Page 84 of Savage Games

His hands roam my body as he buries his face in my neck, teasing my marking spot and sending my libido sky high.

His voice drops to a growl, rough and primal, his breath hot against my ear."When I get my hands on you, I want to take my time.I've dreamed of being with you every night since we met, how you'll feel beneath me, around me, the sounds you'll make when I'm deep inside you."

His words send heat flooding through me, my body responding instinctively to his promise.My wolf whines, pressing against my skin, desperate for the mating that feels so inevitable yet remains just out of reach.

"You deserve better than a rushed mating in the middle of a hunt," he continues, pressing his forehead to mine."Both of us do."

Holy shit.

I’ve been craving his touch, imagining him sinking his teeth into my neck, but now, I want everything he just described, but without the pressure of a pack of alphas breathing down our backs.Still, I can’t help the whimper that passes through my lips when he takes my hand and tugs me along behind him.

“It’ll be worth it, Naomi.I promise.”

As I stare at his thick thighs and broad, muscular back, stretching his black T-shirt to its limit, I don’t doubt that.

I can wait.Just about.

We push deeper into the woods, moving at breakneck speed.Wyatt may be injured, but his legs are longer than mine, and despite everything, he's setting a punishing pace.The undergrowth thickens, branches catching at our clothes, and roots threatening to trip us with every step.

The forest grows denser as we move away from the edge; the trees standing closer together, their massive trunks creating hidden pathways.Sunlight barely penetrates here, casting everything in a green-tinted twilight.The air is cooler, heavy with the scent of pine and damp earth, the sounds of our footfalls muffled by the thick carpet of needles beneath our feet.

Wyatt navigates the terrain with remarkable confidence, choosing paths I wouldn't even have noticed, leading us through openings in the undergrowth that seem to appear just as we reach them.

"We need to shift," Wyatt says as we reach a small clearing, now safely out of sight from the other competitors, who’ve all spread out and veered off in different directions.

He doesn't wait for my agreement, already stripping off his trousers with efficient movements.

His body is a work of art.It’s all hard planes and sculpted muscles earned through years of hard labor rather than vanity.Scars map his skin, telling of a tough life outside a pack.Despite the poison weakening him, there's nothing diminished about his physical presence.

I try not to stare as he slips his fingers into the waistband of his boxers, tented by a terrifyingly impressive erection.He raises an eyebrow, waiting to see if I’ll continue to watch.

Blushing, I force myself to turn away, heart pounding as I remove my own clothes with trembling fingers.This isn't the time or place for ogling your mate, not with alphas hunting us through the forest.

By the time I turn back, Wyatt is already shifting.Rough and nothing like the fluid transition I witnessed the night we spent together.His muscles spasm and contract, bones cracking audibly as they reshape themselves against the poison's resistance.A white bandage, stained bright red with blood, falls to the ground as his form changes.That’s more than just a cut…

Within moments, his massive dark wolf stands before me, eyes glowing with fierce determination, and I’m easily distracted by the vision.

“Hello handsome.”I croon, and he nuzzles into me, encouraging me to join him.

My wolf surges forward eagerly, embracing the change with a joy that contrasts sharply with my human anxieties.My body reshapes itself, bones lengthening, muscles reforming, senses sharpening beyond human limits.In seconds, I stand on four paws.

Next to Wyatt's massive black form, my massive wolf is still smaller, but we complement each other perfectly, like we were designed as a matched pair.

He brushes against me, a moment of contact that sends warmth through our bond.Then he's off, powerful paws eating up the ground as he leads us deeper into the woods.

We race through the forest, two shadows moving in perfect synchronization.Despite his injury, Wyatt's wolf moves with breathtaking grace, his massive body somehow finding paths where none seem to exist.He weaves between trees, ducking under low branches, leaping over fallen logs with an economy of movement that speaks of years spent perfecting these skills.

Together, we slip through the heart of Dean's territory like ghosts, barely disturbing a leaf.The exhilaration of running with my mate, of moving as one through the wilderness, sends joy coursing through me despite the danger at our heels.

He’s probably spent more time in wolf form this year alone than most shifters do in their entire lives.

After several minutes, Wyatt suddenly stops, ears pricked forward, listening.Then he doubles back, retracing our steps for about twenty yards before veering sharply east, away from our original path.I follow without question, trusting his instincts, even as nerves ripple through me.

Suddenly, Wyatt freezes, his entire body going still.His ears swivel, catching sounds too faint for even my enhanced hearing to detect.His nostrils flare, testing the air, and something in his posture changes, a new tension, a heightened alertness that telegraphs danger more clearly than any words could.

Without warning, he spins around, backtracking our path with quick, deliberate movements before veering sharply east.I follow his lead without hesitation, my wolf instinctively deferring to his greater experience of evasion tactics.

He leads us through a shallow stream, our paws leaving no tracks in the rocky bed.We follow the water for a while before exiting at a cluster of large stones, careful to leave no prints on the bank.Then Wyatt circles back once more, creating an intricate web of overlapping scents and false trails that would confuse even the most skilled tracker.

---