His eyes go dark. Not the amber-green I know, not the gold that catches the light when he laughs, not any color I've memorized across months of lying next to him in the dark. Pure black. His pupils swallow his irises until his eyes hold no color at all.
His lip pulls back into a snarl. His spine straightens and his shoulders drop and his weight shifts forward onto the balls of his feet, and a sound rolls out of his chest that vibrates through my body.
"Get your fucking hands off of her."
It's not Rex's voice. It's older and deeper and rooted to the ground beneath his boots. The feral response. I've heard Knox describe it—what happens when an orc's mate faces a threat and the biology overrides the man. Ancient and territorial.
The scoutlets go of my jaw. He looks at Rex's eyes, his bared tusks, andwhatever he sees there drains the curiosity right out of him.
The scout knows. Among orcs, feral means fated. Rex's biology just announced what he's been too afraid to say out loud. The scout doesn't need a mark on my neck to know what he's looking at. Rex went feral.
He backs off.Says something in orcish, low and directed at Rex, and whatever the words are they lock Rex's jaw so tight the muscle jumps under his skin.
The scout backs toward the SUV without turning around, climbs in, and shuts the door. The vehicle pulls away slow enough to make a point before it rounds the corner and disappears.
Rex stands in the alley with his shoulders heaving. His eyes still black. His hands open at his sides, fingers curling and releasing, shaking with the effort of not chasing the SUV and tearing the door off its hinges.
"Your eyes," I say.
"I know." His voice scrapes. "Give it a minute, they'll settle. Don't be afraid, trouble. I would never hurt you."
"Did someone call to let you know about the scouts?"
"No. I was already on my way. Then I pulled into the alley andsaw his hands on you."
I step toward him.He flinches. Not away from me—away from himself. His hands pull back against his sides, his jaw clenches and he looks at his fingers like he doesn't trust what they might do.
"Rex."
"Give me a second." His voice shakes. "I'm not—I don't feel safe right now."
"You're okay, Rex. I know you'd never hurt me." I close the distance he opened and pressmy palm flat against his ribs and his heart hammers under my hand hard enough that I feel it in my wrist. His scent fills the alley—leather and motor oil and underneath it that sharp edge cranked so high it burns my sinuses.
His fingers cover mine. The feral edge still raw in his voice, the black fading from his eyes in slow degrees, amber bleeding back through the edges. "He said you're unclaimed. Unprotected." A breath pulls through his teeth. "He's not wrong."
I hold his gaze.
"Then claim me."
The words land between us. A demand from a woman who's spent six months waiting for a man to stop running, plant his feet and choose her the way she chose this town, this bar, this life. Rex stares at me as the black drains from his eyes and what comes back is steadier and scarier. A man who just decided something and isn't going to talk himself out of it.
Sarah appears at the end of the block with Reeve on her hip, Jess beside her. They must have seen Rex drive past the diner window. Sarah takes one look at his face. She puts her arm through Jess's and they keep walking. Some moments don't need an audience.
But Jess catches my eye over her shoulder. Her grin cuts across the distance between us, knowing and fierce, and she lifts her chin at me once before she turns the corner.
Rex's hand tightens on mine. His forehead drops to rest against the top of my head and his breathing evens out, slow and ragged, the adrenaline draining through him in waves I can feel under my palm.
"Holly." His voice comes out rough. "I'm never leaving you again."
"I believe you." My fingers curl into his shirt. "But I didn't ask you to stay, Rex. I asked you to claim me."
"In time, trouble."
His lips press against my hair. His arm wraps around my shoulders and pulls me against his chest, and I stand in the alley behind the Anchor with my camera bag digging into my hip and my face pressed against the heartbeat of a man who ran toward me instead of away.
A man who just showed a Bloodstone scout what feral looks like from the other side.
Chapter 12
