Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic bird, as she placed his palm against her pulse. The rough, cool texture of his skin was an anchor. His amber gaze held hers, a question in their glow, as her own hand trembled atop his. The static was gone, replaced by a single, clear frequency: trust. She leaned into the pressure, her eyes closing, surrendering to the monster who kept her safe.
His hand was enormous, covering the entire side of her neck, his thumb resting just below her jaw where the scar was. He didn’t move. He let her hold him there, his breath a low, steady rhythm in the quiet cabin. Elara focused on that rhythm, on the solid weight of him, on the way her pulse began to slow its frantic beat against his palm. She opened her eyes. “I’m not afraid of you,” she whispered, the words more air than sound.
Kael’s gaze softened, the amber light warming. A deep, resonant rumble started in his chest, a sound that vibrated through the floorboards and up into her bones. It wasn’t a growl. It was an answer. His other hand came up, slow, so slow, and he brushed the wild curtain of her auburn hair back from her face. His claw-tipped fingers were careful, impossibly gentle.
Elara’s breath hitched. She turned her face into his touch, her lips brushing the strange, bark-like texture of his skin. It was cool, but where they connected, heat bloomed. She felt a shudder go through him. His hand on her neck flexed, just once, a barely-there pressure. “Kael,” she said, and this time it was solid, a name given, not just spoken.
She shifted, her knees pressing into the rug as she moved closer, into the space between his legs where he sat. She kept her hands over his, guiding them. From her neck, down. Over the worn cotton of her shirt, to where her heart beat a new, deeper rhythm beneath her breast. She pressed his palm flat against her. His entire hand spanned from her collarbone to the bottom of her ribcage. She felt the coolness seep through the fabric, then the warmth of her own body answering it.
His low rumble stuttered into silence. He was utterly still, a statue of shadow and watchful light. Elara looked up, meeting the glow of his eyes. She saw the conflict there, the protective wall he’d built around himself, and the raw, aching want behind it. She leaned forward, closing the last inch, and pressed her forehead to the solid plane of his chest. She inhaled the scent of pine and stone and something uniquely him—wilderness and patience. “Please,” she breathed into his skin, the word a final surrender, an offering laid bare. “Don’t make me feel alone tonight.”
His palm was still pressed flat against her chest, and beneath it, her heart began to hammer again. It wasn’t the frantic panic from before. This was a deep, heavy drumming, a quickening that started low in her belly and echoed up through her ribs to beat against his skin. She felt his thumb shift, a slight adjustment, coming to rest directly over the frantic pulse at the base of her throat. He felt it. The change.
Kael’s low rumble returned, different this time—a vibrating hum that seemed to answer the rhythm under his hand. His amber gaze searched her face, the light in them flickering like a banked fire stirred by wind. He didn’t pull away. His other hand, the one that had brushed her hair, settled heavily on her hip, his claws curling just enough to press into the worn fabric of her jeans. Not to hold her still. To hold her there.
Elara let out a shaky breath, her own hands sliding from where they covered his. She brought them up, trembling, to the fastenings of his own rough, bark-like hide. There were no buttons, no zippers—only overlapping plates of shadowy texture. She pushed her fingers into the seam at the center of his chest, feeling the surprising warmth beneath the cool exterior. “Let me,” she whispered, her voice thick. “Let me feel you, too.”
He went utterly still for a second, a statue of conflicted restraint. Then, with a sound that was half-growl, half-sigh, something gave way. The rigid plates under her fingers seemed to soften, to part. Her palms met the hot, smooth skin beneath, a startling contrast to his exterior. His heart beat there, a slow, powerful rhythm that made her own stutter in response. It was ancient and wild, this pulse, and it was answering hers.
His hand left her hip, came up to cradle her jaw, his thumb stroking over the silvery scar. He tilted her face up, forcing her to meet the full blaze of his eyes. The question was gone. In its place was a raw, possessive certainty that stole the air from her lungs. He leaned down, his massive form blocking the moonlight, and his forehead came to rest against hers. His breath was warm, smelling of deep earth and ozone. “Mine,” the rumble said, not as a claim, but as a vow. The last thread of her loneliness snapped.
He kissed her. Slow. Deep. His mouth covered hers, and the world narrowed to the heat of his lips, the taste of ozone and earth, and the low, possessive rumble vibrating from his chest into hers. Elara gasped against him, her hands flattening against the hot skin she’d uncovered, and she surrendered completely, opening for him. His tongue swept in, claiming, tasting the salt of her tears and the trust on her breath. It wasn’t gentle. It was consuming.
Her fingers dug into the muscles of his chest, anchoring herself as he tilted her head back, deepening the kiss until she was dizzy with it. The cool, rough texture of his other hand still cradled her jaw, a stark contrast to the searing heat of his mouth. She tasted wilderness. She tasted patience worn thin. She tasted a hunger that mirrored the one coiling tight and low in her own belly. A soft, broken sound escaped her throat, and he swallowed it, his growl deepening.
When he finally broke the kiss, it was only far enough to rest his forehead against hers again, their breaths mingling in ragged sync. His amber eyes were blazing, the light in them casting her face in a warm, otherworldly glow. A string of saliva connected their lips for a second before it snapped. “Kael,” she breathed, the name a plea and an answer.
His claw-tipped hand slid from her jaw, down the column of her throat, over the frantic pulse there, and came to rest on the first button of her worn flannel shirt. He didn’t tear it. He waited, his gaze locked on hers, the question returned but transformed. It wasn’t ‘may I?’ anymore. It was ‘do you see what this is?’ Elara held his stare, her own hazel eyes wide and dark with want. She gave a single, shaky nod.
His large fingers, impossibly deft, undid the first button. The pop of it freeing was loud in the silent cabin. The second. The third. With each one, a new strip of her skin was exposed to the cool air and the heat of his gaze. He pushed the fabric apart, revealing the simple cotton tank beneath, the neckline already damp with her sweat. His low rumble was pure approval. He bent his head, and his mouth found the hollow of her throat, his lips searing against her hammering pulse.
Elara arched into the contact, a sharp gasp tearing from her as his tongue traced the line of her collarbone. His other hand, still splayed over her heart, slid lower, under the hem of her tank, his cool palm meeting the feverish skin of her stomach. She jerked at the contact, her muscles fluttering under his touch. He stilled, his mouth pausing against her skin. Waiting. Her hands came up to tangle in the strange, rough texture of his hair. “Don’t stop,” she whispered, the words raw. “Please.”