Page 47 of Pack Kasen: Part 1

The crystal-clear image of fucking the feral in this bed lingers. Of biting her. Of claiming her like I’ve wanted no other woman before.

The way a shifter will only ever claim his mate.

“Fuck!”

I flop onto my back, chest heaving, rock hard and knowing it’s impossible to sleep now.

“Fuck.” I scrub my hand over my face, wiping away the sweat, but it does nothing to clear away the haunting images—the dreams—imprinted on my mind.

My wolf is antsy, irritated, frustrated. He growls at me to stop wasting time in this bed. To go downstairs, fling open the cage, pin the feral beneath us, bare her throat and?—

“No,” I snarl.

I get up, tossing the sheets off and not caring where they fall.

“The best sex I’ve ever had, and it was a dream with a fucking feral,” I mutter as I walk into the shower to get myself clean.

I’ll need to change the sheets now and open the window to air out the room before morning. Finan is observant at the best of times. He’ll notice the fresh sheets. But better he notice that than start asking questions about what I was dreaming about.

Finan already thinks I’m losing my mind over the feral. He hasn’t said it yet, but I know Finan. He is definitely thinking it.

But even in the shower, she torments me. I close my eyes, bend my head under the spray and I see her staring up at me, body pinned beneath mine as she pants, “Harder, Wolf King.”

My cock swells, throbs with the need to push aside her slender thighs and bury myself between them.

Five hard pumps of my fist around my cock briefly silences the ache. I switch the faucet to cold and when, five minutes later, I’m hard again, I switch the heat back on again.

I’ve come once in my sheets, again in the shower, and it doesn’t come close to being enough. I’m developing a terrifying fear that nothing I do will ever be enough. Not my fist. Not Marisa. Not any other women.

Just her.

This need to claim the feral feels serious.

I need to do something about the feral and I need to do it soon.

My wolf—and my body—is reacting as if she’s mine.

I shake my head.

That can’t be right. Only shifters have fated mates and the woman in that cage is no shifter.

I peel my eyes open and study the marble in front of me.

“She has to go,” I mutter. “She has to go before I do something I can’t undo.”

Like bite her and claim her in an unbreakable bond only ended by death.

I finish with my shower, quickly dry myself and spend the next several minutes stripping the sheets from my bed and changing them. Finan will notice, but he won’t ask. He’ll do that one eyebrow lift which I’ll pretend I don’t see.

Yawning, I switch off the light and slide under the cool sheets.

But the second I close my eyes, all I can see is her. The feral. Under me, how she felt climaxing around my cock.

I feel myself swelling in response.

I get up, leave my clothes behind, and walk out of my room. One glance at a clock reveals it’s nearly 3 a.m. The house is quiet, but not everyone is asleep. At least two enforcers take turns patrolling every night.

Outside, I embrace my wolf form and run to the creek.

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