Page 80 of A Hunger Soft and Wild

I blink, startled—and then a laugh escapes me, rough and genuine.

“Gods,” I chuckle, shaking my head, the grin tugging at my mouth. “Shewas.”

She chews on her bottom lip, hesitating. Then, quietly, “And I didn’t like how she talked to you. No one should ever talk to you like that.”

The words settle deep in my chest, heating through me.

For a moment, I forget the cart, the road, the merchant a few feet away. I forget everything except the way she looks up at me, wary and wanting at once.

I lift a hand, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. She doesn’t pull away.

“Mouse,” I murmur, voice dropping lower, more careful. “You keep looking at me like that, and I might start thinking you actually like me.”

Aria’s gaze is steady, unwavering. No hesitation, no uncertainty—just quiet certainty as she meets my eyes and says, “I do.”

The words sink into me, settling somewhere deep, and before I can fully process them, she moves.

She kisses me like she means it. No tentativeness, no caution—just firm, deliberate intent. It’s different from before, from the hesitant touches, the stolen moments of uncertainty.

This is hunger. This is decision.

I don’t hesitate either. My fingers thread into her hair, tugging her closer, tilting her head just enough to deepen the kiss. She goes with it, pressing into me, her hands fisting in my tunic like she never wants to let go.

Gods, I like the way she kisses. There’s no more holding back, no more careful restraint—just need, raw and undeniable.

And then—I feel them.

Her fangs.

I hadn’t noticed them before. They’re usually so small, barely there, just a hint when she spoke or smiled. But now… now they’re longer.

That happens when she’s hungry.

A shiver rolls down my spine, something sharp and dark curling in my chest. Not fear. Something else. Something just as dangerous.

I press my tongue against one, tracing the razor-sharp point, testing the edge. Aria makes a quiet sound—a soft, startled exhale that turns into something else entirely when I tug her closer.

It should make me wary. Should remind me exactly what she is, what she could do if she wanted to.

Instead, it just makes me want her more.

The kiss grows deeper, fiercer. She’s pressing into me, hands gripping the front of my tunic like she’s afraid I’ll pull away, and fuck, I have no intention of doing that.

Then pain—sharp and quick.

I jerk slightly as the sting registers, realizing too late that I’ve cut my tongue on her fang.

Aria gasps against my lips, going rigid for half a second before her grip on me tightens. Her tongue flicks out, tentative at first, then bolder as she sucks at the wound, drawing my tongue into her mouth, tasting the blood.

Heat licks up my spine, something primal twisting deep in my gut. The sensation is dizzying, her mouth soft yet possessive, her fingers digging into my arms.

Then, just as suddenly, she wrenches back with a strangled breath, her chest rising and falling too fast.

Her eyes—wide, wild—lock onto mine.

“Sorry,” she whispers. One hand flies to her lips, as if she can still taste me there.

I reach for her, but she flinches, shaking her head.

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