Nova stands, faces me squarely. “Yes.”
“You used my pack as bait.”
“No.” Her answer is quick, sharp. “I needed proximity. If he came for me here, your pack would feel the ripple. Someone would come looking.”
I step closer, closing the distance between us. “You could have told me.”
“Would you have believed me?”
I steady my breathing. Wrestle my wolf back from the edge.
“This ends now,” I say, the words grinding between my teeth. “Whatever game you’re playing—“
“It’s not a game.” Her voice cuts through mine like a blade. “If I wanted to use your pack as bait, I’d have done it without getting caught.”
“So what’s this, then?” I step closer, crowding her space. “You just needed a safe place to hide?”
“I don’t hide.” She doesn’t back away. “I hunt.”
The word hits something primal in me. Her scent floods my senses—wild honey threaded with lust.
Her defiance radiates from every angle of her face. The rapid flutter at her throat betrays the calm in her voice. Dark hair with violet undertones frames her jaw, wild strands catching the dim light filtering through the window.
That fae glow makes her skin seem lit from within. Her eyes—violet shot through with gold—stare back without wavering.
My cock hardens against my jeans. Her arousal mixing with mine in the confined space makes my pulse kick into overdrive.
“You’ve compromised my entire pack.” My voice drops lower. “You brought danger to my door and didn’t even have the decency to warn me.”
“I warned you the minute I walked in.” Her eyes flash. “You just didn’t listen.”
Something snaps in my chest. One moment I’m standing there, barely holding it together; the next I’ve got her pinned against the wall, my hands braced on either side of her head.
“I am so fucking tired,” I growl, “of your half-truths.”
She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t soften. Her pulse hammers at her throat, but her eyes stay locked on mine.
“And I’m tired of your posturing.” Her voice is steady. “You want the full truth? Ask the right questions.”
My hands curl into fists against the wall. I can feel the heat radiating from her skin. Smell the anger rolling off her in waves—and underneath it, something sharper. Hotter.
“Why didn’t you tell me he was tracking you?” I demand, leaning closer.
“Because you would’ve thrown me out.” She shifts, chin lifting. “And I need to be here when he comes.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m the only one who can track his signature.”
Our faces are inches apart now. I can count her breaths. Feel the tension in her body mirroring mine.
“Bullshit,” I say. “Lyanna can track fae magic.”
“She can’t do what I can.” Her hand comes up, fingers pressing flat against my chest. Not pushing me away. Just ... there. Burning through my shirt. “No one can.”
I grab her wrist, meaning to pull it away, but instead, my thumb finds her pulse point, pressing against the flutter there. Her breath catches.
Her skin burns under my touch. I can feel the rapid beat of her heart, see how her pupils dilate when I press against that vulnerable spot. Her lips part slightly, and I catch the faint glow that edges her violet irises when her magic responds to the intensity between us.
