Page 11 of When Two Worlds Collide

She rises fluid as water, the movement purely predatory despite her civilized exterior. “I entered to prevent you from terrorizing innocent settlers.”

“Our ancestral hunting grounds. Our prey.” I move closer, using my size to emphasize the point. “Your settlements exist because we allow it.”

“Arrogant bastard.” Heat flares beneath her skin—I can feel it from here. “You think might determines right?”

“I think strength determines survival. Something your pampered existence has made you forget.”

She launches herself at me without warning.

I catch her wrists before her claws can rake across my chest, spinning her around and pinning her back against me. She struggles, hissing like the cat she is, her body pressed against mine from shoulder to thigh.

“See?” I growl against her ear. “Civilized shifters announce their attacks. No wild instinct left.”

She goes still in my grip, but I feel her muscles coil. “You want to see instinct?”

Her head snaps back, cracking against my jaw. I release her from surprise more than pain. She spins, leg sweeping toward my knee. I dodge, catching her ankle and pulling her off balance. We crash to the fur-covered ground, her beneath me, my weight pinning her.

We freeze, both breathing hard. Her pupils are blown wide, lips parted. The scent of her arousal mingles with anger and adrenaline, making my head spin. My body responds immediately, recognizing female heat despite every rational reason to resist.

“Get off me,” she demands, but her voice wavers.

“Make me.” The challenge escapes before I can stop it.

Her eyes narrow. She bucks her hips, trying to dislodge me. The movement grinds her against my growing hardness, and we both inhale sharply at the contact.

Time stops. The tent shrinks to just this—her body beneath mine, her scent in my lungs, the heat building between us like wildfire. Her hands, which had been pushing against my chest, go still. Her fingers spread against my bare skin, claws pricking lightly.

“This is—” she starts.

“Insane,” I finish, but I’m already lowering my head.

Our mouths crash together with none of the finesse civilized shifters probably expect. It’s all teeth and tongue andbarely controlled violence. She bites my lower lip hard enough to draw blood. I growl into her mouth, grinding against her, letting her feel exactly what she’s doing to me.

Her legs wrap around my waist, pulling me closer. Her claws rake down my back—not enough to seriously wound, just enough to mark. My wolf howls approval even as my rational mind screams warnings.

I tear my mouth from hers to bite where her neck meets her shoulder. She arches beneath me, a sound escaping her that’s pure panther—wild and hungry. Her hands tangle in my hair, holding me against her throat as I suck hard enough to bruise.

“Someone will see the mark,” she gasps.

“What makes you think I care about that?” I say, but I know she’s right. I can’t leave evidence of what’s between us on her flesh.

Both of us are panting, pupils dilated, control hanging by a thread. Her hands slide down my chest, nails dragging against skin. When she reaches the waistband of my leathers, I catch her wrists.

“No.”

“Afraid?” she challenges, but I hear the relief beneath the taunt.

“If I take you now, it won’t be diplomatic. It won’t be civilized. It will be claiming.”

Something flickers in her eyes—fear or anticipation, I can’t tell. “I’m not yours to claim.”

“No,” I agree, though everything in me rebels against the words. “You’re not.”

I roll off her, putting the necessary distance between us. We lie side by side on the furs, not touching, both fighting for control.

“This was adrenaline,” she says after a moment. “The fight. The hunt. Nothing more.”

“Of course.” I stare at the tent ceiling. “Biological response to conflict.”

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