Page 48 of Mated Exile

"The kind who knows what he wants." He takes a deliberate step forward, putting his other hand on my hip and pulling me roughly towards him. I gasp, my hands falling on his broad chest, heart beating erratically. "A man who takes what he wants—butonlywhen he knows he's wanted in return. The mate who will break you with desire, and hold you as you quiver and shake. A wolf who doesn't tire... or hesitate."

To show me what he means, he draws me against his strong, broad chest. His arms sweep around me and his fingers dig into my skin. Pulling me up, he lifts my weight off the porch as he brings my mouth to his and claims me with his lips.

His kiss is hard and absolute, his tongue pressing forward until my lips part on a moan, then swiftly taking over. Drawing one hand up into my hair, he yanks my head to one side and deepens the kiss.

My hands fall to his shoulders, digging in as he takes my weight in his strong arms, his body angling back as mine falls onto him. I whimper into his mouth, and he dominates me with lips and tongue, his teeth grazing my skin. A rumble in his chest turns into a growl from his mouth that reverberates into my body and skitters to my bones.

My legs part, and I draw one thigh up against him—only for the kiss to be broken as he drops my body down to the porch. Pushing his face against my cheek, he nuzzles my neck, sharp stubble brushing against my skin. I pant, and his mouth finds a spot just behind my ear, then sucks on the skin there until my legs tremble.

His right hand holds me up, while the left curves against the tenderness of my neck, pulling my head back to expose my vulnerable skin.

"This is a preview," Lance says, voice pitched low against my ear. I feel his words curl in the center of me and stoke heat within my body. "There will be more of this, now that I know you want it. Now that you've invited me in. And I won't hesitate, or play games, or bother with jealousy. Because when I'm through with you, we'll both know what awaits you in the Mating Circle if you pick me."

As he draws back, his warm eyes meeting mine, I lick my lips. And I ask tremulously, "What's that?"

A smirk curls up his plush lips. "A fucking so thorough that when I'm done with you, every werewolf in existence will see and smell my claim to your body. You'll feel me inside you for days. And before that—in the days leading up to the moment we'll share—you'll beg for me, even as you come on my mouth and my tongue."

I swallow, my mouth suddenly dry, a shiver going down my spine. Lance stares into my eyes for a moment longer, his breath even and steady, though I'm panting like a race horse against him. Then he takes a step, one hand still at the small of my back, the other opening the door—and he ushers me in, nearly holding me up the entire time.

For the next few minutes, I find I'm barely able to see or think, much less join the conversation around me. Cat gives me a questioning look, but I just shove some of the fresh fruit she prepared into my mouth, and try not to think about what just happened on the front porch.

Or the images that have been conjured by a single kiss.

* * *

"I can help you when it comes to magic."

Startling, I look up from the work I'm doing in my old bedroom and into Bastian's eyes. He's standing in the open doorway, his silhouette blocking all the light from the hall. I reach up to remove the earbud from my left ear and blink at him, trying to figure out if I heard him right.

"Do you know a witch?"

"Something like that."

He shifts his weight a little, then takes a cautious step into the room. I have to rise from my crouch to look at him without craning my neck.

"I'd appreciate any help where I can get it," I tell him. "Witchcraft isn't something packs really practice, even though magic is a part of our entire survival. I've heard some lone wolves use it, though."

"We do." He reaches up to scratch at the scar that runs across his eyebrow, then pulls his hand back suddenly, as if self-conscious about the motion. "My mother taught me, and her father before that. Sometimes when you're out on your own, witchcraft is the only thing that'll save you. And it's not true that wolves can't cast it—even humans stumble on a bit of true craft here and there."

"Show me." I beckon him over. "Or tell me, whichever is easier."

His eyes roam around, then land on a small pot of lavender I put in the window, fresh from the gardening center. "Can I borrow this?"

"Sure."

Taking the lavender, he holds it in his broad palm, its spindly branches dwarfed by his hand. "One of the things we used to do was keep sprigs of lavender in our pockets, and weave rosebushes together in the land around our cabin. Vampires don't like certain scents, you know. But lavender grows quickly, so we used a little charm."

Closing his eyes, he takes a few deep, slow breaths, and I watch him. His face is relaxed and unaware, the scars twisting across his skin fading as he relaxes. As I step close, staring at the lavender bush, I find myself taking him in: his dark hair, the slight widow's peak at his forehead, the tawny brown of his skin, and the shadow his long lashes cast against his cheekbones.

There's something special about Bastian. I wish I had the time to get to know him more, but I have the sense that he's like a strong summer breeze, destined to blow out of my life just as quickly as he blew in.

On the deepest, slowest inhale he takes, something seems to shift in the air around us. I feel a ripple of warmth coming off him, stronger than his natural body heat. He opens his eyes, and the amber irises glow with a spark of energy.

"Like this."

With his free hand, he reaches out and gently holds a sprig of the lavender plant between his calloused thumb and forefinger. Staring at it, he lowers his face to the buds and breathes out, slow and deliberate.

I feel a shudder of something across my skin, the sense that a shift in the air has occurred. Reaching out my awareness, I delicately brush my magic across the space where his fingers touch the plant, and feel a similar kind of connection there.

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