Page 12 of Beckett's Fate

Warm air brushed against her again, only this time she knew what it was. His breath.

His face was so close to her sex, she could feel his breath.

“I do, indeed. This is our way when the alpha takes his mate.” He inhaled deeply. “You smell like I knew you would that day. And you…” he purred as he pressed his lips to her core. “You taste like honey. Sweet and sticky. I can’t wait to lose myself in you.”

“What are you doing?” she tried to mumble, but her mouth suddenly wouldn’t work. She could barely breathe, much less talk. His tongue languidly licked her labia, edging closer and closer to her aching pussy as every rational thought went out of her head.

She was tied up? Sounded good. She was naked in front of god knew how many? No problem.The only problem she could see was that his fly was still closed, and he was doing more talking than eating.

Hot full lips suctioned around her clit and sucked. The tip of a hard wet tongue flicked against it, and it was almost more than she could bear.

She could hear low growling from the shadows, and she wanted to get away from it and at the same time, she wanted more. What she really wanted was a naked Beck in hercomfortable bed back at the B&B—the audience was optional at this point.

“Eating you,” he answered. “I’m going to eat you all up, and then, I’m going to make us one.”

She opened her mouth to respond, but no words came. He stepped closer, his presence enveloping her, his hand brushing her cheek as he leaned over her, his lips hovering inches from hers.

Her heart thundered in her chest, a heady mix of fear and desire. When his lips finally claimed hers, it was like wildfire, consuming and unrelenting. His hands roamed her body with a possessive hunger, and she melted against the rock, a pathetic puddle, surrendering to the pull she’d fought so hard to deny.

The dream shifted, his touch growing more insistent, his breath hot against her skin as he whispered things that made her blood race. Her body ached for him, every nerve alive with a need that was both terrifying and exhilarating.

Somewhere in the distance, a lone wolf howled, breaking the spell and waking her up. When she woke, her body was damp with sweat, her heart hammering as if she’d run a mile. She growled low in her throat, a sharp, guttural sound that startled even herself. Throwing the blankets aside, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed, running a hand through her sweat-dampened hair.

“Damn it,” she whispered, her voice hoarse. The man was as infuriating in a dream as he was in real life.

The dream clung to her like a second skin, the memory of his touch far too vivid to shake. She pressed a hand to her chest, willing her racing heart to calm, but it was no use.

Beckett Grey was in her head. And worse—he was under her skin.

“Get it together,” she muttered, her voice tight with frustration.

The room felt stifling, the walls closing in around her. She needed air, movement, freedom. Grabbing her waterproof gear bag, Irene changed into her running clothes and slipped quietly out of the Bristlecone Bed & Breakfast. The night was cool, the air crisp against her skin as she headed toward the rolling pastures she’d spotted earlier.

Reaching the edge of the pastures, Irene paused, listening to the stillness of the night. The moon cast a silvery glow over the fields, illuminating the tall grass that swayed gently in the breeze. She stripped off her clothes, tucking them neatly into the gear bag, and let the shift take her.

The transformation came swiftly, her body bending and reshaping until she stood on four legs, her red coat catching the moonlight. She shook out her fur, breathing in the scents of the night, and took off, her paws kicking up clumps of dirt as she raced across the open field.

The run was exhilarating, her muscles flexing and stretching as she pushed herself faster and farther. The wind rushed past her ears, carrying with it the scents of the forest and the faint rustle of nocturnal creatures.

But then, another scent reached her—a familiar one, sharp and wild. She slowed, her ears pricking as a shadow emerged from the tree line. An enormous black wolf stepped into the moonlight.

Beck.

Her heart thundered in her chest as she snarled softly, her hackles rising. He didn’t move, his posture calm but alert, his gaze holding hers with an intensity that sent a shiver through her. He wasn’t here to fight; that much was clear. But his presence was no less unsettling.

Irene turned sharply, darting toward the rocky hills that loomed in the distance. She could hear him following, his heavy paws pounding the earth behind her. No matter how hard shepushed herself, he matched her stride for stride, his size and strength evident in every movement as he caught up to her.

He ran beside her for a few strides and then pulled ahead, expecting her to follow, no doubt. Well, the arrogant alpha was in for a surprise.

She darted up a narrow ravine, her claws scraping against the rocks as she climbed higher. The black wolf changed directions and followed, his powerful frame moving with an ease that made her curse under her breath. She zigzagged through the boulders, leaping over crevices and sliding down slopes, determined to lose him.

Finally, she spotted a narrow crevice between two large rocks and squeezed herself into it, her breath coming in shallow pants as she pressed her body against the cool stone. The black wolf appeared moments later, his head swiveling as he searched for her.

When he didn’t find her, he stopped, throwing his head back and letting out a long, mournful howl—calling to her. The sound echoed through the hills, vibrating in her chest and sending a shiver down her spine.

Why does he care, she wondered, her heart twisting with something she didn’t want to name. She waited until his howl faded and his footsteps receded before slipping out of her hiding place.

Circling back toward the pastures, Irene moved cautiously, her senses attuned to every sound and scent. As she neared the spot where she’d left her clothes, a flicker of orange light caught her attention. She froze, her ears swiveling toward the source.

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