Page 40 of Lone Wolf

“It’s dangerous,” I counter. “Feelings are liabilities. They make you sloppy, make you miss things, make you vulnerable.”

“They also make you human.”

“Being human got me sold to Grandmother,” I say flatly. “Being a weapon got me out.”

The smile slips from Sunny’s face, replaced by something softer, more serious. “I’m sorry that happened to you.”

“I don’t need your pity.”

“It’s not pity,” she says. “It’s understanding.”

Her words hit something deep inside me, some hidden, wounded place I’ve spent years pretending doesn’t exist. And suddenly, unexpectedly, Iwanther to understand—not everything, not yet, but at least something true.

“I feel like I might not hate you,” I say, the words awkward and stilted. “I think maybe I…care what happens to you. And that’s not something I’m used to feeling. For anyone.”

The confession was more revealing than I intended. I wait for her to mock me, to use this vulnerability against me.

Instead, she smiles—not her usual bright grin, but something softer, more genuine. “I think that might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“Don’t make me regret it,” I warn, but there’s no real threat in my voice.

She steps closer still, and my body tenses, anticipating—what? An attack? A retreat? Neither seems right.

“I feel something too,” she admits quietly. “Something that makes me want to break through all those walls you’ve built up. Something that makes me want to see the real you.”

“Thisisthe real me,” I tell her. “There’s nothing under the ice, Santiago. Just more ice—and then darkness.”

“I don’t believe that,” she says, and then her hand is on my arm, warm against my skin. “And I don’t think you believe it either.”

The touch is electric, sending a current through me that I can’t control. I should pull away. I should reestablish distance. I should remember everything Grandmother taught me about the dangers of human connection.

Instead, I find myself moving toward her, drawn into her orbit. She’s irresistible.

“Sunny,” I say, and her name in my mouth feels like surrender.

She leans in, her breath warm against my lips. “Still not unpleasant?” she whispers.

And then we’re kissing, a collision rather than a gentle meeting, all the tension of the past weeks igniting in a single moment of contact. Her lips are soft against mine, a stark contrast to the intensity of her grip on my arms, pulling me closer.

Sex was always just another tool for me, a way to control or manipulate a target. But this—this feels different. This feels like chaos, like surrender, like falling.

I don’t like it.

I love it.

And I’m terrified.

CHAPTER 15

Ariadne

My hands findSunny’s waist, the curve of her back, the weight of her long hair. She makes a small sound against my mouth that invokes something primal inside me. I back her against the wall, my body pressing against hers, seeking more contact, more heat.

“Are you sure about this?” I manage to ask, pulling back just enough to see her face.

Her eyes are dark with desire, her smile fierce and hungry. “Areyou?”

I’m not sure of anything anymore, except that I want this—want her—in a way that defies all my training, all my defenses, all my carefully constructed rules.

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