Dane’s hands find my waist, strong and certain as he guides me backward through his cabin. I can’t take my eyes off him—the way the cabin’s dim light catches on his transformed eyes, that ring of gold around steel gray. His cabin smells like him—cedar and leather and something wild—but underneath it all, I catch the lingering scent of blood and magic. Reminders of what we’ve survived.
“I need to see you,” he says, voice dark with hunger.
My back meets the edge of his bed, that same bed where I’d lain broken and half-conscious—though it feels like a lifetime ago.
Now my skin burns with awareness, nerve endings alive and singing as his hands slide under my shirt.
“You’re shaking,” he murmurs, brushing my hair from my face.
“So are you,” I whisper back.
His mouth curves into something between a smile and a snarl. “That’s not fear.”
He peels my shirt up slowly, his knuckles dragging against my skin. I raise my arms, letting him pull it over my head. The air hits my bare skin, but I don’t feel cold—not with the way he’s looking at me, like I’m something to be devoured.
Dane takes his time, undressing me piece by piece. His fingers work the clasp of my bra, slide my pants down my hips. Each new inch of exposed skin gets his full attention: rough fingertips tracing patterns, his mouth following, teeth scraping lightly against sensitive flesh.
When I’m naked before him, he steps back, just looking. I should feel exposed. Vulnerable. Instead, I feel powerful under his gaze.
“Take yours off too,” I say.
He doesn’t rush. Doesn’t make a show of it. Just pulls his shirt over his head, revealing that broad chest marked with old scars—badges of every fight he’s survived. But his skin over his heart is smooth, unmarked. Whatever happened when I pulled him back left no trace on his body, only on his blood, on his soul.
My gaze drops lower, tracing the defined ridges of his abdomen. Hard muscle carved from years of training, of fighting. The V of his hips cuts sharply toward the waistband of his pants, those oblique muscles flexing as he breathes.
I reach out to touch the place where a scar should be—where Faelan’s magic tore through him, where his heart stopped beneath my hands. He catches my wrist and brings my fingers to his mouth instead. His lips press against my palm, then he turns my hand and sets his teeth gently against the inside of my wrist, where my own scar has faded to a silvery line.
“Mine,” he growls, the word vibrating against my pulse.
The single word hits me like a physical force. My breath catches, desire flooding between my legs so suddenly it makes me dizzy.
He lays me down with a gentleness that contrasts with the hunger in his eyes. Then he’s above me, his weight braced on his forearms as he lowers his mouth to my neck. His teeth scrape the sensitive skin there, and I arch into the sensation.
“Stay still,” he commands, voice dark with promise.
I don’t. Can’t. My hips rise, seeking friction, but he presses me down with one large hand spanning my abdomen.
“I said, ‘stay still.’” His eyes flash. “I want to savor every inch of you.”
He worships me methodically, thoroughly, starting at my neck, trailing down to my collarbones, the hollow of my throat. His mouth is hot, his stubble a delicious burn against my skin. When his lips close around my nipple, I gasp, fingers digging into his shoulders.
I’ve never felt so treasured.
“Dane,” I breathe, not recognizing my own voice.
“I love how you say my name, your accent,” he murmurs against my breast. “Say it again.”
“Dane,” I repeat, this time on a moan as he moves to my other breast, teasing with teeth and tongue until I’m writhing beneath him.
His hand slides down between my legs, and he makes a sound—half groan, half snarl—when his fingers find me slick and ready.
“Look how wet you are,” he says, voice thick with satisfaction. “All for me.”
I should have a sharp retort. Some cool response. Instead, I just nod, shameless and honest. “Yes.” The word escapes on a breath, barely audible.
He moves down my body, positioning himself between my thighs. His eyes lock with mine as he places open-mouthed kisses on my inner thighs, working his way closer to where I need him most. The anticipation is almost unbearable.
When his mouth finally touches me, I cry out. His tongue parts me, slow and deliberate, tasting every inch. My hands fist in the sheets, then in his hair, urging him closer.
