The only sound in the room where Elaria lay was Draven's labored breathing against her throat, while the world beyond the walls of the citadel was roiling with wolves honing their teeth on gossip.
Below them, the furs were twisted and wet from fever and perspiration. Even though his body was still feeble, his wolf's fire was hotter than fever and it was consuming her with every trembling thrust. As if to see how far he could push before losing all control and marking her, his lips lightly touched her jaw and his teeth scraped the skin there.
His voice was ragged and urgent as he rasped, "Say it," into her ear. “Say you’re mine.”
Her breath seized and shattered into the darkness as her back arched and her nails created scarlet trails in his flesh as they dragged down the ridges of his
