“You didn’t come after me, Rogan.”
“Of course I did.”
“No.You didn’t.Not at first, and that speaks volumes, doesn’t it?”
“You’re not making sense.”He glances at the cracked door.“We need to leave.Go back.Our people need us.”
“Your people needyou, Rogan.They don’t need me.”
“Youareme, Hannah.Don’t you get that?You are me.”
He stalks toward me, and my knees weaken.
It’s manufactured, Hannah.It’s not real.
But—oh, God—it feels real.It feels so fucking real.
Especially when his lips descend on mind again.
6
No drug can be morepotent than Rogan’s blood, and as it surges through me, giving me the nutrients I require along with so much more, I surrender once more to my lover’s kiss.
My lover’s kiss.
For he is—orwas—my lover.
But never was he my mate.
He wasn’t then, and he isn’t now, no matter how primal the feelings and urges we have for each other are.
How can I explain it to him when I’m so spellbound by him?
For our bodily reactions may be simulated, but that doesn’t make them any less real to me or to him.
His lips slide against mine, and his woodsy and spicy flavor, the flavor of his wolf, mingle with the dark metallic tinge of his blood still on my tongue, and the result is an inebriating tonic that I feel is necessary to my very being.
Simulated, yes.But oh, so real.
The door cracks open?—
“Anyone in there?”
I push Rogan away from me and hastily pull up my pants.I put two fingers to my swollen lips, begging him not to say anything.
He doesn’t.
The door closes then, all the way this time.
“Princess…”
“I work here, Rogan.I’m on leave right now, but this is my place of employment.I can’t be fucking… Oh, what’s the use!”
“I have to go back,” he says.
“Then go.What’s stopping you?”
“You know very well what’s stopping me, princess.I can’t be away from you.I ache when you’re not near me, and I?—”