Page 41 of Fated Wolf's Destiny

Neither of us speaks, the air between us alive with a kind of kinetic energy. But as I hold his gaze, I know one thing for certain: whatever comes next, I’m not running—not from Ryder and not from the truth.

CHAPTER 15

RYDER

The clinic feels too small, the air too thick, as Bella moves around me, her steps hurried, her movements sharp. I sit on the edge of the exam table, trying not to notice the way her lips press together in concentration or the way her hair falls loose around her face when she leans over the cart of supplies. I tell myself I’m focusing on her efficiency, her precision—but I’m lying to myself.

The soft scent of lavender and antiseptic fills the room, but beneath it, I can smell her. That warm, subtle sweetness that’s uniquely Bella. It’s been driving me insane since we walked in here. My damp hair curls against my neck from the cold shower I took, but I can still feel the residual feral energy from the fight, the ache in my ribs, the cuts in my skin. Not that I’d admit it.

“I’m fine,” I say, my voice low and rough. I watch her carefully as I speak, taking in the way her shoulders stiffen, the way she refuses to look directly at me for too long. She’s been like this since the fight—tense, wound tight.

“You’re not fine,” she snaps, and the spark in her voice sends a jolt through me. She doesn’t back down, not even from me, and that’s only one of the things I respect and admire about her.Maybe Lucas is right. Maybe pushing her away is a bad idea. “Sit still.”

I lean back slightly, resting my hands on the table’s edge. My muscles are tense, and not from the wounds. It’s her. She steps closer, pulling the cart with her supplies, her movements measured but uncertain. She’s trying too hard to focus on the task, and I can see her hands trembling when she picks up the cloth.

“This is going to sting,” she says, her voice quieter now.

“Doubtful.” My lips twitch in a half-smile. I know I shouldn’t tease her, not when she’s this close, but I can’t help it. She presses the cloth against the cut on my side, and the antiseptic bites into my skin. I hiss, more from the heat of her touch than the pain. Her fingers linger against my side, soft and warm, and I feel my pulse spike.

“Hold still. This doesn’t look too bad. You’re not going to need stitches,” she murmurs. Her voice isn’t sharp this time; it’s soft, almost pleading, and it does something to me. My gaze locks on hers, and for a moment, her breath catches, her chest rising and falling just a little faster. She’s trying not to look at me, but when I shift slightly, leaning into her touch, she freezes.

“Bella,” I say her name, low and quiet, testing the way it feels on my tongue. Her eyes snap to mine, wide and uncertain, but she doesn’t pull away. She leans closer instead, her hand brushing my skin as she inspects the cut near my collarbone.

“What?” she whispers, her voice trembling.

“You’re shaking.” I reach out slowly, brushing my fingers against her wrist. The contact is light, but I feel the way her pulse quickens beneath my touch. Her breath hitches and her lips part, but she doesn’t pull away.

“I’m not,” she says quickly, but she’s lying. Her fingers linger on my skin, and I feel a flicker of something dangerous—something I can’t hold back much longer.

Her bravado cracks when I hold her wrist, keeping her close. The cloth falls from her hand, and for a second, the tension between us feels like it’s about to snap. She looks at me, her expression vulnerable and unsure, but she doesn’t move away.

“Ryder…” she starts, her voice soft, uncertain.

“Tell me to stop,” I murmur. It’s a challenge, one I’m not sure I want her to take. I lean in, just enough to let her feel the heat between us, the gravity of the moment. She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t push me away, and my resolve to remain aloof frays further.

She swallows, her lips trembling. “I can’t,” she whispers, so quiet I almost miss it.

That’s all I need.

I lift my hand to her face, letting my fingers trace the curve of her jaw. Her skin is impossibly soft, and when her breath catches, I feel it down to my core. She leans into my touch, her eyes fluttering closed for a moment before opening again, locking on mine.

When she presses her hands against my shoulders, her palms warm against my skin. I lean in, my lips finding hers, and the world is irrevocably altered. Her taste is intoxicating, her kiss desperate and hungry, and I lose myself in it, in her. My hands tangle in her hair, pulling her closer, deepening the kiss, and I feel her melt against me, her body soft and yielding.

The table creaks beneath me, but I don’t care. Nothing else exists but her—the way her breath hitches when I trace my fingers down her back, the way she clings to me like she’s afraid to let go. My heart is pounding, my body aching with need, and I know this is reckless, that I should stop. But I can’t.

I won’t.

She murmurs my name against my lips, and a growl rises in my chest as I pull her closer, my hands exploring the curves of her body. Letting go isn’t an option anymore.

I silence any protests she might have had, capturing her mouth in another kiss. At this moment, the connection to her is of primary importance to me. We may have different backgrounds and beliefs, but we are bound together, and nothing will change that bond.

Bella doesn't fight against me at all, she gives into our kiss, surely feeling everything I am. There is no fighting what we are. We're mates; we're destined to be together, and nothing the Elders think can change that.

As our lips mold together, a surge of electricity shoots through my veins. The taste of her, a subtle mix of sweetness and defiance, ignites a wildfire within me—primal, undeniable. I deepen the kiss, pouring every ounce of possessiveness and dominance into it.

Bella's hands find their way to my chest, her fingers curling into tight fists. A soft moan escapes her lips, muffled by the intensity of our connection. With each passing second, I can feel the doubts and insecurities that must be clouding her mind begin to dissipate.

Pulling away, I breathe heavily, my forehead resting against hers. Our breath mingles in the heated space between us. "You feel it too, don't you? The pull." My voice is husky with desire, tinged with the unspoken promise of pleasure that lies ahead.

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