His gaze finds mine, heavy-lidded but clearer now that the pain has dulled. “I’m a little surprised you brought us straight back here. I thought it was routine for your squad to find a tankard or two to drain before turning in.”
I lift a brow. “Would you have preferred that?”
He shrugs with his good shoulder. “Wouldn’t have mattered. So long as I got to spend time with you.”
I huff, though a smile tugs at the corner of my mouth. “You say that now, but you’ve never been subjected to Mylo and Isaac’s pub songs. They’re always off-key, never in sync, and louder than necessary.”
“Sounds charming.”
“They once cleared out an entire tavern with a chorus about a charming goat.”
He laughs, low and rough, the kind of sound that vibrates through me more than I expect. “And here I thought battle wounds were the worst part of these missions.”
“Believe me, the looks we’ve gotten from pub-goers smart more than any cut I’ve ever suffered.”
When I draw my hand away, he exhales slowly.
“Thank you,” he murmurs.
That heavy-lidded look he’s giving me makes me want me to put my hands back on him. And not just on his shoulder.
There isn’t a moment to dwell on that thought, however, because Dante cups my cheek and swallows up the distance between our lips. Perhaps it was our time apart, the weeks of missing his touch and his kisses, but I don’t think I’ve been so conscious of every nerve ending in my body as I am in this moment. I’m completely fixated on the caress of his lips upon mine. My skin comes alive, not wanting the contact to end. His tongue meets mine, and I let out a small whimper. Dante’s hands glide over my shoulders to my back, sending a shiver down my spine. His fingers graze over the curves of my ass before pulling me closer, until we’re flush against each other.
He’s hard. And, gods, it’s been so long. But we’re not exactly alone out here. As much as I want him, this isn’t the time or place.
When he breaks the kiss, I look up—and his gaze meets mine. That look again. Unspoken, unreadable, but impossibly full. As if he wants to say something, but words would only ruin it.
Before I can speak, a sharp crack breaks through the trees to our left.
My hand goes to my dagger instantly. Dante steps in front of me.
We both turn, eyes scanning the dark. Another sound—closer this time. A rustle of underbrush, the crunch of dried leaves beneath paws.
And then it emerges.
A wolf pup, no more than a few months old by the look of it, stumbles into the clearing, its legs a bit too wobbly to support its round, furry body. Its coat is the color of snow-spattered ash, and one of its ears flops to the side. There is a slightly darker marking over one of its eyes that looks like a lopsided heart. The pup blinks up at us, tongue lolling as it pants.
I freeze.
“Oh,” I whisper. “I don’t know if I can handle how cute you are.”
The pup trots forward a few steps, then stops and tilts its head at me like it’s trying to figure out what kind of creature I am.
“Don’t move,” I murmur to Dante as I sheathe my dagger. “If its mother is near, I don’t think she’ll take kindly to strangers.”
Sure enough, as my eyes sweep the treeline, I catch it. A pair of golden eyes watching from the brush. Unblinking. Waiting.
“She’s there,” I whisper. “I think she’s letting it approach me.”
“Or testing you,” Dante mutters.
The pup pads closer, snuffling at my boots. A gentle breeze makes its fluffy fur ruffle. My heart turns into something soft and fragile inside my chest. I want to touch it, to scoop it into my arms and nuzzle it. But I stay still, respectful. My fingers itch.
“Go on,” I whisper to it. “Go back to your mama. She’s watching.”
The pup doesn’t listen. Instead, it plants its front paws on my leg, wagging its tail wildly, and lets out a tiny, excited huff.
“Okay,” I say softly. “That’s adorable and not helping at all.”
