Page 68 of Feral Fates
“He has alpha tendencies,” Kitara notes perceptively.
I nod, acknowledging the truth of her observation. “In any other pack, he’d be alpha.”
“Could he be the traitor?” she asks, voicing the thought that’s crossed my mind more than once.
“Possibly,” I admit. “But betraying the pack to Thaddeus doesn’t serve his ambitions. If I fall, Levi wants to be the one who caused it—not because he’s become the Grand Alpha’s puppet.”
The assessment is cold but necessary. Wolf politics have always been about power—who has it, who wants it, who’s willing to do what to get it. I’ve navigated these waters my entire life, calculating risks and rewards, reading the motivations that drive others.
I glance over at her, the flush on her cheeks still high, her body humming with the aftermath of her magic. I should be thinking about the traitor. About war.
But all I can see is her.
“You did well today,” I murmur, keeping my voice low and intimate. “Fucking impressive how fast you’ve progressed.” I lean down until my mouth brushes the shell of her ear. “Such a good girl.”
Her reaction is instant. Her breath catches. Her pulse kicks. And through the bond, I feel the flood of arousal that hits her. My cock twitches in my pants, thick and eager.
Her scent sharpens—sweet and slick and fucking mine.
Whatever plans I had for tonight? Gone. Erased by the way she shifts just slightly toward me, like her body’s already answering mine.
“I have a good teacher,” she replies, and there’s a new confidence in the way she holds my gaze that makes my wolf surge with approval.
“And I have a dedicated student.” I let my gaze hold hers with an intensity I no longer try to temper. “I think you deserve a reward.”
I can almost taste her arousal in the air between us—the sweet musk of it calling to the predator in me, urging me to chase, to claim, to take. We’ve had so little time together since the training began. Each day filled with preparations for war, each night collapsing into exhausted sleep. But right now, she’s here and alive andmine.
“Zella will be expecting me,” she says weakly, but her body betrays her, leaning into my space rather than toward the door.
“Zella can wait.” My hand comes up to cup her face, thumb brushing her lower lip in a gesture that’s become achingly familiar. The softness of her skin, the slight tremble beneath my touch—it drives my wolf wild. “There are other forms of training equally as important.”
“What kind of training?” she asks, and there’s a new tease in her tone that makes my cock stiffen painfully against the constraint of my pants.
I don’t answer with words. Instead, my fingers trail from her face down the elegant line of her throat to the claiming mark, sending a surge of power through the bond. Her gasp and the way her pupils blow wide with desire tell me she feels it too—this connection that grows stronger each day, demanding completion.
My wolf is frantic with need by now, pawing at the boundaries of my control. It’s been too long since I’ve properly claimed her, since I’ve reminded her—reminded us both—who she belongs to. Who I belong to.
My arm slides around her waist, pulling her flush against me with a suddenness that makes her gasp. “Come, little wolf,” I murmur, letting the hunger show plainly in my voice. “It’s time for you to teach me all the ways in which to please you.”
Her scent spikes with arousal as I claim her mouth, my lips demanding, my tongue seeking entrance. She yields beautifully, melting against me with a soft moan that vibrates through my chest. Heat floods through our bond, and I feel her desire mirroring mine, amplifying it until it becomes impossible to tell where my need ends and hers begins.
She responds instinctively, arms winding around my neck, body arching into mine. Through our bond, her surrender pulses—rich and heady—encouraging me to take more, claim deeper.
You own me, her thoughts brush against mine, an intimate confession that makes my control fray further.
And you me, I respond, the truth of it resonating through my bones.
I’ve had countless females in my long life—temporary distractions, fleeting pleasures that meant nothing once the night ended. None of them prepared me for this—this bone-deep need to possess and be possessed, to mark and be marked. To belong.
I lift her effortlessly, carrying her toward our bed withstrides made long by impatience. Her weight is nothing in my arms, her curves fitting perfectly against my harder planes. She belongs here, against me, with me. Every instinct I possess screams it.
Setting her down with more gentleness than my trembling muscles want to allow, I stand back to look at her—really look at her. Those eyes that see too much, both with her gift and without it. The face that’s gradually losing the haunted, hunted look it wore when she first came to me. The body that was always meant to fit against mine.
“Tell me what you want, Kitara,” I say, needing to hear it from her lips.
Instead of answering with words, she reaches for the hem of her shirt, pulling it over her head and tossing it aside with newfound confidence. The sight of her—skin flushed with desire, breasts heavy and perfect—drives the air from my lungs. My cock throbs painfully, demanding release.
She cups her breasts, offering them to me like some pagan sacrifice, and it takes everything in me not to fall to my knees before her.
