His expression fractures, the mask of the alpha warrior slipping to reveal the man beneath. "If something happens to me?—"
"Don't." I press my fingers to his lips. "Don't say it. Don't even think it." I can feel the battle raging outside, feel the urgency pressing down on us like a physical weight. The bond hums between us, anxious and alive, demanding connection, demanding now. "But if you need to feel me before you go, if you need to carry something with you?—"
I don't finish the sentence. Archer crushes his mouth to mine, his kiss tasting like smoke and desperation and goodbye. I refuse to let it be goodbye.
I tear at his clothes, buttons flying, fabric ripping. He lifts me and I wrap my legs around his waist, my back hitting the wall as his mouth devours mine. There's no time for slow, no time for gentle—there's only this moment, this urgency, this need to be as close as two people can be before the world tears us apart.
“Here. Now. Please, Archer. Take me."
He groans, a sound torn from deep in his chest, and then he pulls me behind a shelf before my jeans are shoved down, my underwear with them, and he's lifting me, positioning me, his eyes locked on mine—gold and brown swirling together, the tiger and the man both present, both mine.
"Tell me," he demands, the head of him pressing against my entrance, teasing, waiting.
My fingers dig into his shoulders. "Claim me again. Remind me I'm yours."
He thrusts into me in one powerful stroke, filling me completely, and I cry out, my head falling back against the wall. He stills for a moment, breathing hard, his forehead pressed to mine, and I can feel everything through the bond—his love, his fear, his determination to survive this, to come back to me.
I roll my hips, desperate for friction. "Please, Archer. Don't hold back."
He doesn't. He sets a brutal pace, each thrust driving deep, hitting that perfect spot that makes stars burst behind my eyelids. The wall knocks against my back with every stroke, the sound of our bodies joining loud in the quiet cabin, mixing with our ragged breaths and broken moans.
"I can feel you," he grits out, his hand sliding between us, his thumb finding my clit, circling in time with his thrusts. "Your pleasure. Your fear. Your love. It's all flooding through me, Tessa. You're burning me alive."
"Good," I gasp, arching into him, meeting each thrust, taking him deeper. "Burn with me. Stay with me."
The bond flares brighter, golden threads weaving tighter, connecting us on a level beyond physical. I can feel his approaching climax, feel his struggle to hold back, to make this last, and I clench around him, my own orgasm building like a storm.
"Let go," I tell him, my voice breaking. "Give it to me. Give me everything."
Archer snarls, his rhythm faltering, becoming wild, uncontrolled. His mouth finds the mark on my neck, the one he left days ago, and he bites down—not hard enough to break skin, but enough to send me over the edge.
I come screaming his name, my body convulsing around him, the pleasure so intense it borders on pain. He follows a second later, burying himself to the hilt, his release pulsing hot and deep inside me, his roar muffled against my shoulder.
We stay like that, locked together, shaking, the bond singing between us, stronger now, reinforced by the intimacy and the emotion and the sheer desperate need of the moment.
Slowly, he lowers me to my feet, but he doesn't let go. His arms stay around me, holding me close, his face buried in my hair. I can feel his heart hammering against my chest, matching my own.
"I'll come back," he whispers, and it sounds like a vow. "I swear to you, Tessa. I'll come back."
I pull back enough to look at him, to memorize his face—the sharp line of his jaw, the gold flecks in his eyes, the way he looks at me like I'm the only thing that matters.
"You'd better," I say, my voice steady despite the tears threatening to fall. "Because I'm not done with you yet, Archer. Not even close."
He smiles then, small and fierce and full of love. He kisses me softly, gently, a complete contrast to the desperate joining moments before. "Hold the town together," he says. "The pack will listen to you. You're their alpha's mate. They'll follow your lead."
"I will," I promise, straightening my clothes, finding my strength. "I'll keep them safe. You just focus on ending this. On coming home."
Archer tucks himself back into his jeans, pulls on his ruined shirt, and retrieves his jacket from the floor. At the door, he pauses, looking back at me one last time. Through the bond, I feel his determination solidify, his resolve harden into something unbreakable.
"Archer," I call as he opens the door.
He turns.
"I love you," I say, the words carrying everything I can't articulate—the fear, the hope, the absolute certainty that he's mine and I'm his. "Now go protect what's yours."
He smiles, fierce and feral, the alpha fully present. "Always."
Then he's gone, the door closing behind him, and I stand alone in the bookstore, the bond stretching between us like a lifeline, pulsing with his love and his determination. I press my hand to my chest, feeling him moving through the forest, toward the battle, toward Damon.
