It was only an hour ago when Rissa mended my wounds, and already I feel a thousand times better, as if the fight with the demon was only a fever dream. Chuckling softly under my breath, my lips curl into a satisfied smirk, my eyes lifting to Rissa sleeping on the bed, and I’m in awe of her.
I’d pointedly avoided being treated by her throughout the years, going to the other healers in the pack clinic if I needed any treatment during my training days. But Rissa doesn’t seem to stop surprising me, and I can’t help but become fixated on her sleeping face, reminded of the extent of her beauty and how it beckons my inner wolf.
Staring at her for countless moments is probably why I notice her flinching in her sleep, the movement so slight that I wouldn’t have caught it otherwise.
That’s not the only movement she makes. I watch as she winds her arms tighter across her chest and see the way her bottom lip trembles as if she’s being tortured.
When her face contorts as if she’s in pain, and she whimpers as if it’s unbearable, I take an involuntary step forward, catching myself, checking up on her. I pause with a frown, wondering why I suddenly care about her condition at all.
Unless she was hurt by the demon.
A quick, calculated backtrack of the encounter with the demon dog reminds me that she’d been abruptly thrown off myback when I carried her in wolf form, and she’d tumbled to the ground when the demon attacked me.
Had she gotten hurt then?
“P-please…” Rissa murmurs in her sleep, her squeamish voice coupled with her squirming doing something to elicit an innate response in me.
In a flash, I’m at her side of the bed, a hand reaching out to touch her forehead that scorches my knuckles with the impenetrable heat radiating off her.
I draw my hand back with a sharp intake of breath that fills my lungs with the potent scent of sweet jasmine—a flower that doesn’t bloom in this part of the woods. My eyes widen with realization as I inhale again, my senses going into overdrive as if my inner wolf is clawing on my insides.
My chest pounds with my sudden, deep breaths, as if I’m drinking in that sweet scent like sustenance to my being, becoming ravenous while Rissa continues to murmur and writhe in torment. My hands curl into fists as I fight my inner wolf’s desperate need to soothe Rissa from the torture she’s facing, brought on by the onset of her heat.
That’s exactly what this is, and why the air in the small confines of the hut has turned tooth-achingly sweet and enticing to my inner wolf, threatening to burst at the seams with the rush of hot blood flowing through my veins. Highly aroused and aware of the she-wolf’s condition, I feel like I’m going to punch something if I can’t get to her.
If I thought I could escape mating with the omega, I was wrong. Not only has the emergence of her mystical powers ignited her heat, but my inner wolf’s magnetization toward her in her time of desperation only means one thing. The prophecy was right—Rissa and I are destined to be mated. It’s the key tounlocking the full potential of her powers. It’s the one thing that will calm her right now.
“Rissa,” I call out, my voice gruff and ragged as if the air in my lungs has been burned dry.
“P-please…” she pleads again, twisting on the bed and curling into herself on one side.
I always suspected that there was a hidden reason why I couldn’t resist the urge to lash out at her, wanting to constantly push her away because I couldn’t accept the undeniable truth.
It’s not my first time being around a she-wolf in heat, but it’s my first meeting with the voracious beast that exists inside me. The torture of my hunger is a response to Rissa’s chemical signals swimming in the air, pulsing from her core, and calling to me to deal with it the way I primally should be taking care of her.
Omega Rissa Rudolph, the Snehvolk Pack’s healer and a descendant of the original Blackmaw Pack, is destined to be my mate, as if our beings were forged from the same cloth used by the Moon Goddess when we were created. The recognition of Rissa’s wolf as it silently begs me to soothe her should be alarming, but it feels like the most natural thing to reach out for her and place a hand on her shoulder, even if I’m sure I’ll be met with resistance.
She hates me, after all. I can’t blame her. I only have myself to thank for it.
Chapter 7 - Rissa
“P-please…” I whimper with fear trickling down my spine. The hot licking flames surround me, the voluptuous heat torturous as it kisses my cheeks, sending bolts of stinging pain coursing through my veins.
The fire is everywhere, consuming my vision in spots of gold and emerald that surround me. The only evidence that I’m still alive is my racing heart and the feel of soft blades of grass beneath my feet.
Panic rises in my throat with traces of acidity burning my tongue, rendering me speechless as I part my lips to call out for help. No sound comes from me, but there’s hissing and alternate roaring as the flames dance before my eyes. I lift trembling hands to my throat, which suddenly feels constricted as if a malevolent force has its tendrils around my neck, choking me to death.
But death doesn’t come when the flames before me part as if they’d just been compelled out of the way by a gust of wind. They waltz to the sides, parting like curtains on a stage that opens up to an act that makes my eyes widen with shock.
A dark silhouette stands between the hot flames, a male figure whose broad shoulders taper into a refined waist. His sovereign chest puffs out when he breathes, and a thick, muscular arm reaches out for me.
I’m no longer struggling to breathe as if the faceless man’s presence comes to soothe me. I feel my brows knitting with a fleeting frown that passes as I reach out in response and place my hand on his palm.
Warmth spreads through me then, but it’s not frightening like the fire was. It soothes me and calms my breathing, allowingme to catch the smell of sweet florals through the smell of burning wood.
Though I can’t see his face, there’s a sense of familiarity that allows me to step forward and lay my head on his chest, the roaring and hissing sounds of the fire fading and allowing me to feel safe enough to close my eyes with a sigh. A chorus of chirping birds prompts me to open my eyes to find that we’re standing in the forest during the thick of summer, between vibrant flowers blooming all around us.
The golden sun in the sky casts a warm glow on my tanned flesh, and I follow my arm until I find my hand perched on the shoulder that was only a silhouette before. Now, that shoulder belongs to a bunch of muscles beneath creamy skin, my fingers covering a tribal tattoo on a firm chest.
