Late morning. Riven and I return to our cave after reporting to Hadrik. We're both exhausted, our bodies begging for sleep, but I can't settle. I pace near the entrance, my mind replaying the mission over and over. The guards. The patrol. The chase. The ravine. How close we came to being caught.
"Arida," Riven says from where he sits on our furs. "You need to rest."
"I can't." I keep pacing. "We got the intelligence we needed, but I don't want to risk our wolves' lives like that anymore."
He stops and looks at me. Something shifts in his expression.
"Several weeks ago, you would have said the mission was a success because we got what we needed." He stands and crosses to me, his muscular chest heaving with each breath. "But now you're thinking about the wolves who could have died."
His words make me pause. I consider them carefully.
"Is that weakness?" I ask.
"No." His voice is firm, and his eyes lock onto mine with intensity. "That's what makes you different from Varek. He sees wolves as expendable. You see them as people worth protecting."
"But we can't win without taking risks," I argue, electric tension sparking between us like flint and steel. "We can't defeat Varek by playing it safe."
"There's a difference between necessary risks and reckless ones," he says, reaching for my hand.
The contact sends heat through me. The same energy from last night. The adrenaline. The awareness of being alive.
"We're alive," I say.
"We are." His eyes hold mine.
We kiss. The contact sends heat coursing through my veins—an intimate desire that demands action, demands release. The same energy from last night when danger still stalked us in every shadow, the adrenaline whispering of life's fragile hold. And there in the dimly lit cave, Riven closes the space between us until our lips meet.
His breath hitches, ragged and shallow, as I press my palm flat against his chest, feeling the hard, unyielding plane of him beneath my touch. The heat radiating from him is almost unbearable, but I don’t pull away—I push harder, forcing him to yield, to submit.
My other hand slides up his arm, tracing the coiled strength of him, and I can feel the tremor that runs through his body as I lean in, my lips brushing the shell of his ear.
“You’re mine,” I whisper, low and commanding, and the growl that escapes him is pure, unfiltered need. His chest heaves, his fists clench and unclench at his sides, but he doesn’t move—not yet. He’s waiting for me to take what I want, and oh, how I intend to.
I step back just enough to drag my nails down his chest, leaving faint red trails in their wake, and his breath comes out in a sharp hiss. His eyes are dark now, nearly black with desire, and I can see the way his jaw clenches, the way his muscles flex under his skin as if he’s holding himself back by sheer force of will.
My hand slips between us, and I don’t hesitate, don’t ask permission. I grip him hard, my fingers curling around the thick, scorching length of him, and the sound he makes—a low, guttural groan—sends a rush of wet heat between my legs.
I squeeze, just enough to make his hips jerk, and then I’m moving, stepping into him until there’s no space left between us. My other hand fists in his hair, pulling his head back until his throat is exposed, until I can see the way his pulse pounds beneath his skin.
“You are mine,” I declare, my voice a low growl, and his body shudders in response. His hands finally move, gripping my hips with a desperation that makes my breath catch, but he doesn’t push—he waits, trembling, until I’m ready to take control.
I sink down onto him, slow and deliberate, relishing the way his breath stutters, the way his fingers dig into my skin as I sheath him fully inside me. He’s thick, impossibly so, and the stretch is almost too much, but I don’t stop—I won’t.
I rock my hips, grinding down on him until he’s cursing under his breath, his hands sliding up my back to pull me closer. His teeth scrape against my neck, sharp and demanding, but I don’t flinch. Instead, I bite back, sinking my teeth into the juncture of his shoulder, and the sound he makes is raw, animalistic, and so fucking satisfying.
I set the pace, slow and punishing, my hands gripping his shoulders as I ride him with a ferocity that leaves him gasping. His hips buck beneath me, trying to take control, but I don’t let him—I pin him down, my thighs trembling with the effort, and drag myself up and down his length until he’s writhing beneath me, desperate and undone.
His hands roam my body, greedy and frantic, as if he’s trying to memorize every curve, every inch of me, and I let him—for now. My head falls back, a moan escaping my lips as I feel him everywhere, inside me, around me, and I know I’m close, so close. But I won’t let go—not yet. I want him to break first, to shatter beneath me, and then, only then, will I allow myself to fall.
His growl is ragged, broken, and I can feel the tension coiling in his body, the way he’s teetering on the edge. I lean down, my lips brushing his ear, and whisper, “Now.”
And he comes. His body convulses beneath mine, his hands gripping me tight as he spills, hot and pulsing, inside me. The sensation is enough to undo me, and I follow him over the edge, my own release crashing over me in waves that leave me trembling, breathless, and utterly sated.
For a moment, we stay like that, tangled together, our breaths mingling in the dim light of the cave. But I know this is just the beginning—he’s mine now, and I’ll claim him again and again, until there’s no doubt left in his mind who holds the power between us.