Page 78 of Reckless: Corruption

“Partner,” I repeat, testing the word. “Is that what we are?”

“What would you call it?” He stops just short of touching distance, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from his skin.

“Complicated,” I admit. “Unfinished. Maybe slightly dysfunctional.”

A real smile this time, brief but genuine. “Accurate.”

“But I’m trying,” I add, needing him to understand. “To trust. To stay. Even when everything in me says running is safer.”

“I know.” His voice softens just a fraction. “That’s why we’re here. That’s why I’m pushing you. Because I need to know you can fight beside me, not just run from me.”

The honesty in his words crashes through my firewalls. This—this raw vulnerability—is more than Ryker usually offers. It feels like privileged access, one I’m not entirely sure I deserve.

“I won’t run again,” I promise, holding his gaze. “Not from the pack. Not from you.”

Something dangerous flashes in his eyes. The tension between us shifts, transforms from combat to something equally primal but entirely different. The training room suddenly feels smaller, the air heavier.

“Prove it,” he challenges, voice dropping to that alpha register that bypasses rational thought.

Before I can formulate a response, he moves—not attacking, something else entirely. His hand finds the back of my neck, his touch firm but not controlling. The gesture carries questions as much as demand, giving me space to withdraw if I choose.

I don’t.

His thumb brushes over the mark on my neck—Jinx’s claim—his eyes darkening as he traces the raised skin. “He marked you.”

“Yes.” No point denying what he can clearly see, clearly smell on me.

His expression turns complicated, thumb still lingering over the bite. “And yet you still smell unclaimed. Incomplete.”

A shiver runs through me at the implication. “I wasn’t aware there was a completion ceremony.”

“There isn’t.” His focus is unnerving, tactical mind visibly cataloging the mark, its placement, its depth. “But a true claim changes scent. Binds. This is...” He pauses, searching for the right word. “Preliminary.”

“I didn’t realize I needed the full package deal.” My attempt at humor falls flat as his fingers tighten slightly on my neck.

“You don’t.” His eyes meet mine, something fierce and possessive burning there. “Unless you want it.”

The implication sends heat pooling low in my belly. “And if I do?”

“Then stop me,” he challenges, voice a low rumble that vibrates through both of us. “If you want to.”

I should. I know I should. We’re in the middle of training, in the middle of rebuilding broken trust. But his heat surrounds me, his scent—cedar and black pepper, steel and something deeper, something primal—floods my senses until rational thought fractures.

“I don’t want to,” I admit, the truth spilling out before I can filter it.

Something shifts in his expression—triumph, need, something darker. His grip tightens on my neck, tilting my head back until I’m forced to meet his gaze directly.

“Last chance.” His thumb traces my pulse point, feeling the frantic rhythm beneath my skin. “Say no, and we go back to training. Say yes...” His voice drops lower. “And I show you exactly what trust between us can look like.”

The implication sends fresh heat cascading through my system. “Yes.”

The single word barely leaves my lips before his mouth claims mine in a kiss that’s nothing like the careful exploration we shared before. This is possession, pure and raw—alpha claiming what he considers his. His hand remains firm on my neck, holding me exactly where he wants me while his other arm tightens around my waist, eliminating any space between us.

I should feel trapped. Should feel controlled. Instead, I feel... safe. Anchored. Like I’ve been drifting through networks without firewall protection for too long and finally found secure connection.

When he finally breaks the kiss, we’re both breathing hard. His eyes have darkened, pupils expanded until only a thin ring of gray remains.

“Trust,” he murmurs, “means surrender sometimes.” His hand slides from my neck to cup my face, the touch gentler than I would have expected. “Can you do that, Cayenne? Can you surrender to me? Not because I’ve forced you, but because you choose to?”

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