Total pages in book: 32
Estimated words: 33333 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 167(@200wpm)___ 133(@250wpm)___ 111(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 33333 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 167(@200wpm)___ 133(@250wpm)___ 111(@300wpm)
Because she does.
She drags a lazy finger over my ribs. “Thorne?”
“Yeah?”
Her voice is quiet. “This wasn’t a mistake, right?”
I tilt her chin up so she sees every truth I’ll never run from again. “No, witch. This was a bloody miracle.”
She smiles—real, bright, wild.
Then she straddles me again with a spark in her eyes and a wicked little grin.
“Good,” she purrs. “Because I’m not done with you yet.”
And God help me—I’ll never be done with her either.
Chapter 13
Aspen
Iwake up draped in firelight and rock hard muscle.
Warm. Heavy. Tangled.
The world is nothing but embers, a wolfish heartbeat behind me, and arms—his arms—locked around my waist like he’s afraid I’ll slip into the night without him. I blink slowly, tasting sleep and smoke and the memory of him everywhere.
Oh God.
Last night wasn’t a dream.
I close my eyes again, letting the truth settle. The ache between my thighs, the soreness blooming along my hips where his hands held me, the fading sting of where his stubble scraped my throat—it all says the same thing.
We crossed a line.
And I didn’t just cross it—I sprinted into it, jumped over it, then set it on fire with gasoline and desire.
I don’t regret a single second.
The lodge is quiet, snow still pressed thick against every window. The storm rages on somewhere outside, but here—inside—time stopped. Magic happened. Something raw and dangerous was born.
Thorne breathes against my neck, steady and deep. I feel the drag of his chest along my back with every inhale, the slow grind of sleep-loosened instinct that makes him press closer.
Last night, he unraveled me. Broke me open. Told me without words that I am his—claimed, chosen, wanted.
And today?
I have no idea what today will be.
Because sex is just sex—but that wasn’t just sex.
That was a forest fire dressed as a kiss. That was a promise in the shape of his body against mine. That was an undoing. My undoing.
I try to ease away, because I need to think—need to breathe—but his grip only tightens. A hard arm slams me back to his chest with a warning groan. His voice, sleep-rough and sinful, slides along my spine.
“Don’t even think about it.”
Shivers roll through me. “Think about what?”
His breath drags slow against my throat. “Running.”
I swallow. “I’m not running.”
“Liar.”
God. He always sees too much.
His palm is splayed heavy across my ribs, thumb brushing the underside of my breast in idle, possessive strokes that steal sanity from my bones. My pulse trips. Every inch of me turns traitorous under his touch—soft, needy, raw.
“You okay?” he murmurs into my shoulder, voice lower than gravity.
“Yes.” My voice is a whisper I barely hear. “No. Maybe.”
He huffs amusement against my neck. “That was a lot of answers.”
“It was a complicated night.”
“Didn’t feel complicated to me.”
“It didn’t?”
“No, Aspen.” His lips brush just below my ear. “It felt right.”
Oh.
Oh, hell.
I hate him. I hate him for saying that and meaning it. For stripping me without touching me. For knowing—instantly—how to dismantle every wall I’ve ever built.
“We said we wouldn’t do this,” I breathe out.
He makes a low sound. “No. You said that.”
“I thought you agreed.”
“I didn’t agree.” His nose drags along my jaw, making my stomach drop. “I waited.”
“For what?”
“For you to stop lying to yourself.”
My pulse jolts. “I wasn’t lying.”
His hand slides up, fingers curling around the soft column of my throat—not squeezing, just holding. Claiming. “You’ve been lying since the second you walked into my life.”
“I have not.”
“You have,” he growls. “You act like this is a game. Like you’re here for a stupid Halloween contest. Like this—” his thumb strokes the tendon of my throat, making me shiver—“didn’t mean anything, when I know damn well it did.”
I squeeze my eyes shut. “Stop.”
“I won’t.” His voice digs deeper. “I won’t let you hide behind glitter and sarcasm and fake witch curses. You want real? Here it fucking is, witch. I want you. In my bed. In my life. For however long you’ll stay.”
My breath breaks. “Don’t—”
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t say things like that unless you mean them.”
His hand turns my chin until I have no choice but to face him.
Glacial green eyes. Firelight. Truth.
“I don’t waste words,” he says. “If I say something, it’s because it’s carved into my bones.”
I ache. God, I ache everywhere. I want to kiss him so badly it hurts—but fear licks at me again.
Fear of losing this. Fear of wanting too much.
“You’ll get tired of me,” I whisper. “Everyone does eventually.”
He inhales, slow and lethal. “Look at me. Do I look temporary to you?”
My laugh comes out painful. “You look like the type to get bored when things get complicated.”
“You,” he growls, pulling me on top of him until I’m straddling his hips, “are never boring.”
His hand slides up my spine and buries into my hair. “You’re chaos. You’re wild. You’re alive. And I’ve never wanted anything more.”