“I’ll drive my car behind you,” he says.
The commute home feels longer than usual. My mind won’t stop racing.
In two days, the Covenant will come for Violet. And Kain will be on the front lines, fighting the same people who tortured him for ten years. The same people who lied to him, manipulated him, made him believe he was dying just to keep him obedient.
What if Kain dies fighting them? What if I lose him again, for real this time? What if the last words I said to him were angry ones?
My hands tighten on the steering wheel. I can’t think like that. Can’t let the fear consume me.
But the thoughts persist anyway, following me all the way to my apartment building.
We park side by side. Kain gets out first and waits for me by the entrance. We walk up to my apartment in silence, the tension between us thick but different than before. Not angry, just…heavy.
I unlock the door and step inside, holding it open for him.
He passes by me, and I catch a whiff of his scent—pine and earth and something that is only him. The smell hits me in my core, and suddenly, my adrenaline spikes. My wolf claws to the surface, desperate and needy.
What if I lose him?
The thought consumes me, overwhelming everything else. And then, suddenly, my fear turns into something else entirely. Something primal.
I need him.
This may be unwise. It solves nothing, I know, but my brain doesn’t care about logic right now. It’s listening to my heart—and my body.
“Do you want to wash up before dinner?” he asks, setting his bag down on the couch.
“Let’s shower together.”
His head whips toward me so fast, I’m surprised it doesn’t snap off his neck. “What?”
I stride over to him and kiss him.
For a moment, he’s frozen in shock. But his body reacts anyway—I feel him harden against me, his member poking my belly through our clothes. Heat floods through me and pools down low.
All of a sudden, his hands are on my shoulders, pushing me away.
“Anne, what are you—” He’s panting, his eyes wild. “You said that we—”
I shush him, my fingers going to his shirt buttons. “I don’t care about that right now.”
“But—”
I kiss him again, harder this time, and he makes a sound in the back of his throat: half protest, half surrender.
His resistance crumbles. His hands move from my shoulders to my waist, pulling me against him with bruising force. The kiss deepens, becomes desperate. Hungry.
We stumble toward the bathroom, hands tearing at clothes. My shirt comes off first, tossed somewhere behind us. His follows, and I run my hands over his chest, feeling the scars beneath my palms.
Evidence of what they did to him. What they might do again in two days.
The image makes me kiss him harder. I bite his lower lip until he groans.
“Anne,” he breathes against my mouth. “Are you sure—”
“Shut up,” I say, shoving his pants down his hips.
We crash into the bathroom. I twist the shower knob to hot. I know the water will stream out icy at first, but I don’t care.
