To Claim A Sinner

Primal Anticipation

Catherine’s POV

“What the hell are you doing here?” I snapped the second he slid into the driver’s seat. He looked smug, of course he did.

“Am I not here to fetch you?” he said as he leaned in, way too close.

I jerked back on instinct. “I’m warning you. You’re in Emberfang. You—”

I cut myself off when he suddenly reached across me. His hand brushed my arm as he grabbed the seatbelt, pulling it over me like I was incapable of doing it myself. Heat crawled up my neck, and I wished the ground would open up and bury me.

He clicked the buckle in place, then stayed right there, close enough for me to see the amusement in his eyes. What in the Goddes's name is he doing?

He suddenly leaned even closer.

The space between us shrank until I could feel his breath against my cheek.

“What were you thinking?” he asked again, his gaze locked on mine.

My eyes widened before I could stop them. Heat flared in my face, crawling from my neck to the tips of my ears. For a split second, my mind went blank, wiped clean of words and excuses and the neat little lies I had been trying to build since sunrise.

He saw it. Of course he did.

His mouth curved.

“Stay away from me,” I managed, forcing the words out through a throat that suddenly felt too tight. Whatever happened last night was a mistake. He needed to stay away from me.

His eyes glinted at that, something knowing and sharp sparking there, like I had just confirmed something for him instead of putting a wall up. He did not move back. If anything, he leaned in that last inch, and suddenly his face was right there, close enough that I could see the faint shadow of stubble along his jaw and the little scar near his chin.

My gaze dropped to his mouth before I could stop it.

Bad idea.

The memory hit me like a punch. His lips on mine. His teeth catching my bottom lip. His hand in my hair, on my waist, on my hip. My body arching into his like it had been waiting for that exact touch all this time.

Something low in my stomach twisted and pulled tight, hot and very much alive. It felt like my wolf had woken up and decided to stretch inside my skin, interested in a way that made me want to crawl out of my own body. My mouth went dry. I swallowed, the movement loud in my own ears.

Then, his gaze flicked down.

“Is that really what you want?” he asked, his voice low enough that it seemed to sit between us rather than echo in the car.

My mouth opened, then closed again. The answer I should have given sat right there on my tongue: yes, that is what I want, this was wrong and disgusting and it will never happen again.

Instead, all I could hear in my head was the sound I had made when he pinned my wrists above my head and kissed me like I was not a burden or a duty, but a choice.

My p***y clenched at the memory.

What the hell is going on? I have no reason to react to this man’s words!

Before I could scrape together a better answer, he finally pushed back, retreating to his side of the car. The loss of his proximity felt ridiculous and sharp, like someone had opened a window and let cold air in.

He shifted the gear, one hand sliding to the wheel as if nothing had happened, as if he had not just backed me into a corner using nothing but his mouth and his eyes and the memory of his hands on my skin.

The engine rumbled to life.

“Buckle up properly this time,” he said, eyes on the road now as he pulled away from the packhouse. “We would not want anything unfortunate to happen to you on the way to the council, would we?”

I frowned at that. Yet, I forced myself to ignore him.

Sadly, I had been so focused on the sting of my husband’s betrayal and my own actions that I completely overlooked the more dangerous problem: Ethan was always plotting something.

The realization that we weren't headed for the agreed-upon meeting spot hit me the moment the car screeched to a halt. It was already too late.

The sudden stop threw me forward.

“What– ” I demanded, spinning to face him. “What are you doing!? Why are we—?” My question died in my throat as I spun around. He was already watching me, the corner of his mouth hooked in that familiar, infuriating smirk, the one that said he knew something I didn't, and he enjoyed the power that gave him.

“You tell me, Katarina,” he drawled, his voice losing the earlier seductive quality and taking on a hard, challenging edge. “Why did you leave? Did I not satisfy you enough?”

The question was a direct hit, wiping the rest of my outrage away. Leave? He was asking why I had bolted from his room this morning, leaving him asleep and me panicked.

A fresh wave of heat washed over my face, the kind that had nothing to do with anger and everything to do with shame and desire. I couldn’t answer that.

Instead of speaking, I fumbled for the door handle, needing to escape the suffocating closeness of the car.

I shoved the door open and scrambled out onto solid ground. The sound of the door thudding shut behind me echoed loudly in the cavernous space, instantly telling me this was not a roadside ditch or an abandoned lot, but a large, enclosed garage, with several other luxury vehicles parked around us.

I took three steps, trying to clear my head, but the sound of his door opening and closing confirmed my fear. He had followed.

When I turned back, he was standing maybe ten feet away, hands tucked casually into the pockets of his tailored trousers. He looked every bit the smug, daring bastard he was, and undeniably, frustratingly, f*****g sexy.

His posture screamed confidence, a predator watching his prey. My wolf, that normally quiet observer, surged forward, snapping its teeth with pure, primal anticipation.

“Focus, Catherine, focus,” I muttered to myself, shaking my head slightly to clear the haze. I gripped the strap of my purse, trying to look composed. “This is ridiculous. Drive me to the council venue now.”

He took one step toward me. “Or what, Katarina?”

I swallowed hard, the sound too loud in the sudden silence. My gaze met his as I forced my chin up. I would not cower. I had faced worse than a handsome, arrogant Alpha. I would not let him see how much his nearness affected me.

He stopped barely a foot away, the air between us practically humming.

“I thought you owed me something,” he said, his voice dropping to a serious, low register that went straight through the heat to the cold core of my fear. “I am here to collect a debt.”

“A debt?” I asked, completely thrown. My mind raced through the events of the last few days, searching for any agreement, any promise I might have made. I couldn’t remember owing him a single thing.

A ghost of a smile touched his lips. “Obviously, you owe me for saving you. You owe me for covering for your embarrassing, pathetic attempt to escape your husband, not to mention the mess you made last night in my room.” His eyes raked over me, making the assessment feel less about clothing and more about me. “Now,” he finished. “How would you like to pay?”