“Someone was watching me.” I don’t ease the pressure of the blade. “Was it you?”
His chest rises beneath mine. “You left your cabin. Made yourself a target.”
“I can handle threats.”
“Clearly,” he says, voice low and dangerous.
The air between us changes, thickens. His scent hits me—pine and iron and something deeper. His heat seeps through our layers, wolf-hot against the night’s chill. My position suddenly feels less tactical, more ... risky.
His muscles tense beneath me, and then—
Movement blurs. The world spins. My back hits frozen ground with enough force to knock the air from my lungs. The knife clatters away as Dane reverses our positions, his hands pinning my wrists, his weight settling over me.
“Can you?” His face hovers above mine, expression unreadable in the darkness.
I surge upward, twisting my hips to throw him off balance. We roll, a tangle of limbs and curses, neither yielding. My elbow connects with his ribs. His hand catches in my hair. We crash against the base of a tree, pine needles showering down around us.
When we stop, he’s half on top of me, one leg wedged between mine, one hand still gripping my wrist. His breath burns against my neck, coming in harsh pants that match my own.
Neither of us moves.
His weight should feel threatening. It doesn’t. It feels ... necessary. Like gravity finding its center.
My free hand rests against his chest, not pushing away, just ... there. Feeling the thunder of his heart beneath my palm.
“Get off me,” I say, but my voice lacks conviction.
He shifts, bringing our faces closer. “Not until you tell me what you found.”
“I didn’t—“ My words catch as his scent washes over me again. Stronger now. Charged with something beyond anger.
His pupils dilate, black drowning out color. His grip on my wrist loosens, but he doesn’t release me. “Nova.”
The way he says my name splits something open inside me. Raw. Hungry.
Chapter 9
Dane
Her name hangs between us, the sound of it still vibrating in my chest. I didn’t mean to say it like that—low and rough, like something dragged from my core.
I should let go of her wrist. I don’t.
The contrast hits me—her delicate wrist bones beneath calloused fingers that have seen too much violence. Her skin is pale cream against my weathered tan, unmarked where mine bears scars from years as an Assassin.
Her pulse hammers under my thumb. Fast. Unsteady. Matching mine. Our breath clouds in the frigid air, mingling in the inches between our faces.
She doesn’t move. Doesn’t try to break my hold. This close, I can see the silver flecks scattered through violet irises, the wayher dark lashes cast shadows on sharp cheekbones. Her mouth is full, slightly parted, breath coming quick between lips, the color of winter berries.
She watches me with those violet-flecked eyes, waiting. Her body stays tense beneath mine, heat radiating through our clothes.
“Dane.” My name sounds different in her mouth. Not a demand. Not a plea. A fact. “Let me up.”
I don’t answer. Can’t. My wolf claws at my control, demanding more of this—of her pinned beneath me, of her scent filling my lungs, of the defiance in her eyes that hasn’t quite masked what I can smell on her skin.
Desire.
Raw and sharp and unwanted, but there.
