Darius POV
The motel room was a haze of dim light and tangled sheets, the air thick with the musk of sweat and spice, Fiona’s scent clinging to me like a second skin. We lay sprawled, her red hair fanned across the pillow, her green eyes half-lidded, glinting with a satisfaction that mirrored the fire still smoldering in my veins.
Our bodies had collided in a storm of raw need, a release from the doubts that had plagued me—Jaxon’s email, the woman I called Lyra, the cracks in my certainty. Fiona was a wildfire, her nails leaving trails on my back, her moans a siren’s call that had drowned out everything else. But as my pulse slowed, the world crept back, and with it, a nagging question. She wasn’t one of mine—her scent, sharp and wild, carried no trace of my pack. My wolf stirred, wary,
