To Claim A Sinner

Space Between Us

Catherine’s POV

By the time I realized we were inside, the door was already shut behind us.

My back hit something firm and dry instead of wet stone, and the sudden change from storm to stillness made my ears ring.

Ethan’s grip finally left my wrist, the rush of blood back into my hand made the skin throb. I stared at the red marks where his fingers had been, only now understanding how tight he had dragged me across the grounds.

“What are you doing?” I snapped, the words shooting out before I could swallow them. “You cannot just—”

“You should probably lower your voice,” he said. “They are still looking for you.”

The reminder shut my mouth faster than any threat. Yes, they are still looking for me. The search party, the guards and obviously, Simon.

And if he finds me here, I don't even want to imagine what he'll do.

I swallowed hard. Looking around, the cabin felt small and shadowed, made of old wood and faint light. A single lamp on the side table threw a warm glow across the space, leaving the corners in dim, uneven patches. The rain still hammered the roof, and thunder rolled again, but in here it felt distant, like a muted warning.

I wrapped my fingers around my wrist and glared at him. Ethan had already turned away and crossed the room to a narrow counter that passed for a bar. A half-empty bottle of whiskey sat there, along with a clean glass he ignored.

He picked up the bottle, twisted off the cap, and took a long pull straight from it. His throat worked as he swallowed, the movement drawing my eyes even though I did not want to look at him at all.

“Why did you save me?” I asked, forcing the question out before I lost my nerve.

He finished his drink before answering. The bottle lowered slowly. Then he turned and started walking toward me.

My body reacted before my mind caught up. I took a step back on instinct. The cabin floor was solid under my feet, but each step made it feel smaller.

Only then did I really see him.

He was just as soaked as I was. Water dripped from the ends of his dark hair, trailing down the side of his neck. His black shirt clung to his torso, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, forearms marked with the same strength that had held me against him outside.

Two buttons at the top hung undone, exposing a strip of skin and the beginning of a tattoo that started on his chest and climbed up toward his collarbone, disappearing under the damp fabric.

I swallowed without meaning to.

He kept coming and I kept backing up. Then my heel bumped the wall before I realized I had run out of room. The impact sent a small jolt up my spine. Ethan did not stop. He closed the remaining distance until only a breath of space separated us, his height casting a shadow over my face.

“What are you doing?” I asked, hating how thin my voice sounded.

He let out a quiet laugh.

“You should be thanking me for saving you,” he said.

His body pressed against mine before I could push him away. There was nowhere to go. The wall was at my back and he was in front of me, solid and warm and far too close. The soaked fabric of his shirt brushed my chest each time he breathed, and the contact made my own lungs stutter.

My breathing hitched. I shut my eyes and turned my head to the side, trying to put even a small piece of space between his face and mine. That did nothing to help. Being this close made his scent impossible to ignore.

Wet pine and there was… something darker under it. Something… metallic and faint. Blood.

My stomach tightened. I could not tell if the unease rising inside me came from fear, anger, or the unwelcome awareness of him.

Then, his hand came up without warning and caught my chin, fingers firm but not painful as he turned my face back toward him.

“Open your eyes,” he said.

The command slid through me and brushed against something deeper than thought. My wolf, who usually bristled at being ordered around, did not growl, did not push back. She watched, tense but strangely quiet. She had never given Simon this silence.

That alone unsettled me enough that my lashes lifted.

Ethan’s face filled my vision. His gray eyes looked even lighter up close, almost silver in the lamplight, fixed on me with an attention that felt too sharp. Drops of water clung to his lashes and traced slow lines down the angles of his cheekbones, but nothing about his expression wavered.

“Say it,” he murmured.

“Say what?” The words slipped out before I could stop them.

I braced for anger, for his eyes to harden, for his hand to tighten in warning, but none of that happened. His mouth curved instead, a hint of amusement flickering through his gaze like this was a game only he understood.

He leaned in, closing the last bit of distance until his lips hovered near my ear. His breath brushed my skin when he spoke, the low rumble of his voice sending another unwanted shiver down my spine.

“You should thank me…” he whispered. “For not f*****g you right there and then.”

Then his teeth caught the edge of my ear in a quick, sharp bite that made me jolt. A small, broken sound tried to claw its way up my throat, but his nearness trapped it somewhere between my chest and my mouth. My fingers curled against the wall, nails scraping the wood.

Before I could form a single word, before I could shove him back or tell him exactly what I thought of his version of saving people, his mouth found mine.

His lips crashed against mine with a force that stole the breath I had just managed to gather. The kiss was hard and consuming, more claim than question, every movement pushing me further against the wall as if he intended to erase any trace of space between us.

My first instinct was to push at his chest. My palms met solid muscle and wet fabric, but he did not move. The more I tried to press him away, the more aware I became of how completely he had boxed me in. His other hand slid to my hip, fingers spanning the curve and holding me in place.

My thoughts scattered as I tasted whiskey and heat and the faint copper of blood that clung to his scent.

I told myself I hated it.

I told myself I hated him.

My body did not seem interested in hearing that. My heart pounded harder, and I could not tell if it was the fear of what would happen if Simon found us here or the way Ethan kissed me like he had been waiting for an excuse to do it.

Ethan’s mouth moved against mine like he had no intention of stopping. Every time I thought he might pull back, he only deepened the kiss, angling my head a little more, forcing me to feel every drag of his lips, every shift of his hand on my hip. My lungs burned, but I could not tell if it was from lack of air or from sheer panic.

Then a sound cut through the haze.

A sharp, firm knock against the cabin door.

I immediately tore my mouth away from his own. To my surprise, Ethan’s grip on my hip tightened, holding me in place as my eyes flew to the door. My heart skipped a beat so hard it hurt.

“Ethan,” a voice called from outside, muffled by the wood yet clear enough that I would have known it anywhere. “We need to talk.”

Simon.

The name flashed through my head like another strike of lightning. My pulse shot up so fast that spots danced at the edges of my vision. For a second, all I could hear was my own breathing and the rain pounding the roof, tangled with the echo of my husband’s voice on the other side of the door.