Page 36 of Panther in the Shadows
"And it worked. Because now five people are dead. Five deaths building toward this ritual. And Elspeth is still being usedas a weapon." She turns toward me, and the grief in her eyes could drown the world. "What am I supposed to do with that? How do I keep fighting when every time I try, people die and my sister laughs?"
There's no right answer to that. No words that make this better. So I close the distance between us. Pull her against my chest. Let her break against someone strong enough to hold the pieces.
She doesn't sob. Doesn't scream. Just shakes with silent grief while I stand there being solid. Being present. Being the anchor she needs when everything else is drowning.
Could be five minutes. Could be twenty. Time blurs.
Then she pulls back. Looks up at me with red-rimmed eyes and an expression that's equal parts devastation and determination.
"I can't keep doing this. Can't keep feeling everything so much. It's too much. I need to feel something else. Anything else. Just for a moment."
The air between us changes. Charges with something that's been building since we started working together.
"Moira." Warning in her name. Warning in my tone. "You're grieving. Making decisions from pain. This isn't the right time."
She kisses me.
Her mouth crashes against mine with bruising force. No hesitation. No gentle exploration. Just raw need and desperation channeled into contact that steals breath and thought in equal measure.
My control doesn't just break. It shatters.
One hand tangles in her hair, the strands like silk between my fingers as I angle her head for better access. The other finds her hip, pulling her flush against me until there's no space left between us. She makes a sound low in her throat that ignites something primal in my chest.
Her hands fist in my shirt with enough force to tear fabric. Nails scrape against my chest through the material. The slight pain sharpens everything, makes every nerve ending scream with awareness.
I walk her backward until her shoulders hit the wall. The impact draws another gasp from her lips, and I swallow the sound, tasting salt and grief and the unique flavor that's purely her. Sea spray and something sweeter underneath. Wild and wounded and wanting.
She bites my lower lip. Not gentle. Hard enough to sting.
The shock of it travels straight down my spine. My hips pin hers against the wall without conscious thought, and the way she arches into the contact nearly undoes me completely.
Her jacket becomes an obstacle. My hands find the zipper, drag it down with barely controlled urgency. She shrugs out of it without breaking the kiss, and then there's just the thin barrier of her shirt between my palms and her skin.
I slide one hand beneath the hem. Her stomach tenses under my touch, skin fever-hot and impossibly soft. She gasps against my mouth as my fingers spread across her ribs, thumb brushing the underside of her breast.
"Rafe." My name comes out ragged. Part plea, part prayer.
Her hands leave my shirt to frame my face, fingers threading through my hair with enough force to make my scalp tingle. She pulls me deeper into the kiss, tongue sliding against mine in a rhythm that makes every muscle in my body tighten with want.
The scent of her surrounds me. Salt and magic and arousal mixing into something that makes my panther prowl beneath my skin, hungry and possessive in ways I haven't felt in years.
My other hand traces down her side, feeling every curve and valley. Hip. Waist. The dip of her lower back. She shivers under the touch, body pressing harder against mine like she's trying to crawl inside my skin.
I break the kiss to drag my mouth down her throat. Her pulse hammers against my lips, rabbit-fast and alive. The taste of her skin makes my head spin. I scrape teeth across the vulnerable column of her neck, and the broken sound she makes shoots straight through me.
Her hands grip my shoulders hard enough to bruise. Nails dig in through fabric as I find the sensitive spot where neck meets shoulder. Bite down just enough to mark.
She rocks against me, and rational thought fractures into sensation. Heat and friction and the intoxicating knowledge that she wants this as badly as I do.
My hand slides higher under her shirt, palm cupping her breast through lace. She arches into the touch with a gasp that's more moan than breath. The weight of her fits perfectly against my hand, and when my thumb brushes across her nipple through the fabric, her entire body shudders.
Then she freezes.
Goes completely still under my hands.
"I can't." The words come ragged. "I can't do this. Can't let this happen. Not like this. Not when everything is so wrong."
I step back immediately. Put space between us even though my body screams protest. "You don't have to explain."
