Page 82 of Fated to the Lone Shifter
He exhales slowly, like that admission feeds him. Like I’ve just scratched an itch buried under years of rejection and rebellion.
He believes me.
That’s the dangerous part.
He believes me.
His hand drops, but not far. His thumb brushes my hip, and I feel it then—his intention. His hunger.
“It could be easy, you know,” he murmurs. “You and me. No more hiding. No more pretending to be something you’re not. Fire like yours shouldn’t be leashed. It should burn.”
“And you think you can handle it?” I ask, letting my voice drop—husky, teasing, baited.
His grin is slow and wicked. “Iwantto handle it.”
His mouth grazes my ear. “I want to feel what that fire tastes like when you let it go.”
He moves behind me, his breath on my neck. Every instinct I have screams to ignite—burn the bastard down where he stands. But not yet. Not here. First, I need the evidence to prove he’s behind the fires.
He thinks he knows who I am. He doesn’t.
I just have to keep him distracted a little longer.
His hands skim my shoulders. “Come to bed with me.”
I don’t answer right away. I can’t afford to look eager. Can’t afford to look scared either.
“May I have a drink first? I’m a little parched, I stall.
He opens his palm, acknowledging consent.
I grab a chilled Dark Horse for myself and another for him.
I place his on the table, letting my fingers linger just a second longer than necessary. My enchantment spell—subtle, clever, precise—activates the moment I make contact. A shimmer pulses inside the amber liquid. He doesn’t notice. He just grabs the bottle and downs it in one long, primal gulp.
Good. It’s working. I can feel the magic settle in his bloodstream.
Bode tugs me toward him. I let him, just enough to keep him content. His pupils dilate. His stance stiffens. The aggression coils beneath his skin like a ready spring. I back away, inch by inch.
“As much as I’d love to stay, I’ve got to get back to the firehouse,” I say with a playful lilt. “I have an early morning, and it’s already past midnight.”
He narrows his eyes. “I’ll take you back early.”
“I’m not a one-night stand kind of girl,” I tease. “I’ll be back. Just not tonight.”
His grin darkens. “I don’t think you understand the nature of our relationship.”
Wrong move.
I snap my fingers in front of his face.
His knees give out.
He folds onto the bed like a man surrendering to a dream, unaware he's sinking into a fantasy spun from my lies and desperation. I stroke his hair once—just a whisper of affection. Let the enchantment do its work. Let him believe this illusion: passion, connection, bonding.
None of it is real.
Now it’s time to get to work.
