Page 24 of Under Crimson Blades

Muscle coiled over the broad panes of his chest, the peaks and valleys of his abdominals tensing with every ruthless hit of his fists. Even more enticing was the fact that his torso was decorated with delicious ink. As she’d seen before, his left arm depicted a forest scene, the river trailing from his deltoid and spilling into a waterfall towards his wrist. On his left ribs, a coiled snake curled on his side, its head captured in full strike with fangs that scrapped just beneath his breastbone.

His clan mark—something she’d heard of but never seen in person—was a stylized capital A that was partially an infinity symbol. It rested proudly on his right pectoral muscle, both a claim and a privilege.

The gaggle of gossiping she-wolves had taken up residence across from the Raeth’s punching bag, and while it looked like he’d forgotten about them, they clearly hadn’t forgotten about him. She spied several slips of paper with phone numbers around Remmus’ water bottle.

When the women saw Ava’s obvious disappointment in them, they scattered. The gym was not a speed-dating event or a bachelor auction. It seemed no one could control themselves anymore.

She wasn’t jealous. She just cared about the pack reputation, like the consummate beta that she was. And that’s the story she’d stick with.

Unlike the she-wolves who’d apparently arrived without purpose, Ava had a job to do. As part of her responsibilities, she looked after the gym and managed the arrival of new equipment. Given the werewolves’ penchant for regularly destroying things, it was nearly a full-time job.

While she worked, the subliminal urge to keep the Raeth in her sightline was nearly overpowering. It was a mixture of fear and heightened awareness, but a part of her was drawn to him. Her duties brought her closer to the punching bags—they rarely lasted more than a couple of months in the den—to ensure none of them needed replacement.

Remmus continued his workout as she approached, and neither of them spoke. It was just as well—she didn’t need to add conversation to her list of things to do. When she’d checked all the bags except his, she found that he’d stalled his session.

A dimple appeared as he gave her a reverent bow. “All yours, Blondie.”

This close, the minty scent that clung to him was impossible to miss. An electric current seemed to draw her toward him, the proximity making her wolf whine happily. If she reached out, she could press her palm against his heated skin—or swipe a claw across it.

She gave him a look. “Is it purposeful?”

“What?”

“Your incessant need to rile up my packmates.”

“It can’t be helped,” he said, feigning apology. “I was innocently working out.”

“There’s nothing innocent about you.”

His deep, rumbling chuckle had her wolf leaping to the forefront to peer through her eyes. Studying the change in her eye color, he inched closer and said, “For once, Blondie, you’re entirely right. You’ve seen through my virtuous façade. You are truly the beauty and the brains.”

When he reached up to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear, the warmth of his hand flamed across her cheek and behind her ear. Like before, the featherlight touch stoked a fire within her, and her wolf reached not with fear, but yearning. Chasing that sensation, she leaned into the contact before she remembered who he was. What he was.

Too slow, she snapped her teeth at him.

“Keep your hands to yourself or you’ll lose them.”

Remmus’ eyes glinted. “As you wish, Blondie.”

Absently, he reached up to adjust the messy bun at the back of his head, but it drew her attention to the muscles that bunched beneath his inked skin. She stared for a half moment too long.

“I feel objectified. Are you inspecting me for rips and tears, too?”

Scowling, she made quick work of checking the punching bag and deemed it acceptable for continued use. She gestured to it.

“Feel free to continue your workout, Raeth.”

The tomfoolery had ruined any urge she’d had to work out for stress release. Having completed her gym management duties, she left for her kitchen without a backwards glance.

***

Seeing so much of the Raeth and his sexy ink had clearly addled her brain. Ava wasn’t used to playing damsel in distress, and she’d done her fair share of it over the last two days. It’d been a marvel she hadn’t sat on her haunches like a pretty pup and begged for his treats.

What was it about this man that tore all her control to pieces?

With the gym occupied by his massive ego, she’d retreated to her kitchen to bake and lower her anxiety. The wolves of the den would be overjoyed. The current count was two pies, forty-eight cupcakes, and one passable tray of gooey, chocolate brownies. Now, all Ava needed to do was finish the whipped topping on the cream pie, and she’d be done.

Biting her lower lip, she delicately leaned forward, bag in hand, and began piping over the rich chocolate dessert.

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