I laugh as he opens his mouth for another. I place it on his tongue, and his lips close around my fingertip for a fraction of a second. My whole body shudders.
“So,” he says, chewing, eyes still closed. “Did you know Mistberry Cove has a whole mythology thing?”
“Norse stuff. I’ve heard bits.”
His eyes open, staring up at me. “When I was researching the area before we moved, I found all this old folklore. The locals tie the town’s name to the mist that rolls off the water, but some of the older families connect it to the Norns. The three figuresin Norse mythology who sit at the base of Yggdrasil and weave fate.”
“Three figures weaving fate.” I feed him another grape. “Three Alphas who moved in next door. Very subtle, universe.”
He grins. “But the mountains have a story too. There’s a local legend that these peaks were sacred to Fenrir.”
“The wolf?”
“The giant wolf bound by the gods because he was too powerful to run free. Some think the wolves in these mountains are descendants of Fenrir’s bloodline, and that’s why they’re bigger, smarter, and more territorial than wolves anywhere else in the region.”
A chill runs through me despite the sun. “So the Wolfden package isn’t just a cute name.”
“Nope. And it gets better. There’s a fringe theory that Vikings might have reached Mistberry Cove. Research says they only made it as far as Canada, but some local historians think the Norse seafarers pushed farther south along the coast, and that these mountains were used for bonding rituals. And when Fenrir had supposedly been drawn to the place.”
“You’re telling me we’re having a picnic on an ancient Viking bonding ground.”
“Allegedly.”
“I didn’t know you were a history buff.”
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me yet.” He reaches up and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. His fingers trail along my jaw, and I shiver despite the warmth. “That’s the fun part.”
I feed him one more grape, then he catches my wrist, presses his lips to my pulse point, and releases me.
The touch lasts two seconds, but I feel it for twenty.
My fingers curl uselessly at my sides, and I stare at his mouth like I’ve forgotten how normal people behave. The fire within me returns in a slow, merciless wave, rolling through my stomachand settling lower, heavier, until the picnic blanket beneath me suddenly feels too small and Corey feels far too close.
His gaze dips to my pulse in my neck, and his smile turns soft at the edges, but there’s nothing harmless in it. “You okay up there?”
“Perfect,” I say, too quickly.
“Liar.”
I open my mouth but reach for my water instead because my body has decided to become my nemesis.
Corey’s laugh is low, but before he can say anything else, he sits up, scanning the tree line, and something shifts in his posture, subtle but immediate, a tightening around his shoulders.
“All okay?” I ask.
“Yeah. Just keeping an eye out. Got told the wildlife up here gets real active later in the day and through the night. Bears, elk. Best we head inside before the sun drops much further behind the mountains.”
I’m on my feet immediately. He laughs but doesn’t argue, and we pack up, hands brushing over the blanket and the basket, every accidental touch registering on my skin as if my body has been waiting for excuses to react to him.
“It’s insane how much a single touch can impact me,” I mutter, mostly to myself.
Corey stills with the blanket in his hands, his gaze lifting to mine. The teasing slips from his face, leaving something darker underneath. “Claire, if I touched you the way I’m thinking about touching you, you wouldn’t be standing there wondering if it mattered.”
My breath catches so hard it almost hurts.
He gives me a slow smile, not smug, not cruel, just devastatingly sure, then goes back to packing as if he hasn’t just set fire to every sensible thought in my head. Heat rushesthrough me, low, sharp, and embarrassing, and I press my thighs together as my body answers him in a way I have no hope of hiding from myself.
One sentence, one look, and I’m damp, breathless, and trying to remember why walking back to the cabin is more important than dragging him down onto the picnic blanket.
