I lean down. Her breath catches. The sound slices through me.
“No.” It comes out as a growl against her mouth.
And then I’m kissing her.
It’s not gentle. It’s not planned. It’s a collision—my mouth crashing against hers, her hand fisting in my shirt. She makes a sound—half protest, half surrender—and then kisses back with equal force.
The taste of her cuts through rational thought. Her mouth opens under mine, hot and demanding. I release her wrist, sliding my hand into her hair instead, gripping tight enough that her head tilts back, giving me better access.
She bites my lower lip. Hard. I groan, the pain sharpening everything. My other hand slides to her hip, fingers digging in as I pull her closer.
My hands dwarf her frame; one tangled in silky black hair that catches moonlight like spilled ink, the other spanning her hip where soft curves meet lean muscle. She’s smaller than me but solid, built for speed and stealth rather than brute force.
The world narrows to points of contact—her tongue against mine, her nails scraping down my neck, the curve of her hip under my palm. Her scent changes, deepens, laced with arousal that matches the pulse hammering through my veins. My wolf wants to claim, to mark, to pin her down and—
A crack splits the silence. A branch breaking, north of our position.
We freeze, mouths still connected, breaths harsh.
Another sound follows: a low rustle, deliberate and careful. Not an animal. Someone moving through brush, trying to stay quiet.
I wrench away, every sense straining outward. My hand goes to the knife at my belt as I scan the darkness.
Nova sits up, her movements silent and fluid. Even disheveled, she’s gorgeous—bright, violet eyes, cheekbones sharp in the moonlight. The contrast between her delicate features and the lethal grace in every movement sends heat surging to my cock.
Her lips are swollen, hair mussed where I grabbed it. She doesn’t look at me. Her attention locks on the direction of the sound, head tilted in the way wolves listen for prey.
What the fuck did I just do?
The thought hits like ice water. I kissed her. Here, in the open, with my pack fractured and enemies circling. With her loyalty still unproven.
My jaw clenches tight enough to ache. I focus on the woods, on the threat lurking in the shadows. Not on the taste of her still in my mouth. Not on the way my body burns for more.
The woods have gone too quiet now. Whatever—whoever—was there has withdrawn or frozen in place.
Nova’s fingers brush my arm. Her voice comes in a whisper: “Northeast. Fifty yards.”
I nod, no words needed. Nova’s blade lies in the frost where it fell during our struggle. I scoop it up without thinking, hand itback to her. My fingers brush hers as she takes it, and electricity zips up my arm.
Not now. Focus.
We break into the trees as one unit, our movements synchronized like we’ve done this a hundred times before. She takes the left arc. I take the right. Flanking whatever waits in the darkness.
The night air bites my skin, cold and sharp. Every sense cranks to eleven—the soft pad of her footsteps, the distant call of an owl, the smell of pine and frost and lingering traces of her on my skin. My wolf strains beneath the surface, wanting release, wanting to hunt, to track, to claim.
I force it back. Control. I need fucking control.
Fifty yards in, the forest goes dead silent. No animal sounds. No wind. Just the sound of our breathing and the crunch of frozen earth beneath our boots.
I scan for movement, for shadow, for anything out of place. Nothing. But the hair on my neck stands on end. We’re not alone.
“Spread out,” I whisper, low enough that only she could hear it.
She complies without question, peeling off to circle wider. I track her movement through sound and scent—her steps deliberate but efficient. Professional. Cold.
Nothing like the woman who bit my lip three minutes ago and smelled like she wanted me as much as I wanted her.
A branch snaps to my right. I freeze, muscles coiled, knife ready. The forest holds its breath.
