on my arms stands up, static dancing across my skin. The swamp is holding its breath, the insects silent, waiting for the violence of the storm.
The Wolf likes the storm. The Wolf wants to run into the lightning and scream back at the thunder. But the Man is tired. The Man is frayed at the edges, worn thin by six days of sleeping so close and smelling a woman he can’t touch.
I push through the cypress knees, mud sucking at my boots. I’m doing the perimeter sweep, checking the sensors Remy set up.
Three shadows detach themselves from the tree line ahead.
"Alpha," Vance grunts. He’s a big male, thick-necked and prone to thinking with his fists. He’s holding a rifle loosely in one hand, looking miserable in the humidity.
"Report," I say, not stopping.
"Quiet on the north ridge," Vance says, falling into step beside me. "But the boys are talking, Jax. They’re seeing those trucks on the levee. They’re seeing the blockade."
"Let 'em talk," I growl. "Talk don't cost nothing."
"It costs morale," Vance counters. He stops, forcing me to turn. "Look, Jax. We respect the Truce. But we’re bleeding out here. We can’t hunt. We can’t fish. And for what? A Duval stray?"
My jaw tightens. "She ain't a stray. She’s under my protection."
"She’s a Leech," Vance spits the word. "She’s one of them. Matilde’s blood. Why are we risking the Pack for a creature that would drain us dry if she got the chance?"
"She ain't like them," I warn, my voice dropping. "Watch your mouth, Vance."
"I'm just saying what everyone is thinking," Vance presses, stupidly bold. "Maybe we hand her over. Matilde pays the bounty, the siege ends, and we get back to?—"
I grab Vance by the throat and slam him into the trunk of a water oak.
Thud.
The impact shakes the tree, sending a shower of dead leaves down on us. Vance chokes, his eyes going wide as he claws at my hand. I don't let go. The Wolf is right there, snarling in my ear, demanding I tear out the throat of the thing threatening what is ours.
"You suggest trading her again," I snarl, leaning in until my nose touches his, "and I bury you in the marsh."
"Jax..." Vance wheezes, his face turning red. "Jesus, Jax. It’s just a woman."
"She ain't just a woman!" I roar, the thunder overhead cracking at the exact same moment. "She’s my Mate!"
I freeze.
Vance stops struggling. The other two wolves, who had been hanging back, step forward with slack jaws.
