She pushes back against each thrust, meeting me halfway. The slap of skin against skin fills the room, along with our mingledcurses and groans. My control shatters as her inner walls clench around me as she climaxes again.
“I’m coming,” I warn, fingers digging into her hip.
“Inside,” she gasps. “Come inside me.”
The permission breaks me. I slam into her one last time, emptying myself deep inside her with a roar that could wake the whole compound. She collapses beneath me, shuddering through her own release, her pussy milking every drop from my cock.
We stay there, still locked together, her body trembling beneath mine. I brace myself on my forearms, trying to catch my breath, trying not to crush her, but she doesn’t push me away.
Her back rises and falls under my chest, warm and alive. My arms fold around her, and I pull her in, flush against me. She lets me. Doesn’t speak. Just breathes.
I press a kiss to her shoulder, the taste of sweat and salt grounding me.
Eventually, I shift us sideways, pulling her with me. She comes willingly, rolling into my chest, one leg slung over mine, her hand finding its place against my sternum like it’s always belonged there.
Neither of us says the words. We don’t have to.
Sleep takes us slowly. Together.
Chapter 35
Nova
Iwake before the sun does.
The darkness is nearly complete in Dane’s cabin, just a faint gray outline around the shutters hinting at dawn’s approach. His arm weighs across my waist, heavy and possessive even in sleep. His breathing remains deep and even against my neck.
My body aches—bruises forming on my hips where his fingers dug in, a pleasant soreness between my thighs. But my mind is already mapping exits, calculating timing, replaying what I felt during the ritual.
It wasn’t just Faelan’s signature I caught. It was intent. Direction. A psychic tripwire waiting to snap when Dane leads the pack in at dawn.
I slide my gaze to Dane’s face. Sleep softens nothing about him. His jaw remains set, brows slightly furrowed like he’s solving problems even in dreams. A small scar cuts through his right eyebrow that I never noticed before.
I don’t wake him. Not because last night meant nothing. Because it meant too much.
My movements are smooth as I ease from under his arm. The floor is cold beneath my feet. I dress quickly, silently—underwear, jeans, thermal shirt, and jacket. The routine is familiar: weapons check, boots laced tight, and mental inventory of what I carry.
I secure my knife at my hip, another at my ankle. Double-check the pouch Lyanna gave me—herbs to mask my scent signature and ground quartz to disrupt tracking spells.
Outside, frost crunches under my boots. The air smells like pine sap and cold mountain air. The compound sits quietly, most of the pack still sleeping before the mission. No one sees me cross between the shadows of the cabins toward the eastern boundary.
I pause at the treeline, looking back at Dane’s cabin. The window of his bedroom faces this direction. In the growing light, I can almost imagine him still there, sheets tangled around his waist, hand reaching for a warmth that’s already gone.
I need to reach the convergence point before the pack mobilizes. Need to trigger the trap on my terms, not Faelan’s. Need to use what’s already inside me—that magical residue that nearly burned me out—to find the weak point.
I turn east and slip into the trees, leaving no trail, moving fast and light, keeping my breathing steady.
The forest opens to me differently than it does to most wolves. They track with their noses and ears. I track with the hum of resonance beneath my skin. Each step takes me closer to what I’m hunting.
Faelan left trails through this forest. Not physical prints. But tears in reality, hairline fractures in what should be.
Behind me, the bond with Dane stretches. It doesn’t hurt. Doesn’t tug. It just exists, a steady presence I’m acutely aware of with each mile I put between us. For the first time, I don’t try to explain it away or call it something smaller. I could reach back through it if I wanted. Feel his rage when he wakes to cold sheets. But I don’t.
The forest darkens as I press deeper. Not from lack of light. The dawn is breaking overhead. But from the concentration of something else. Magic thickens here, coating the air like oil on water. My steps slow as I spot the first visible anomaly: a stream running backward for three feet before correcting itself. A tree with bark that ripples when nothing touches it.
The frayed edges of reality.
I pause to secure Lyanna’s protections. The pouch of herbs crushed between my fingers releases a sharp, clean scent that covers my own. I dust ground quartz across my forearms, watching it absorb into my skin with a faint shimmer.
