Page 91

He swore, low and soft.

Even with the heat of the fire just starting to bleed into the room, I was too warm. Too flushed. Too…achey.

“Come here, Avery.”

I dropped my shoes with a clatter, jacket falling on top of them.

I crossed the room, bare feet silent over the cool stones.

I stopped before him, the firelight licking up the side of his jaw.

“What’s wrong?”

“I want to dance with you,” he mumbled. “Properly. Where I can hold you like you should be held.”

“Royan,” I whispered, skin pebbling.

The effects were immediate.

There was such power in a name.

The fire roared, growing twice its normal size in the grate. Wolfe’s outline solidified, his arms and hands as defined as they’d ever been. He reached for me immediately, drawing me into his chest.

I went willingly, nuzzling my nose against the side of his neck.

One hand made idle strokes up the bare skin of my back. I felt every callus, every scar on his fingers, as he ran his hand up and down the length of my spine. I breathed him in, cinnamon and whiskey flooding my senses until I was drunk on it. My lips touched his skin and he groaned, cheek pressed to mine.

“I have never wished to touch someone so badly,” he said hoarsely, lips so near mine. “To feel your skin. Your warmth.” He lifted his head, sliding his hand up my waist, my shoulder, to cup my jaw. His thumb touched the corner of my mouth. “To taste your mouth.”

“Please.” I tugged him closer, breath mingling with his.

He squeezed his eyes shut like he was in pain. “I can’t. I can’t,” he groaned. “It wouldn’t be right.”

“It’s the only thing that’s right,” I disagreed. “Just this. Just us.”

Another tormented sound scraped up his throat. “I cannot, Avery. Not yet. Not until—”

Not until Samhain, when he would be able to return fully.

I nodded, disappointment and rejection slithering through me.

“But,” he added, the word guttural, “I can guide you.”

I went still, every inch of skin flushing pink. “What?”

“I can guide you,” he repeated, hand closing over mine. He guided my hand up to my own throat and gently squeezed. “I am desperate, love. I want—I need—”

“Yes,” I whispered. “Yes.”

For a moment his eyes were completely red, so starved I wondered how much of me he’d take with him when he went.

“You’re sure?”

“Please.”

“Fuck.”

He drew me back against him, arms cradled around me so gently and so lovingly I wanted to cry. He linked his fingers with mine, simply holding me for a moment before he began to move. Back up to my throat, down to the dip in my dress. His knuckles scraped over my skin and I bit back down my whimper.