"Go."
The snowmobiles are closer now, their engines whining against the wind. I count three of them through the swirling snow. Three men coming to take what belongs to me. My blood runs hot with fury, with the primal need to defend my territory, my mate.
I step out onto the porch just as they kill their engines. They're bundled against the cold, faces partially obscured by ski masks and goggles, but I can tell they're surprised to see me. Probably expected an empty cabin they could search.
"Can I help you?" I call down, my voice rough with disuse and tightly leashed aggression.
The lead guy pushes his goggles up. A ranger, by his uniform. "Afternoon," he shouts over the wind. "We're looking for a missing hiker. Young woman, early twenties, chestnut hair. Name's Lila Mason. Her car's still at Eagle Ridge trailhead, and she never checked in at her hotel in town."
I lean against the porch rail, forcing my body to project casual disinterest instead of murderous intent. I don’t speak. Just glare at them.
The ranger exchanges a look with his companions. "Mind if we take a quick look inside? Policy when we're doing search and rescue. Could be she found shelter and is injured, unable to respond."
My jaw tightens. "I live alone."
"Won't take but a minute, sir."
One of them steps forward, boot on the first porch step, and something snaps inside me. I draw myself up to my full height, letting them see exactly what they're dealing with—six-foot-seven of mountain-hardened muscle and barely contained rage.
"I said, I live alone." Each word drops like a stone.
The ranger puts a restraining hand on his companion's shoulder. "You sure about that? Her last known coordinates put her in this general area when the storm hit."
I cross my arms, filling the doorway with my body. "You boys should head back before the snow gets worse. Roads will be impassable soon."
There's a tense moment where I think they might push it, might insist on searching my home. My hands curl into fists at my sides, my body coiling with the anticipation of violence. I'll do what I have to. I'll protect what's mine.
But then the ranger nods, clearly deciding I'm not worth the trouble. "Alright then. Sorry to bother you. If you do see anyone, or any sign of her, radio it in."
I give a curt nod, watching as they retreat to their machines. The ranger gives me one last suspicious look before pulling his goggles down and restarting his engine. I stand motionless on the porch until the whine of their engines fades into the distance, swallowed by the howling wind and thick snow.
Only when I'm certain they're gone do I go back inside, slamming the door behind me with enough force to rattle the windows. My heart hammers against my ribs, adrenaline and rage pumping through my veins like liquid fire.
"Lila," I call, stalking down the hallway. "They're gone."
She emerges from the bedroom, relief evident on her face. "Did they?—"
I don't let her finish. Can't. The need to claim her, to erase any possibility that she might leave, overwhelms me like a fever. I grab her, pushing her up against the wall, my mouth crushing hers in a kiss that's more possession than affection.
She makes a surprised noise against my lips but doesn't push me away. Instead, her arms wind around my neck, her body softening against mine.
"Mine," I growl, lifting her so her legs wrap around my waist. "Say it."
"Yours," she gasps as I grind against her, my cock already rock hard and straining against my jeans. "Only yours, Thorne."
I carry her to the living room, too desperate to make it back to the bedroom. I need her now, need to mark her, fill her, remind her body who it belongs to. I drop to my knees on the bearskin rug in front of the fire, laying her beneath me.
"They want to take you away," I say, ripping open my jeans. "Want to steal what's mine."
Her eyes darken with desire as she watches me free my cock, already leaking at the tip. "I don't want to go," she whispers. "I want to stay here. With you."
The words inflame me further. I flip her onto her stomach, yanking my flannel shirt up to expose her perfect ass. She's already wet—I can see it glistening between her thighs—and the sight makes me wilder.
"Ass up," I command, and she complies immediately, raising her hips for me. Good girl. So fucking perfect.
I deliver a sharp smack to her left cheek, watching the pink bloom on her pale skin. She cries out—not in pain, but in pleasure.
"Who does this belong to?" I demand, spanking her again.
