My jaw tenses. I grip the wheel with my other hand and force the car back onto the slick asphalt.
I shouldn’t have?—
That wasn’t?—
That was supposed to be for her. I’ve planned every moment, every touch, every breath for when we’re finally alone in that cottage, and I just?—
Wasted it, like some desperate fucking teenager who can’t control himself.
Shame curls low in my gut, but underneath it, there’s something worse.
Ravenousness.
Because I know exactly how good it's going to feel when it's real. When it‘s her skin under my palms instead of empty air. When it’s her voice breaking on my name instead of the silence swallowing me whole. When her body finally teaches me the secrets I can’t learn from watching.
I wipe my hands on my jeans and press the accelerator harder.
One more night.
That’s all that stands between me and everything I’ve ever wanted.
One. More. Night.
39
HOLD ON, SNOWDROP
Andrik-
The walk home should feel lighter, but it doesn’t. Lumi walks a few steps ahead of me, her fingers trailing along the frost-tipped branches like she’s saying goodbye to each one. Bimby button glows softly from her perch in Lumi’s hair, and Nixie’s warning still sits heavy in my chest like a stone I can’t cough up.
It’s not the raven’s omen that’s unraveling me.
It’s her.
Her scent has changed again. Subtly at first—so faint I thought I imagined it. Every breath I take feels like I’m drowning in it. It’s thick and saccharine, coating my tongue until I can almost taste her on the air. My fangs ache—a dull, thrumming pressure in my gums that’s nearly unbearable. A hunger that has nothing to do with food.
Kes’thrûsh vrekâ nakashi. (This scent devours my soul.)
I have to rein it in and stay strong for her sake. The bond is pulling her into heat, and I’m already barely holding myself together.
I watch the way her hips sway slightly as she navigates the uneven terrain. The way she pauses to look back at me, smiling—Gods, that smile—like she trusts me completely.
All I can think about is pinning her against the nearest tree and making her mine.
Rhún. Vesh rhûn. (Breathe. Just breathe.)
“Andrik?” Her voice pulls me back. She’s stopped and turned toward me. “You okay? You’ve been really quiet.”
I force a nod. “Fine.”
She tilts her head, unconvinced. Her dark eyes search my face, and I have to look away before she sees too much—before she realizes I’m one heartbeat away from losing control entirely.
“You’ve said that twice now,” she says softly, stepping closer. “And I haven't believed you either time.”
Her scent hits me like a physical thing. My jaw tenses. Kal’shara vesh—threl nakresh mai. (Stubborn female—if you only knew your own good.)
“Lumi.” My voice comes out rougher than I intend. “We should keep moving.”
