He’s not wrong about one thing,my wolf says quietly.You are scared.
Of course I’m scared,I snap back.I have good reason to be.
Do you? Or are you using fear as an excuse to avoid something that might actually make you happy?
I don’t answer, because I’m not sure I can handle the truth.
The night deepens around me as I work, the den settling into quiet. Most of the pack will be asleep by now, leaving only the night watch and insomniacs like myself.
By the time I finish the patrol schedules, exhaustion weighs heavy on my shoulders. I switch off the lights and gather my materials, finally ready to seek my own bed.
The corridors are dimly lit, emergency lighting casting long shadows on the stone walls. My room is at the end of the hall, past the guest quarters where Kier sleeps.
I pause outside his door, my wolf pressing against my consciousness with sudden intensity.
He’s awake,she whispers.Restless. Like us.
I can feel it—a current of unease, of want, radiating from behind the wooden barrier. My hand rises toward the door without conscious thought, then falls back to my side.
Not tonight. Not when I feel so raw.
I continue to my room, closing the door firmly behind me. The space feels larger than I remember, emptier. The bed that had seemed perfectly adequate for years now feels vast and cold.
I strip out of my clothes mechanically, pulling on a soft sleep shirt that falls to mid-thigh. The routine motions should be comforting, but restlessness coils beneath my skin.
Sleep,I order myself, climbing into bed.You need rest.
But sleep doesn’t come. I lie in the darkness, staring at the ceiling, hyperaware of every sound in the den. The distant murmur of guards changing shifts. The soft whisper of wind through stone passages. The barely audible creak of someone moving in the room two doors down.
Kier.
My body responds to just thinking his name—skin warming, pulse quickening, an ache building low in my belly. Memories surface unbidden, his thumb brushing across my knuckles before we’d even seen each other, his mouth onmine as fire raged around us, his hands on my body that night in the forest.
I squeeze my eyes shut, willing the images away, but they only grow more vivid. The way he’d looked at me that last night, golden eyes dark with desire. The feel of his fingers inside me, the perfect pressure of his mouth between my thighs, the way he’d whispered filth and praise until I came apart beneath his hands.
My thighs clench involuntarily, a soft whimper escaping my throat.
This is ridiculous. You’re a grown woman, not some love-struck teenager.
But my body doesn’t care about logic or propriety. Heat pools between my legs, demanding the attention I’ve been denying it.
Just get it over with,I tell myself.Take the edge off so you can sleep.
My hand slides beneath the hem of my sleep shirt, fingers tracing the sensitive skin of my inner thigh. I’m already wet, arousal slicking my fingers as I find the swollen bud of my clit.
Gods, I needed this.
I bite my lip to muffle the sound that wants to escape as I begin to stroke myself, slow circles that send pleasure spiraling through my core. But it’s not enough—my body craves more, craveshim.
I slide two fingers inside myself, arching slightly at the sensation. It’s good, but nothing compared to the way Kier had filled me, the way his thick fingers had curved just right.
Kier.His name whispers through my mind as I work myself higher, thumb circling my clit while my fingers thrust in a rhythm that has my breath coming in soft pants.
I let myself remember the weight of his body over mine, the way he’d kissed me like he was drowning and I was air.The rough velvet of his voice when he called me beautiful, the reverent way his hands mapped every inch of my skin.
The fantasy grows more vivid—I can almost feel his breath against my neck, his lips trailing fire down my throat. My free hand moves to my breast, pinching the sensitive peak through my shirt, imagining it’s his mouth instead.
“So perfect,”his voice whispers in my memory.“Let me hear you, baby. Let me feel you come.”
