I kissed him, not shy but not bold either. He met me halfway, mouth hot and a little desperate. When his hands came up, they were gentle, but the rest of him wasn’t. He bit my lip, slid his fingers into my hair, and angled my head to kiss deeper.
I felt my own body answer, heat pooling low, pulse spiking. I let him roll me over, let the weight of him pin me to the thin rug. His cock pressed against my hip, and for a second, I wanted to laugh; it was so obvious, but then he slid his hand between my legs, and it wasn’t funny at all.
He stroked, fingers slick and clever, spreading me open until I could barely breathe. I arched up, needing more, and he obliged, two fingers plunging in as his thumb circled my clit in lazy, ruthless spirals. I gasped, tried to squirm away, but he held me down, one hand splayed across my ribs.
He never stopped kissing me, even when he was working me with his fingers. I could taste his hunger, the need in it, the wild thing inside him barely caged. I bit back, hard, and he groaned, the sound vibrating down to where his fingers worked me.
I was close, so close it hurt, but I wanted more. I reached down, wrapped my hand around his cock, feeling the pulse of blood and heat. I stroked him, slow, then faster, loving the way his breath changed, how his hips jerked at my touch.
He broke the kiss, eyes gone gold in the firelight. “If you keep doing that, I’m gonna come.”
I grinned, sharp as a fox. “Maybe I want that.”
He swore, shoved my hand away, then slid down my body, mouth leaving a wet trail across my breast, my stomach, pausingto bite at my hip. Then he was between my legs, tongue hot and rough as a cat’s, licking and sucking until I saw stars. I fisted both hands in his hair, dragged him closer, and rode his face until I shattered.
When I came down, he was grinning, chin wet, cock harder than before. He kissed up my body, then shoved me onto my knees, ass in the air, cheek pressed to the rug. I felt his hands on my hips, holding me steady, then the blunt head of his cock at my entrance.
He pushed in slow, filling me in one long, aching thrust. I moaned, the sound loud in the hut, and he started moving, fucking me hard and deep. Every stroke slammed my hips into the floor, every thrust rougher than the last. I wanted it, needed it, craved the burn and the stretch and the way he filled me so completely.
He bent over me, hand snaking around to rub my clit as he pounded into me. I came again, harder than before, my cunt spasming around his cock, milking him for all he was worth.
“Fuck,” he gasped, pulling out. “Turn around.”
I obeyed, rolling onto my back. He lifted my legs, draped them over his shoulders, then lined himself up with my ass. I tensed, but he spat in his hand, slicked his cock, then pressed in, slow but relentless.
The stretch was fierce, but good. I’d never been taken that way, not by choice, but now I wanted it more than anything. He moved slowly at first, letting me adjust, but when he saw I could take it, he fucked me hard, every thrust driving me into the floor.
I locked eyes with him, and in that moment, I saw the wolf. Not just the tattoo, but the animal, the hunger, the thing that would break the world to get what it wanted.
He came with a shout, filling me, collapsing over my body as the last of the fire died out.
We lay there, sweat cooling, breath mingling in the dark.
And then it started.
It was a ripple, at first—an itch beneath my skin, a shudder in my bones. I felt my limbs tremble, the muscles clenching and unclenching of their own accord. Moab felt it too. He rolled off me, groaning, clutching his arms.
“Not now,” he hissed, as if the change was a curse he could will away.
But it was coming, and there was nothing to do but surrender.
I curled in on myself, feeling the bones shift, the joints pop, skin stretching as if it would split. It hurt, but it was a good pain, the kind that says you’re becoming something new. My hands curled into claws, my jaw ached and lengthened. I looked at Moab, and he was changing too, eyes glowing gold, fur bristling down his arms and chest.
The pain built, then crested, and we howled together, the sound echoing off the stone and out into the wild night.
When it was over, we were wolves, tangled together on the floor. I could feel the beat of his heart through his ribs, the rise and fall of his breath. I licked his muzzle, then curled around him, letting the warmth of our bodies keep the cold at bay.
Then, he came at me again, the two of us howling with animal lust.
We were witch and wolf, and the night was ours.
Moab
Istood by the door and listened, hearing the clanging of swords against armor. The noise stopped several hundred yards from the hut. I turned to Scarlette and sighed. It was time to decide on our next move.
“Do you know what they do to women like me? In my world?” she said.
I looked at her, at the set of her jaw, the way her hands stilled on her lap. “I have an idea,” I said.
