Page 31 of Scorched By Fate

“You don’t,” I ground out, cutting her protest short. My head dipped lower, the motion instinctual, undeniable. The words I needed wouldn’t come—couldn’t. Nothing could bridge the aching space threatening to splinter everything. “Not from me.”

Her lips parted as if to argue or push me back into whatever tactical distance she thought she needed for logic to breathe between us. But nothing came.

And the sound of that silence was shattering. Deafening. Ripping whatever restraint I had left into useless fragments.

Her scent sharpened against me in unbearable waves.

I lowered my head without thinking. Closer. Dangerous. Every part of me screamed at once—not just desire, not just instinct, but something brighter, terrible in its force.

Her knees dipped, shifting her weight forward, closer to mine. And her breath—ragged and too quick—hitched just enough to shatter the careful tension strangling the ridge.

“Selene,” I growled again, hoarse and rough, a surrender wrapped in her name.

Control was gone. Fully. Terrifyingly.

I kissed her.

It wasn't careful. It wasn't soft. The moment was too raw for any of that. My lips crushed against hers before I could thinkmyself around it; before I had time to stop and consider what it might cost.

Her warmth bled into me; her taste hit the back of my fangs—salt and heat and something maddeningly sweet beneath it all—and everything unraveled.

She gasped against me, surprise giving way to something low and startled, but she didn’t pull back. She moved toward me instead. Her lips, soft but cracked, parted beneath mine, not yielding, but answering.

Her hands—uncertain and shaking from adrenaline—caught the edge of my armor, trembling before curling tighter. The heat of them—small, human, too fragile—seared through even the thick, fire-forged metal, cutting into me sharper than any clawed strike ever had.

My claws flexed briefly. Just enough to linger near her sleeve and then tighten ever so slightly, careful but protective, just shy of helpless.

Her taste.

It built heat behind my ribs and poured tension into every inch of me I couldn’t anchor. My tongue flicked against her bottom lip—primal, entirely unbidden, entirely maddening in its sensitivity—and that was it. The last thread of restraint frayed itself to ash.

I angled my head, deepening the kiss until her breath hitched sharply against mine, a trembling gasp escaping her throat as her hands tightened against my scales. Not resistance. Not anymore. Her grip wasn’t something born of fear or hesitation; it was something closer to instinct, to need, raw and unfiltered in its desperate hold on me.

Her lips moved tentatively beneath mine, uncertain at first, but growing bolder. Her body tipped infinitesimally closer, shoulders rising with every fractured breath racing between us. The brush of her fingers clinging to the scaled edges of my neckmade something deep in my chest curl tight, heat sparking low and dangerous where her nails raked against flesh.

Gods below, she wasn’t pulling away.

Sensations poured into me in waves. The tremor in her frame as it eased closer. The scent of her, impossibly rich and sharper now with her sweat. The sound she made, a soft, involuntary noise escaping her throat, when my claws shifted, just barely, to ghost along the curve of her neck.

My restraint wasn’t just fraying—it was disintegrating.

What was left of the logical side of me screamed to pull back, to stop giving in to the raw instinct and rein in control before everything tipped past the point of no return. But the connection between us was already burning too bright, too consuming. Her scent invaded every inch of my senses. Her taste lingered on every edge of my tongue, more potent than any flame Volcaryth had ever birthed into existence.

I couldn’t think.

Only feel.

My claws, still trembling from restraint, flexed where they cupped the slope of her shoulder. It wasn’t enough. Couldn’t be. The undercurrent pouring heat straight into my blood demanded more.

I slid one hand lower until my claws hovered delicately at the edge of her waist, the thin fabric of her shirt a useless barrier against the blistering heat growing between us. Her breath stuttered as soon as she felt the shift, her chest rising sharply against mine before melting into the pull of my weight anchoring her closer.

Her lips parted farther, and the brush of her tongue sent electricity sparking up my spine, setting fire to every thread of self-control I still had.

I growled—low, deep, possessive—a sound I barely recognized as mine.

Her response? She trembled, yes, but not from fear. Instead, her body leaned forward, tipping against me as though drawn into the same unbearable pull threatening to unmake me. Her nails dug against the curve where my neck met my shoulder, testing the edge of my scales, and the subtle scratch of it sent another shudder rippling through me.

Something feral clawed its way to the surface. Buried for too long, ignored for longer. The sheer rightness of her against me—of her taste, her touch, her breath threading into mine—forced every sharp edge of my instincts into blinding want.

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