Page 62 of A Hunger Soft and Wild

***

Warmth.

That’s the first thing I notice. A steady heat against my side, solid and real, pressing into me in a way that makes my body instinctively relax. The weight draped over me is comforting, grounding, like being wrapped in something safe.

The scent hits next—smoke and soap, something faintly sweet underneath, something distinctlyher. It curls into my senses, soothing in a way I don’t fully understand. My fingers flex slightly, brushing against soft fabric and the firm muscle beneath it. I shift just a little, and the warmth presses closer.

It feelsgood.

Too good.

The realization slams into me like a punch to the ribs. My breath stutters as my mind claws its way fully into wakefulness, sluggish and reluctant. The weight on me isn’t just some vague comfort—it’sher.

Aria.

And I’mholding her.

My pulse kicks up hard as my senses sharpen, taking in everything at once—the way her arm rests over my waist, fingers curled lightly against me, the way our legs are tangled, the way my own hand is still on her hip, gripping just a little too tight.

Shit.

A slow, creeping tension replaces the drowsy peace from moments ago, along with a rush of embarrassment—like I’ve crossed a line I didn’t know existed. I go completely still, barely breathing. Did she wake up like this too? Is she still asleep? How the hell did we even—?

I force a slow, silent exhale, willing my heartbeat to steady, but it does little to calm the sensation crawling up my spine. Aria shifts again, her breath soft against my collarbone.

I should move. Should have moved the second I woke up like this.

Instead, I hesitate—just for a breath, just long enough to catch the way her fingers twitch against the fabric of my shirt before curling slightly, as if grasping for something.Me.

I close my eyes against the sting of guilt. And something else. That same sharp, dangerous thing.

Enough.

I turn my head sharply, jaw clenched tight as I force my body into motion. Every instinct screams at me to stay—to linger in the warmth still radiating between us—but I don’t listen. Ican’t.

With slow, measured movements, I peel myself away from her side, careful not to jostle the mattress too much. Aria stirs, a soft, sleepy sound escaping her lips, and my chest seizes. But she doesn’t wake.

I sit on the edge of the bed, dragging a hand down my face. My skin still burns with the ghost of her closeness, like she’s imprinted there.

Get it together, Roan.

That was too close. Too much. What would she have thought if she’d woken first?

Food. I need food. Something real, something grounding.

Not this… not the warmth still clinging to my skin like a memory I’m not ready to let go of.

I stand carefully, grab a scrap of parchment from my pack, and scribble a quick note.It’s not eloquent, but it’ll do. I place it on the table near the balcony, stealing one last glance at her before slipping from the room.

***

The common room is quiet. It’s too early for the morning crowd with the exception of two men at a back table, muttering in hushed tones, the scent of spiced stew and roasted meat thick in the air. My stomach aches—I hadn’t realized how hungry I was.

I make my way to the counter, nodding at the barkeep. “Something hot,” I murmur, sliding a few coins his way. “And a tankard.”

He grunts in acknowledgment and moves off, leaving me to scan the room. No obvious trouble. No strangers eyeing me too closely. Good.

As I wait, I let my gaze drift toward the far end of the inn, where the men sit nursing their drinks. Based on the few words I catch—damn wolves getting bolder… might have to move deeper next time—they’re hunters, through and through. The kind who know these woods better than the back of their hands.

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