Page 21 of Feral Fates
“And when the novelty wears off?” I can’t keep the tremor from my voice. “When I’m not new and exciting anymore?”
His growl vibrates through my back. “Not possible. Now, kiss me.”
I hesitate only for a heartbeat before turning in his arms, the mineral-rich water swirling around us. His gaze holds mine with an intensity that robs me of all thought. When my lips meet his, the claiming bond between us pulses with power, sending waves of warmth cascading through my body.
The connection between us flares open, no longer just a tether but a flood of sensation. Through our bond, his desires rush into me, raw, primal, and overwhelming. I feel his hunger, not just physically. Images flash through my mind—his fantasies, his intentions—of me standing beside him before the pack, strong and respected, of my body beneath his, our limbs entangled, of me heavy with his child, a tangible symbol of our union.
Beyond those visions lies something that shakes me to my core—his fierce pride in claiming me. Not despite my human form, but because of everything I am. I feel his fascination with my curves, so different from the lean-muscled females of his pack. His admiration for my resilience after years of mistreatment. His almost obsessive need to protect what is his.
Most startling of all, I sense his respect for my gift. He doesn’t see it as just a tool to be used, but as power in its own right. The Shadowmist alpha sees me as his equal in ways my old pack never could have imagined.
“You can feel it,” he murmurs against my lips, not a question but a realization. “What you do to me. What I see when I look at you.”
The kiss deepens, his hands finding their way to my face, cradling it with surprising gentleness from a wolf known only for violence. I feel the coiled strength in his body, the barely contained power of his wolf pressing against the boundaries of his control.
His fingers tangle in my wet hair, tilting my head back as his lips move from my mouth to trace the line of my throat.
“You belong with me. With us.” His teeth graze my neck, raising goose bumps along my skin. “The pack will learn, just as you’re learning.”
When he kisses me again, there’s a new urgency to it. His arms tighten around me, lifting me slightly in the water so that we’re perfectly aligned. The mineral bath laps around us, steam swirling. His hand trails down my spine, leaving fire in its wake as our kiss intensifies.
A growl builds in his chest, vibrating against me. I can feel his control slipping, his wolf pushing forward, demanding more. His breathing grows ragged as he pulls back suddenly, pressing his forehead against mine.
“Enough,” he says, his voice rough with restraint. “If we continue this here...”
The heat in his gaze makes me shiver despite the warmth of the water. Through our bond, I can feel his hunger, his wolf’s impatience, and his human side’s surprising determination to do this properly.
“Come.” He lifts me from the water in one fluid movement, his strength making me feel weightless. “I’m taking you back to our den.”
He sets me on my feet at the edge of the pool, reaching for the soft cloths we’d discarded earlier. With unexpected care, he wraps one around me, his hands lingering at my shoulders.
“Make no mistake, Kitara, I will claim you fully,” he says, his voice a low promise that makes my heart race. “As my mate. My Alpha Female. Mine in every way a wolf can be claimed.”
The possessiveness in his tone should frighten me, but instead, I find myself leaning into his touch, my body responding to the primal call of his. For the first time in my life, my inability to shift doesn’t feel like a wall between me and the wolf world—not when Ryker looks at me with such hunger, such need.
“Yes,” I whisper, the simple word feeling like a pledge.
His smile is predatory, satisfied, as he wraps his own cloth around his waist. “Yes,” he echoes, taking my hand. “Now let’s go back to our den, little seer, before my control breaks entirely.”
Chapter
Eight
Ryker leads me through winding tunnels back toward our den, his hand a constant presence at the small of my back, warm and solid. The mineral waters have done their work—his silver burns now appear as faded pink marks rather than angry welts, and my own aches from the Claiming run have eased. We’re both wrapped in soft woven cloth towels, though Ryker wears his slung low on his waist and with the casual confidence of someone who considers clothing optional at best.
He guides me back through via a different passage, pointing out various rooms—storage areas, a medical practice, children’s playrooms, and communal kitchens that smell faintly of roasted meat and herbs. As we emerge into the main cavern, the atmosphere shifts. It’s a vast, open space humming with low conversation and the thrum of pack life.
It’s a massive space with a vaulted ceiling that rises high above us. There’s a cluster of narrow crystal shafts carved into the rock overhead, light tunnels engineered so cleverly that no outside threat could ever slip through. It’s dark now, but I can imagine how different this space must look in the light of the morning when beams strike the center of thecavern, turning dust motes to gold and illuminating a mosaic floor patterned with lunar phases and pack sigils.
Wolves gather in quiet groups around stone hearths and on elevated platforms. The moment they see Ryker, a ripple passes through the room—spines straightening, heads dipping in subtle deference. Some nod respectfully, acknowledging him with the quiet reverence reserved for dominant predators. Others pause mid-task, their gazes flicking to me with open curiosity, suspicion, or worse—thinly veiled hostility.
The air thickens around me, prickling with unspoken questions. I catch whispered words,seer… human-born… can’t even shift—before Ryker’s presence silences them. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t growl. He doesn’t need to. The way he walks, the raw power in his frame, the weight of his gaze—it’s enough.
His hand presses more firmly to the small of my back, a silent claim and warning in one.Mine, the touch says.Look, but don’t forget who stands at her side.
“They don’t know what to make of me,” I murmur, keeping my voice low as we pass a group of females who make no effort to hide their stares.
“They’ll learn,” he replies simply, guiding me toward a carved stone stairway that spirals upward. “My quarters are above most of the pack dens. Better vantage point.”
