Page 39 of Wolf

But he falls into step beside me, matching my pace. “You can't avoid me forever, baby.”

A shiver runs through me at the nickname, and I curse the traitorous reaction. “I'm not avoiding anyone,” I lie.

He laughs. “Still playing tough, I see.”

I quicken my steps, but he keeps up effortlessly. The hallway stretches endlessly before us, filled with students milling about, oblivious to the tension in their midst.

Matias grabs my arm and yanks me into a small alcove, spinning me around to face him. I gasp at his proximity, my back pressed against the cold wall. He cages me in with his arms, his body a furnace of heat against mine.

“Let me go,” I hiss, struggling against his hold.

His eyes blaze with an intensity that steals my breath. “You know you don't want that.”

I open my mouth to protest, but the words die on my tongue as he leans closer, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. “I can smell your desire. It's intoxicating.”

A whimper escapes me as heat pools low in my belly. Damn him and his effect on me.

“You can't hide from me,” he rumbles, his lips ghosting along the sensitive skin of my neck. “No matter where you run, I'll always be able to scent you out.”

His hand slides up my side, calloused fingers leaving a scorching trail in their wake. “I can see it in your eyes,” he murmurs, his thumb tracing the curve of my lower lip. “You miss this as much as I do.”

I whimper softly, torn between fear and desire, revulsion and longing. How can one man ignite such a fierce internal battle within me? I should hate him; I should fight against the twisted hold he has over me. And yet...

His lips capture mine in a searing kiss, his tongue delving past my parted lips to stake his claim. I melt into him despite a small part of my mind screaming at me to resist, to push him away.

My fingers tangle in the fabric of his shirt as I kiss him back with desperation, craving more of his taste, his heat, his overwhelming presence.

A low growl rumbles from deep within his chest as he presses closer, pinning me harder against the unyielding wall. I can feel the hard planes of his body, the flex of taut muscle, the insistent ridge of his arousal grinding against me.

I should stop this. I know I should. But even as the thought forms, it's consumed by the flames of need licking through my veins. This man is my undoing, my beautiful damnation, and I can't resist his pull.

His hand grasps my hair, forcing my head to tilt back, revealing the vulnerable column of my throat. His teeth graze my racing pulse as he murmurs, “You're mine, little rabbit. Forever.”

His words are a vow laced with darkness and possession. Something deep within me responds to his claim, to the primal need blazing in his eyes. It's as though some broken, damaged part of my soul recognizes its other half in this dangerous, beautiful man.

I can only hold his smoldering stare, my chest rising and falling with ragged breaths as the air thickens with the weight of a connection so intense it threatens to consume me whole.

Matias releases me abruptly, stepping back and allowing me to sag weakly against the bricks as he rakes me with one final, heated look.

“Don't forget,” he rumbles, making my insides clench with longing. “There’s no escaping the wolf.”

With that, he turns and walks away, leaving me flushed and shaken, my knees barely able to support my weight as I watch him disappear into the crowd of students.

20

MATIAS

The stale air in the dimly lit basement hangs heavy, reeking of sweat and smoke. I shift in my chair, my restless gaze flickering between the scowling faces gathered around the table. Thiago sits stoically beside me, his presence a calming anchor amidst the palpable tension.

Suarez, the grizzled ex-capo leading the stateside operations, slams his fist on the table. “Estrada’s men have been muscling in on our territory. Last week, they hit one of our drops and made off with half a million in product.”

A chorus of curses and grumbled threats fills the room. I lean back, feigning disinterest, but my mind is already calculating the most brutal way to retaliate.

“We need to send a message,” Jorge, a bulky enforcer, growls. “An eye for an eye. Hit them where it hurts.”

Thiago’s low voice cuts through the heated discussion. “Patience. We can’t afford an all-out war, not with our strained supply lines.”

The words hang in the air, a sobering reminder of the delicate balance we’re navigating. The Estrada cartel may be smaller, but their ruthlessness is unmatched, and their recent aggression has put us on the defensive.

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