Page 28 of Ranger's Code

"Mate. It’s instinctual. Soul-deep. It’s not about logic. Not about choice. It’s just... true."

"So you’re telling me everything that’s been happening between us—the chemistry, the sex—was some pre-programmed biological imperative?"

He gives a short laugh, stepping in until our bodies nearly touch. "Maggie, I’ve wanted you since before I even knew what you smelled like. The mate bond didn’t make me kiss you. It just made it harder to stop."

I look at him through narrowed eyes. "So what stopped you?"

"Kari."

That makes me laugh, a sharp burst of sound. "You’re scared of your sister?"

He groans, running a hand down his face. "She can be mean when she likes… and sneaky. I’m going to catch hell from her."

I grin, wicked and knowing. "She already knows."

His head snaps up. "What?"

"I called her, and she guessed. She was positively gleeful..."

He curses under his breath. "I’ll bet. You do know she will never let me hear the end of this."

I move then, fast and fierce, grabbing the front of his shirt and yanking him down into a kiss that’s messy, angry, and full of fire. My teeth graze his bottom lip. My breath is sharp against his skin.

"Then prove it’s not just some kind of primal instinct," I whisper.

“If we do this, there’s no going back. If I claim you as my mate, you will no longer be wholly human.”

“I want to be one with you.”

The grin that tugs at the corners of his mouth bares his teeth, slow and wild, like something ancient and hungry is waking just beneath his skin.

We collide with the explosive force of a dam obliterating its barriers, our hands and mouths driven by a ravenous, insatiable, almost painful desire. Clothes disappear in a whirlwind of frantic, feverish motions, discarded like leaves torn from trees in a hurricane. I push him back toward the couch, my palms pressing firmly against his chest, feeling the scorching heat radiating from his skin stretched taut over sinewy, defined muscle. I climb into his lap, straddling him, grinding down against his arousal with a moan that resonates through our very cores like a deep, primal hum.

His hands seize my thighs with a commanding, almost ferocious grip, guiding me into place with a raw dominance that makes my breath catch in my throat. I crave the cutting edge, hunger for the ferocity of it.

"You still want proof?" he growls, his voice a rough, gravelly challenge.

"I want you," I breathe, my voice a whisper drenched in need.

He plunges into me with a smooth, claiming thrust, and I gasp, my fingers digging into his shoulders, nails carving crescent-shaped indentations into his skin like tiny, intimate signatures of possession.

Our rhythm is unyielding, relentless, driven by a desperate, all-consuming hunger. My back arches as he fills me over and over, each thrust a searing brand, each movement a vow resonating deep within my very bones. Sweat slicks our skin, our bodies moving together with a perfect, primal urgency.

His mouth is everywhere—tracing my throat, gliding over my collarbone, caressing my breasts—his teeth grazing the edge of pain, a tantalizing threat hovering in the air. I bite into his neck and he growls, the sound reverberating through my chest like a deep, rumbling purr.

"You're mine," he declares, his voice possessive and unwavering.

"Then take me," I challenge fiercely.

And he does. As my climax erupts within me, loud and blinding, Gideon sinks his teeth in a spot just to the side of the hollow of my throat—the curve where my neck meets my shoulder melded—in a deep, savage and instinctive bite that seals our bond with primal finality. His scent melds with mine, an indelible mark of our union.

I cry out, my body clenching around him, and everything explodes into a searing crescendo—my muscles tightening, my nerves alight, as a wave of white-hot sensation tears through me with breathtaking force. My vision goes hazy at the edges, breath stolen from my lungs, as if the world itself has narrowed to the place where we connect. Around us, the air thickens, charged and humming, pulsing with something too wild and elemental to name. It isn’t just pleasure—it’s transformation. A crackling surge that leaves me gasping, clinging to him as if letting go would mean being unmoored from gravity itself.

My body collapses into him, muscles trembling and nerves frayed to the edge of sensation. I sag against his chest, boneless, breathless, my head lolling to the side as the last ripple of pleasure fades into a warm, dizzy haze. Gideon catches me easily, one arm locking around my back, the other cradling my thighs as he lifts me. My flushed skin is damp with sweat; a soft gasp parts my lips, as if my mind has outpaced my body. I murmur something unintelligible, then go utterly still—my body limp, my breath slow. Not broken. Not defeated. Just undone. Completely and entirely his. Gideon holds me against him like something precious, his jaw tight, his pulse still racing. I pass out in his arms, consumed by the intensity of what we’ve just shared—claimed, marked, and transformed.

When I wake, the loft is still cloaked in quiet darkness, broken only by the faint orange line of streetlight bleeding through the blinds. I hold Gideon close, our bodies intertwined beneath the thin cotton sheet; our skin is warm and damp from sleep and sex. The ache in my muscles throbs with delicious satisfaction—low, deep, and earned. My head rests against his chest, the slow rise and fall beneath my ear matching the soft rumble of his breathing. His arm lies heavily and possessively across my waist, even in unconsciousness, and he has wrapped his legs around mine, as if he has no intention of letting go.

The weight of the night clings to me in the best way—body sore, heartbeat steady, breath slow. My skin still holds the scent of him, musky and wild and uniquely Gideon, and for a long moment I stay there, letting it wrap around me like armor against whatever comes next. But something pulls me from the haze. A flicker of instinct. A sense.

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