by Abby Niles
Britton had cleared an area of leaves and brush about twenty feet from the cabin. After he dug a pit and surrounded it with rocks, he started a fire. The extra light helped, but didn’t dispel all the creepiness. Then he’d set up the tent. In dismay, she’d suggested they sleep inside the cabin instead, but he’d just cocked an eyebrow at her.
Spiders. Rodents. Bats. Falling timbers.
Yeah, she got it. Tent it was. It had a roof and no risk of a wall collapsing on top of them while they slept. And the most important, no roaming critters.
While he was in the tent laying out the sleeping bags, she collected wood for the fire, staying as close to the orange flame and the tent as she possibly could. A snap a few feet away grabbed her attention. Her breath seized in her lungs.
A monstrous black bear wandered out of the surrounding trees into the clearing around the cabin.
She snapped upright. Paralyzed. The bear stared at her, nose twitching as it assessed her. Smelling her—scenting her as though she was prey. She wet her suddenly dry lips. “Britton.” The word barely squeezed past the heart lodged in her throat.
“Britton,” she choked out a little more urgently.
He immediately came out of the tent, his brows furrowed. “What’s wrong?”
He could hear it. The fear in her voice. He glanced to where she was staring, and stiffened. “Don’t move,” he said.
As if she could. She was rooted to the spot, her body quivering as she waited for this animal’s reaction—waited to see if their provocative shifter scents would spur it to attack or to flee.
The bear’s nose twitched again as it swung its massive head toward Britton…just as three cubs came barreling out of the woods straight for Val. Without thought, she shuffled back a couple of steps. That movement was all it took. The mama lifted onto her hind legs, a towering terror above her, and let out a ferocious roar that had tears burning the back of her eyes. Then she lowered to all fours and charged…her. Fight or flight kicked in, and she stumbled backward, screaming. Suddenly, a black blob launched gracefully into the air and landed on top of the bear with a caterwaul, drawing the bear’s attention off her.
The bear reared around as the jaguar lowered to the ground and circled it, hissing, swiping its razor-sharp claws. The bear roared again and clipped the cat on the side of the head with its mighty paw, sending the beast toppling to the ground. As the jaguar pushed back to its feet, the bear lumbered back before turning and bolting into the woods, the cubs following. The jaguar—Britton?—gave chase. Val watched the muscles bunch along the cat’s sleek back as he disappeared into the thicket of trees.
Horrifying sounds came from the darkness—yowls, hisses. A catfight magnified a thousandfold.
“Britton!”
The sounds continued. Each noise tore into her as if she was the one being shredded apart by the bear’s powerful jaws. Tears scalded her cheek as she screamed his name again with all the terror she felt.
Silence followed.
She stood there, body shaking, linked fingers pressed to her lips. “Please be okay,” she whispered over and over again.
Dea, he’d just risked his life to save hers. He hadn’t hesitated to protect her. And now he could be dead. So she’d never again see the violet saturate his gaze, or the cocky tilt of his smile. Never know what it would feel like to have his lips on hers, his hands gliding over her body. Why had she denied herself all that when it was what she’d wanted?
Minutes stretched, feeling like an eternity, and then he was stumbling out of the woods back in his human form. Naked as the day he was born, and a little roughed up, but alive.
“Chased the bear and the cubs about a mile up. We’ll be fine now,” he said.
Without thought, she launched herself at him, her body slamming into his as she fused her lips to his.
Britton froze for a nanosecond, then a growl vibrated his chest and his strong arms banded around her, crushing her against him. He walked them backward until her back met the trunk of a tree. He lifted his head to look down at her, and she was stunned by the luminous violet. Much brighter than ever before, the color pulsed with sharp flares, then lightened, only to pulse even brighter, in a familiar rhythm. Like a heartbeat.
She stared up at him, mesmerized by his beauty, by how his gaze made her feel worshiped. “Britton—” she whispered.
As he moved his hands to cup the sides of her face, he claimed her lips again. His tongue teased the seam of her mouth, and all thought was gone. She just had to taste him. To feel him. To have him. She opened for him, and he delved inside. Masterful. Gentle. Caressing.
A moan worked its way past her lips. Another growl rattled from Britton. One moment his hands had her face trapped between them, the next they were behind her knees, lifting and spreading, until her thighs circled his waist, his erection pressing hard against her center. Liquid heat rushed over her and she locked her feet behind his back and her arms around his neck, returning his kiss with fervor.
Swinging them around, he stalked to the tent, his lips scorching her skin as he nipped his way across her jawline to her ear. He lifted his head and stared at her, the violet beating down at her. “I need to fuck you.”
Dea help her. “I need you, too.”
…
Val Calhoun was his.
His.
Britton lowered her onto the sleeping bags, then stretched out over her, propping up on his elbows as he stared down at her, breathing hard. He needed this moment. This tension-filled second, just to take in his mate.
The one woman meant for him alone.
He’d spent so long focusing on the negative side of the Drall that he’d refused to believe Aidan or Liam when they said he wouldn’t understand until he’d met her. Kissed her. He understood now. The moment she pressed her lips to his, he’d understood.
A moment of certainty so absolute it’d left him stunned.
She was the one.
Val.
His destined mate.
Inhaling deeply, her glorious strawberry scent enveloped him—a sweet aroma that reminded him of spring days, warm weather, and the earth coming to life after the death of hard winter.
She did that for him.
Brought him back to life.
Her lips pursed in annoyance.
“What are you waiting for, Townsend?”
He couldn’t stop a slow smile as he raked his gaze over her body. “Just trying to decide where I want to start.”
She took his hand and placed it over her breast. “How about here?”
The soft mound beneath his palm held him captivated. Yes, he could start there. But where he really wanted to focus was—
He slid his hand down over her belly to cup between her legs, loving the way she jerked but immediately spread her knees for him. “Or we could start here.”
He rubbed against her, gratified by the sound of her breath hitching.
“Th-that would be a good place, too.”
“We need to get these clothes off.” He sat up. “I want to feel how wet you are for me. I want to feel you clench around my fingers.”
The moan she let out spoke of how much she wanted that, too.
Within seconds, he had her shoes, pants, and panties tossed into the corner of the tent. Her jacket and shirt immediately followed. His gaze traveled over her body, laid before him, ready for his taking.
His.
As he cupped her, he captured her mouth. Slick wetness greeted his probing fingers. And he groaned, craving a taste, a sample of what her body had to offer. But he had enough sense to know one taste wouldn’t be enough; he’d want more, need more. If he went anywhere near that temptation, there would be no way he’d be able to fight the demand of the instinct…and marking her was out of the question.
Instead he focused on her pleasure, circling her clit, then sliding one finger inside. Over and over he circled and probed, until he had her whimpering against his lips and her hips helplessly lifting to meet his hand.
/> He inserted a leg between hers, hooking it behind her knee, opening her wider. All he’d have to do was shift his body forward and he could thrust into her. Come inside her. Start the ritual. Ripping his mouth from hers, he clenched his teeth, burying his face in her neck as he prayed for her to come before the instinct to mark her took over completely.
“Britton. Oh. So close.” Her fingers dug into his back. “So”—she moaned—“close.”
The pleading in her voice caused his beast to charge forward, instinct taking control. Unconsciously, he ground into her, until his body was wedged between her legs, his cock touching her moist center.
He had to. He couldn’t wait.
He thrust deep.
She arched up, mouth opening in a delighted gasp. “Yes!”
He pushed forward until he was kneeling before her. Lifting her hips with his hands, he slammed into her. Fucking. Hard.
Her breasts bounced with each powerful thrust as her legs fell wide, allowing him in deeper. Making the inner walls of her body contract around him, pulling him closer to orgasm. He squeezed his eyes closed, teeth grinding together.
She felt. So. Fucking. Good.
The closer he came to releasing, the more his canines throbbed, begging to feel the delicate skin of her inner thigh between his teeth.
No. He couldn’t mark her. Not yet.
He lifted his hand away from one of her hips and pressed his thumb directly onto her clit as he pounded into her. She fisted the sleeping bag in her hands. She was almost there.
“Come, baby. Let me hear you fucking come.”
Her body clamped tight around him as her back arched up. The blissful cry of her release was music to his ears, and he let go, pouring himself inside her. Still he kept pumping, until he’d quaked every last moan from her body. Then he slumped forward, catching his weight on his elbows.
They’d released together. The first time.
And still it wasn’t enough. He needed so much more. He lowered his head to her breast, taking the erect nipple between his lips, nipping gently.
Val squirmed beneath him. “Britton?”
“Shh. I have to have a taste.”
“A taste?”
He kissed his way down her body, until he was face to face with what he wanted to sample most.
“Oh! I don’t think—”
Stopping her words, he parted her with his fingers, staring at the swollen nub. And then he licked her.
Immediately she tensed and grabbed his hair, trying to pull him back. He denied her request, flicking his tongue across her again, and he continued until her sharp breaths signaled her need for more. When her hands started pressing him closer, he sucked the nub deep into his mouth. The taste of her flooded his senses, intoxicating him with her sweetness.
His beast stirred again. And he mentally cursed. He should have known finding his release and giving her hers wouldn’t keep the powerful mating instinct under control for long. She was close again, and again his body urged him to take her. Bite her. Mark her as his forever.
No. Not this time.
As he battled the instinct, he kept focus on the soft flesh beneath his mouth, licking, delving, sucking. He feasted on her, until all he could taste and smell was her. When she came against his mouth, he lapped up every bit of her desire as if it would be his last meal.
Trying not to think that it most likely was.
After they both had floated back to consciousness, he spooned behind her, holding her as she snuggled back into his body. Her arms crossed over his and she linked their fingers together.
All this time he’d been worried about the Drall. Val had taken that out of his hands by kissing him, and it had been euphoric…life-altering. He was an awakened shifter, holding his mate in his arms. Holding his eternity.
He stared at their entangled fingers. And his heart sank. Angry confusion whirled through him. Because he suddenly realized—
He may never be able to give her eternity.
In a few days’ time, he’d be human again, and he’d lose everything that made him a shifter. No doubt including this wondrous gift from the Dea.
What would happen if he marked Val, and she reciprocated the ritual and marked him in return? They would be bonded, their fates joined, both feeling the other’s life flow through their veins, each feeling the other’s heart beat in time with their own. Connected. One.
But surely, that connection would be severed once the serum was given to him.
What would happen to either of them if they fewsed their souls together, and then he had his nature ripped from him?
Val was a female, incapable of initiating the ritual. That right was given only to the shifter, the male, who held the power to open the Fewshon in the woman. Only after he did that could she complete the bonding by marking him.
But if Britton was no longer a shifter, he’d lose their bonding’s foundation. And where would that leave Val? What would happen to her if he could no longer feel the bond? What kind of consequences would she suffer after he was given the serum?
He didn’t know. Not a clue.
But it couldn’t be good.
And that terrified the shit out of him.
Chapter Nine
Britton found himself in a field of wildflowers. Beautiful and serene, Val tilted her face toward the sun, a smile on her lips as the wind gently whipped her hair. Turning her head toward him she raised her arms, beckoning him. He went into them willingly, holding her, treasuring her.
His mate.
Rough, uncaring, hands tore him from her. He struggled against their hold as he was dragged away and deep cherry walls closed in around him. He fought harder.
No! He didn’t want to be human. He wanted to be her mate.
Steel cuffs locked around his wrists and ankles, anchoring him to hard wood.
Then she was there. Scuffling and screaming for him not to leave her. To stay with her. For all eternity.
A sharp stab pierced the skin of his side. Thick lavender liquid emptied out of a syringe and poured into him. He bellowed in agony as his insides were reduced to cinder. The animal wailed, a wounded bellow, before it staggered…and collapsed. Silent.
Val clutched her chest, her eyes rounding in shock, before collapsing, too.
“Val!” he yelled, yanking against his restraints. Desperate to reach her.
She didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Still. So damn still.
His fault. All his fault!
Britton jackknifed up, gasping in deep breaths. Sweat coated his body, chilling him to the bone. The tent around him slowly came into focus.
A nightmare.
Val was safe. He hadn’t harmed her, hadn’t marked her.
She hadn’t died because of his selfishness.
Thank Dea.
He gazed down at her, curled inside their sleeping bag, peacefully dreaming. Heart in his throat, he caressed her hair, knowing he’d do everything within his power to protect her. Especially from himself.
The dream had brought forth every deep-seated fear he’d agonized over. The unknown. The consequences.
What would happen to Val if he failed to control the uncontrollable instinct?
He knew what would happen to him.
The serum would kill every part of him that was shifter, just as it had over four years ago. Hell, it apparently even killed the Drall, since for all that time he’d never been drawn to Val. In fact, he’d been repelled by her…
He stiffened, a sick realization coming to him. No. That was an insane thought. After the treatment he wasn’t supposed to have any connections to his shifter genes. The High Council had told him so.
But hadn’t he spent years struggling to understand why he’d loathed this woman so much? Was it possible the serum had caused the instinct to do the opposite of what it was meant for?
Acid churned his stomach.
If Britton was given the serum, he might hate her again. Hell, there was little doubt he would hate her, and what then? He w
ould scowl and flinch away from her, hurting her every time he did. The idea made bile rise in his throat.
The best thing he could do for Val was let her go on with her life, oblivious, as if she hadn’t changed his forever.
There was only one way he could think of to put the needed distance back between them.
As he placed a gentle kiss on her temple, he took a moment to silently say goodbye, knowing if he succeeded, in less than an hour she would hate him again—the way it had to be.
After he slid from under the sleeping bag and grabbed his backpack, he quietly left the tent, left behind the love they’d made last night, and abandoned the future that should’ve been his.
His only concern now was for Val and what she deserved.
Tugging out a pair of jeans and a red thermal henley from his backpack, he dressed and laced up his hiking boots. He busied himself with rebuilding the fire, then put on a pot of water to boil. But his attention kept straying back to the tent as he listened for her to wake, his heart burning in his chest. All remained silent, increasing his agitation.
Refocusing on his goal, he located the Ziploc bag he’d filled with instant rice, dried cranberries, ground cinnamon, citrus zest, powdered milk, and brown sugar. He emptied the contents into the pan and poured the boiling water over it.
Just as he heard the first rustle from inside the tent. He straightened his spine.
You have to do this. For her.
The zip of the door opening and the crunch of her footfalls sounded behind him, and he turned to face her. Tired lines etched the corners of her eyes, but there was a lightness in her movements that spoke of happiness. He wavered, wanting to grab the eternity he was entitled to as shifter.
But he wouldn’t be one for much longer.
“Something smells good,” she said.
“Breakfast.” He kept his tone neutral, impersonal, and by the way her brows shot up, she noticed.
“I’m definitely famished. Worked up a bit of an appetite last night,” she teased. But there was hesitation in her voice now. Suspicion.
