Page 13 of The Hunt
I should be angry about this. I should be running, chasing her in wolf form. But instead, heat curls low in my gut.
She’s made this into a sexy game of hide and seek.
A grin splits my mouth, sharp and hungry. I can feel the pull of her spell somewhere north, like a faint, teasing brush of her fingers over my senses.
You started this feral game, my love.
I start moving. The bond tightens as I do, drawing me forward through the snow, each breath filling me with more of her scent. Stronger. Sharper.
Excitement coils beneath my ribs, my cock straining against my trousers. The engorged head throbs, and beads of my seed pool, then slide down the shaft.
My knot also swells.
It’s been sensitive all day, the skin tight, and each thought of her makes it harder to focus on anything but locking myself inside of her warm, wet cunt.
“I’m coming for you.”
The trees close around me, heavy with snow. Every crunch beneath my boots is swallowed by the hush of winter. The world narrows down to impulses—the smell, sound, and the faint rhythm of her heartbeat echoing through the tethers that bind us.
Jasmine again, but stronger. And under that, I smell her blood.
Not enough to harm, just a drop offered in spell-work—the taste a ghost across my senses, lighting a spark through my veins. I don’t know how long I trek through the woods, but I’m drawn to a fallen log with a note on top. It’s folded neatly, edges rusted with frost.
Her aura surrounds it—me—here, a soft and warm tether trapped in paper.
Nothing else. No illusion.
Just her essence is a signature.
I reach for it carefully, my fingers brushing the edge when a jolt of power lashes through me. My eyes flash bright, then darken, the irises black as my wolf rises. He’s pacing, pushing me to find his mate before I lose all rationality.
Already, I can feel the change.
It starts deep, an ache under my skin that turns molten in a single breath. My pulse hammers, heat flooding through me until the cold can’t touch me, and every inch of me throbs for her. My vision sharpens as the bond pulls taut, and her scent is all I can see and understand.
Baser needs. Animalistic focus.
Nothing exists outside of her touch, her kisses—the way her cunt tightens right before my knot locks us together. I will not stop, either. Wolf and man have one singular focus, and that’s to breed their female.
Shaking my head, I clear out the beginning rut-fog and take in her handwriting. It’s elegant and clean—every word deliberate and utterly her.
To my king of fangs and moonlight…
I read the rest, jaw clenching while my upper lip curls into a snarl—my fangs drop, breaking through the gums almost violently. Each line is a touch I can’t feel, a kiss I’m being denied. My mate is daring me to find her. Challenging her wolf to take the bait.
“Sneaky little witch,” I growl, though the words taste like worship. Yet worse than the taunt is the lingering magic stroking the thick imprint of my cock over my trousers. It’s slow, almost a bloody caress, and the rut answers before I can fight back the change.
Heat crashes through me, blood roaring as my muscles contract painfully, hunger tearing at the seams of my restraint.
My beast rises.
Claws break through my skin, blood dripping from each black-tipped talon as power threads through every place on my body she’s ever kissed or bitten. Where she’s marked me, irrevocably owning the man who lives to worship his female.
Dropping to one knee, my fingers dig into the snow as steam curls around me.
The world blurs in and out of focus as the fever takes hold. Winter presses in—pine, snow, and silence fight to control my senses—yet my focus is locked on her.
Jasmine. Always jasmine.
