Page 28 of Rebel Fates

I shake that vision out of my head and explain as she wipes water out of her eyes, “Leva opens up her ducts and out comes water.”

“I’m standing in ship pee?”

Now, I’m truly laughing. I never heard that analogy before. “Exactly!” I goad her.

Gemma gives me a playful shove, and my animal is craving to play with what it sees as its next conquest.

Seeing her slick with moisture—it’s more than I can handle.

The Tirbs’ scent on her is now quickly dissipating and her alluring perfume catches in my nose.

I charge toward her.

Gemma presses herself up against the wall.

My enormous arms corral around her, pinning her there. I press my hips against her waist. Through my soaked pants, my hard cock pokes her stomach.

My hunting gaze is radiating down into her round, expressive blue eyes.

Instead of flinching as I thought she might, she firmly holds my stare. She must believe I’m playing. Or she doesn’t fear me. I’m surprised that she’s this brave. Seasoned warriors often blanch when I look at them with this intensity.

She acts bored. “Is that all you got?”

Triggering my alpha nature, I growl—deep and resonate.

I make her squirm ever so slightly with the sound. Although, it’s not enough to make her understand I’m the dominant one here.

Then Gemma growls, too.

Do humans growl?I didn’t think they did. It’s more potent than I would expect. The animal inside me wants to come forward and accept her challenge.

I have lost all my senses.

13

WRESTLING

GEMMA

Idon’t know where my growl came from, but it felt so… natural.

Comparatively, I may be the little cat, but I’ll scrap with the big boys if I have to.

Serrat thinks he can intimidate me by pinning me to the wall and pressing his strong, massive body against me.

Well, yes. Yes, he can. But if he was going to kill me, he would probably have done that by now.Right?

After my growl, there’s a distinct shift in his eyes, as if he’s no longer playing around.

I gulp. If there is a limit to my provocation, I think I just crossed it.

Only, he doesn’t say or do anything except huff hard, as if he has just run a mile. His green eyes study my face and then lower to take in the sight of my full breasts.

My hand skims over his lightly fur-covered, muscular chest.

A powerful scent of sweetgrass fills my nose. It must be Serrat’s scent. I inhale deeply.

That triggers him further.

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