Page 29 of Craved By the Werewolf
Vala groaned. "Great."
Mika smirked. "You ready to head home? I can give you a ride?—"
"She's not going with you," I said, stepping closer, letting the crowd noise fade behind us. "You're coming with me tonight."
Her head tilted, eyes narrowing just enough to be dangerous. "That sounds less like a request and more like an order."
"It is."
11
VALA
The door shut behind us with a solid, final click, sealing out the noise of the compound.
I looked around, expecting something spartan and utilitarian. An Alpha's den stripped down to the essentials. What I got was... him. All of him.
Warm amber light spilled from recessed sconces, brushing over dark stone walls and rich wood beams that felt older than the forest itself. The air carried his scent—cedar, smoke, and something wilder—wrapping around me before I'd even taken two steps inside. A massive bed dominated the far wall, draped in deep charcoal and fur throws. Across from it, an open hearth glowed with banked embers, the faint heat curling into the room like a quiet promise.
It was beautiful, but there was an edge to it that whispered power lives here. And he'd brought me into his sanctuary.
"You didn't have to drag me here, you know." I turned toward him, letting my tone land somewhere between teasing and breathless. "I would've been fine."
His gaze swept over me in a slow, deliberate pass that had nothing to do with checking for injuries and everything to do with stripping me bare. "Not a chance, Vala." His voice was low, steady, dangerous in the best way. "You're not leaving my sight tonight."
My pulse jumped. I told myself it was just adrenaline from the attack, but that was a lie. It was him—all six feet of wolf-blooded trouble standing too close in a room that smelled like him and looked like temptation carved out of stone and firelight.
"This isn't exactly how I pictured my evening ending," I said, though part of me wondered if that was true. Had I been wanting this? Wanting him?
His mouth curved in a way that made heat pool low in my belly. "It's exactly how I pictured it."
He moved past me, shrugging out of his jacket and tossing it over a chair. Without that barrier, he seemed even bigger, the dark shirt stretched across his chest doing nothing to hide the muscle underneath. He crossed to the hearth, prodding the embers until they flared, casting flickers of gold across the sharp line of his jaw.
I watched him move and felt something shift inside me. This wasn't just about tonight, about the danger or adrenaline. This was about the man who'd shown me his secret lookout, who fought for kids like I'd once been. The man who looked at me like I was worth protecting. Worth keeping.
The thought should have terrified me. I was still leaving for LA, still had that meeting on Monday. But right now, in this moment, none of that seemed to matter.
"You're still wound up," he said without turning around.
"Maybe I like being wound up." The words slipped out before I could stop them, bolder than I felt.
His head tilted slightly, enough for me to catch the gleam in his eyes when he glanced over his shoulder. "Careful, Vala. I might take that as an invitation."
My heart hammered against my ribs. "And if it was?"
He was in front of me before my next heartbeat, one hand braced against the wall beside my head, the other resting possessively on my hip. The touch was gentle, but the weight behind it felt like a claim I wasn't sure I was ready for—but wanted anyway.
"I brought you here to keep you safe," he said, his voice rougher now. "But that doesn't mean I can ignore what I want. Not tonight."
I reached up, my fingers finding the strong line of his jaw, feeling the slight rasp of stubble. "Then don't ignore it."
Before I could think about what I was doing, I pulled his mouth down to mine.
The kiss was hungry, desperate, months of tension finally finding release. His hand slid up my side, fingers splaying against my ribs like he was memorizing the shape of me, and I melted into him without hesitation. The heat of his body seeped through every inch where we touched, his chest solid against mine, his scent curling around me until I didn't know where I ended and he began.
My hands found the back of his neck, threading through the short, warm brush of hair there, and the low growl that rumbled through his chest made me bold. I tugged at his shirt, needing to feel skin against skin.
He broke the kiss only long enough to drag the fabric over his head, the motion rough and impatient. My breath caught—broad shoulders, the kind of muscle that came from real work, and a trail of dark hair disappearing beneath his waistband. Perfect and dangerous and I wanted to touch every inch of him.
