Page 37 of Pack Obsession

"Speaking from experience?" She grins slyly.

The question hits too close to home. I change tactics.

"You should have taken the knife."

"Why? Planning to attack me out here in the woods?"

"Others might."

"But not you?"

I move closer still. Her pulse jumps at her throat, but she doesn’t back away.

"I’m not the one you should be afraid of."

"No?" Her voice drops lower. "Then why do you smell like danger?"

"Some things can’t be helped."

"Like being constantly on guard?" Her head tilts. "Like needing the hunt?"

"You trying to psychoanalyze me?" She’s good and I like that she doesn't hold back.

"Someone should." She takes a step forward, surprising me. "You think I don’t see it? The way you are always on guard? The way you can’t relax unless you’re in motion?"

"Survival instincts, sugar."

"Addiction." She corrects softly. "To danger. To the edge. To feeling alive."

My jaw clenches. "You don’t know me."

"No?" Another step forward, and this brazen Omega has me more than intrigued. "Then tell me why you really brought me out here. Was it really about training? Or did you need the hunt?"

"Both," I answer truthfully.

"At least you’re honest." Her scent shifts, sweetens. Preheat pheromones are making my head spin.

I move without thinking, backing her against a tree. Her breath catches, but she doesn’t look away.

"You think you’re not fire? You can understand me that easily?"

"I think..." Her tongue darts out to wet her lips. "I think you’re scared of what happens when the hunt ends. When there’s nothing left to chase."

"There’s always something to chase."

"Is there?" Her hand hovers near my chest without touching. "What if what you’re chasing is right here?"

The growl builds in my chest. Her perfume spikes—arousal, fear, and challenge all mixed together.

"Dangerous game you’re playing."

"You’d know all about those." Her fingers finally make contact, pressing against my thundering heart. "Tell mesomething, Logan. When was the last time you let yourself feel something besides the hunt?"

I cage her with my arms, hands pressed to the bark on either side of her head. "You asking professionally or personally?"

"Yes."

A laugh escapes me. "You’re impossible."

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