Page 9 of Shifting Hearts 1
So I rip my hand back like her skin scalded me, fighting the urge to claw at my own skin to tear the bond out. My chest heaves, every muscle tight with restraint.
Her eyes widen, hurt flashing across her face as she curls back into the bed. It guts me.
I didn’t mean to hurt her. Goddess, the last thing I want is to see that look, the same one I saw in the mirror years ago when I walked away from everything I thought I was. But if I stay too close, if I touch her again, I won’t stop. I’ll kiss her, fuck her, claim her, and Goddess willing, breed her.
“I told you,” I growl, forcing steel into my voice when all I want to do is beg. “I’m not him. I’m not going to force this.”
The words taste like ash. They’re a lie in their own way. Because I don’t just want this, I crave it. I wanther. I want to lose myself in her and the bond until we are one in the same.
I pace the cabin, each step heavy, deliberate, the beast under my skin clawing for release. My fists clench at my sides, nails digging crescent moons into my palms. The bond thrums, a relentless drumbeat in my veins, reminding me with every breath that she is meant to be mine.
But she deserves more than a broken exile who walked away from his pack. She deserves a choice. Not another man deciding her future for her. Not me.
I drag a hand through my hair and force myself further away from her, pressing into the shadows by the stove, putting the fire between us like it can burn this madness out of me. Still, I can’t escape it. Her scent fills the cabin, rich and consuming. My bodyaches with need, every instinct screaming to go back to her, to touch, to claim.
But I stay where I am. Because if I don’t, I’ll never stop.
And I can’t let her see just how much power she already has over me.
“I’m going hunting. Feel free to shower,” I say gruffly as I head to the door. “I don’t have clothes for you yet, but you can wear some of mine.”
I last about an hour.
An hour of pacing outside the cabin like a caged beast, trying to drown out the bond with the crack of firewood splitting under my axe. An hour of forcing myself to breathe, to ignore the way her scent clings to my skin, to remind myself why I left the pack in the first place because chains destroy me.
But no matter how far I move, no matter how much I fight it, my body keeps dragging me back here. To her.
By the time I shove the cabin door open again, the night is quiet, the fire in the stove little more than embers. She’s curled beneath the quilts, her hair a dark spill across my pillow, her lips parted on slow, even breaths.
I can smell the soap she used in the shower and a smile tugs at my lips unbidden. At least she is moving around on her own. I lean closer to her and stare at her sleeping forms. I tell myself I’m just checking. That’s all. Making sure she’s still breathing. Making sure her fever hasn’t returned.
But instead of going back to the chair, my legs betray me. I sit on the edge of the bed.
The mattress dips, the weight shifting her closer. For a moment, I sit rigid, my jaw tight, and my fists clenched againstmy thighs. I should get up. I should walk away before this bond tears me apart.
But she shifts in her sleep.
She rolls toward me, her body brushing against mine, separated only by the covers. Heat sparks where our thighs graze, the bond flaring to life again. Her hand curls in the blanket between us, fingers twitching as if reaching for me even in sleep.
“Ranger…” My name slips from her lips, soft and needy, a moan that shoots straight through me to my cock.
I freeze, every muscle locking, my heart slamming against my ribs hard enough to hurt. Her breath quickens, uneven. She whimpers softly, thighs pressing together, rubbing as though chasing some phantom relief in her dreams. Her lips part again, a broken sigh, my name caught in it like a prayer.
And I nearly break.
The bond roars, surging, demanding I give her what she’s already begging for, even in sleep. The scent of her arousal hangs heavy in the air. My cock hardens impossibly more, painfully, my body aching to roll her beneath me, to tear the distance away, to claim what’s already mine.
I grip the edge of the bed frame so hard the wood creaks, every muscle trembling with restraint. My panther snarls, furious at my refusal, pushing, clawing at the inside of my skin.
But I don’t move. I can’t.
Because if I touch her now, like this, it won’t be enough. I won’t stop. And she deserves more than to wake up to me devouring her because I couldn’t control myself.
Her breath hitches, her body twisting closer, her thigh sliding across mine before she stills again. I shut my eyes, jaw locked, forcing air into my lungs in harsh, ragged pulls. This is torture. She’s torture.
And yet I don’t leave.
I stay. I let her press against me, let her whisper my name like she already knows I belong to her. She rubs her pussy against my thigh, testing my control. And I sit there in the dark, burning alive, praying she doesn’t wake. Because if she does, I’m not sure I’ll survive the night without breaking every promise I’ve made myself.
