He gritted his teeth against the surge of possessive satisfaction that accompanied the thought. She was not his. She was a human. A temporary inconvenience who had wandered into his territory and would soon wander back out of it. Nothing more.
But his beast didn’t care about logic. It only cared that she was here, pressed against him, her scent filling his lungs with every breath. Sweet and warm and utterly, impossibly right.
And then he became aware of another problem.
His body had reacted to her presence in the night—reacted in ways that were entirely inappropriate and completely beyond his control. The evidence of it pressed against his thigh, undeniable and deeply inconvenient.
This cannot happen.
He needed to move. He needed to put distance between them before she woke and realized the situation. Before she looked at him with fear or disgust in those warm hazel eyes.
Carefully, slowly, he began to shift her off his chest. His movements were gentle despite his urgency. He had no desire to startle her awake, only to extricate himself before?—
She stirred.
A soft sound escaped her throat, something between a sigh and a murmur, and she burrowed closer. Her nose pressed against the hollow of his throat, and her lips brushed his skin as she breathed.
Every muscle in his body went rigid. He closed his eyes, fighting for control, fighting the primal instinct to roll her beneath him and?—
No. Absolutely not.
“Jessa,” he said, and his own voice sounded rough and foreign to his ears. “Wake up.”
“Mmm.” The sound vibrated against his neck. “Warm.”
Her eyes fluttered open.
For a moment—one endless, crystalline moment—she simply looked at him. Sleep-soft and vulnerable, her face barely inches from his, her lips parted and her cheeks flushed with warmth. She didn’t flinch or pull away, just gazed at him as if he were something worth looking at.
His beast roared.
Before he knew what he was doing, his hand was cupping her jaw, tilting her face up towards his. She was so soft. So fragile. So impossibly, unbearably close. He could see the faint freckles scattered across her nose, the way her pupils dilated as awareness slowly replaced sleep.
He could kiss her. It would be so easy. Just lower his head and claim those parted lips?—
No.
The word crashed through him like ice water, shattering the moment into jagged pieces.
He released her so abruptly she nearly fell, but he managed to catch her before she hit the ground. Then he was on his feet,putting the dead fire between them, turning his back to her to hide the evidence of his body’s betrayal.
“Get up,” he said roughly, his voice harsh. “We need to move.”
He heard her sharp intake of breath, felt her confusion like a tangible thing in the air between them. But she didn’t ask questions or demand explanations he wasn’t prepared to give. He heard rustling behind him as she gathered herself, and when he finally trusted himself to turn around, she was standing with her satchel in hand and her expression carefully neutral.
“Is there any meat left?” she asked.
“Some. And water for washing by the fire.” He retrieved the wrapped remains of last night’s cottma from where he’d stored it and handed it to her without meeting her eyes. “Eat quickly. The path is long.”
They ate in silence, the easy companionship of the previous evening replaced by something awkward and strained. He couldn’t bring himself to look at her directly, afraid of what she might see in his face. Or perhaps afraid of what he might see in hers.
Foolishness, he told himself savagely.She is human. She means nothing to me. She cannot mean anything.
But his beast disagreed, and the ache in his chest suggested that perhaps his beast knew something his mind didn’t want to accept.
When they finished eating, he turned his attention to the sunvines while she took care of her morning needs. The vines had dried beautifully overnight, the golden fibers now brittleand light, easily separable with gentle pressure. He gathered them carefully and handed them to her when she returned.
“They’re ready,” he said.
