Page 37 of Shadow Bound

Isabeau’s arms go slack so I remove my hand from her wrists but keep the one on her neck just in case. Under my fingertips, I feel her usually slow heartbeat rise as I move my mouth against hers. At first, she doesn’t move, just stays still, but after a beat, I finally feel her lips move with mine.

My tongue dips inside of her mouth, a faint taste of coppery blood still lingers, but I don’t care. The sweet, honey flavor that always accompanies her mostly overpowers the blood anyway. Tentatively, almost shyly, Isabeau’s tongue slides against mine, making a groan escape my throat.

When I first met Isabeau, my wolf wanted to tear her to shreds, I was mostly in agreement, but there was a small piece of me that really wanted to know what she’d feel like under me, vulnerable. And now that I know, I’m afraid I’m going to become quickly addicted.

I deepen the kiss even more, my hand tightening ever so slightly on her throat. She doesn’t try to push my hand away, doesn’t even snarl in annoyance. For the first time ever, she lets me lead. She doesn’t fight me for control or try to overpower me. She submits to me, making my dominant wolf almost purr with satisfaction.

Pressing my mouth harder to hers, I feel a bite of pain and it’s quickly followed by the taste of my blood on my tongue. I rear back, pulling away from her before she can sense that her fang has broken my skin. Her eyes, which have returned back to their blue, watch me with a heated look as they track the blood that’s blossoming there. Just as I’m about to wipe the blood away with the sleeve of my shirt, her hand twists around the back of my head and her fingers thread into my hair. Shoving my face back down to hers, her tongue swipes across my bottom lip taking the drop of blood with it.

Her eyes flash red again for the briefest second, but she stays in control. She groans as she swallows my blood.

I should probably find the whole exchange off-putting and weird, but it’s hot as hell watching her savor the taste of my blood. My dick hardens when she sucks my bottom lip into her mouth. Not once does she try to bite me again, just laps at the small amount of blood that’s already there.

When she releases me, I peer down at her. “I thought you didn’t like shifter blood.” I remind her of what she told me after finding the fox shifter drained of blood.

She hasn’t let go of my hair yet. “I don’t.” Isabeau tries to lift her head to press her mouth to mine again, but I keep her held in place by my hand that’s still on her throat. She snarls in frustration, baring her perfectly blunt teeth instead of her fangs. “But I like yours.”

I run my nose along hers before sliding my lips across hers, in just a whisper of a kiss. Her skin is cooler than I’m used to, but I’m not bothered by it. The more I’m around her the less I’m bothered. Her cold personality doesn’t offend me because I understand that it’s a defense mechanism. Her prickly, unapproachable exterior doesn’t deter me, if anything it’s a challenge and excites me.

As I skim my lips along her jaw, leading up to her ear, her free hand runs down my chest, the electric current that occurs when she touches me zaps through my body from her contact. I’m nipping lightly at her earlobe when her hand travels lower and I feel her grip me through my jeans. “Watch it, Tink,” I growl my warning into her ear. “Don’t start something you can’t finish.”

“I said no nicknames.” Isabeau nips at my jaw.

“I distinctly remember telling you—” Taking hold of her hips, I abruptly roll us and sit up, forcing her to straddle my thighs. “—tough shit. The nicknames stay.” I don’t even care that in this position, the cold snow is melting through my pants and making my ass wet. Before she has a chance to argue with me, I drop my mouth back down to hers. Her strong little hands grip the fabric in such a tight hold, I’m shocked the fabric doesn’t tear.

Her hips rock against me, I’m not even sure she knows she’s doing it, but I’m not about to tell her to stop. I break away from her mouth and begin kissing down her neck where the vine of thorns starts. The tattoo disappears under her shirt, but I’m desperate to trace the line with my tongue. My hands find the hem of her black top, and I yank it over her head and toss it to the side.

Her breath hitches in her throat when I dip my head to press open-mouthed kisses to the top of each of her breasts. She’s wearing a different black bra than before; the cups are made of lace and are see-through. “Fuck,” I rasp.

“What?” she questions.

“You’re fucking lethal, you know that, right? Even without the fangs and knives, you can bring a man to his fucking knees.” I scrape my teeth across her shoulder where the thorns are, I feel her body stiffen under my fingertips at first before her skin breaks out in shivers.

“Ransom,” she growls.

“Yes?”

“Stop talking, you’re ruining it.”

I smile against her skin. “I’m ruining it by giving you compliments?”

“I don’t want compliments.” I lift my head so I can look into her icy gaze. The blood has made her eyes vibrant and alert again. Her sunken cheekbones have even started to fill some. She’s not back one-hundred-percent yet, but she’s well on her way. My wolf, who hated her until recently, relaxes some seeing her already looking better.

“Then what do you want?”

She doesn’t look me in the eyes, instead, she’s looking lustfully at my lips. On instinct, my tongue swipes out to make sure I’m not bleeding anymore. Her palms smooth over my chest before sliding up to grip my shoulders. “I—”

The snapping of twigs has both of our heads snapping to the side and when we see the glow from a flashlight I know whatever—moment—we were having is over.

Isabeau’s eyes slam into mine and as if she’s coming out of a fog, realization crosses her face. Eyes wide and shaking her head, she scrambles off of me. She’s moving so fast; she stumbles over her own feet and lands on her ass in the snow only feet away from me. I jump to my own feet to help her up, but she slaps my hands away with a pissed-off snarl.

“Beau…” I sigh, rolling my eyes.

She shifts through the snow to get her top. I’m sure it’s soaking wet now, but she doesn’t seem to care. It’s just over her head when whoever’s out here approaches.

“What the hell are they doing out here?” I hear Remington grumble. “Jesus, Winslow, aren’t you freezing? Why don’t you ever wear pants?”

“When you say it like that, you make it sound like I walk around likeDonald Duckall day. Ihaveshorts on,” Winslow retorts. If she’s out here, that explains the flashlight. While she might not be afraid of the dark, she can’t see in it with her human vision.

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