The next morning, I woke to the smell of ink and pine and a phantom thumb still grazing my lower lip.
For a few disorienting seconds, I couldn’t tell if the warmth flooding my cheeks was from the thin sunlight sneaking past the curtains or from the memory of Lucian’s hand on my jaw, his breath mingling with mine, his eyes dropping to my mouth like he’d finally noticed I had one.
Then the rest came crashing back.
My own palm on his cheek. The way the darkness under his skin had recoiled from my touch. The hush that had fallen in his eyes when whatever lived in his blood went quiet for a heartbeat.
His words, rough and shaken: *“What did you just do?”*
His body, heat, and anger and want, pressed too close.
The bang on the door. The Beta’s urgent voice. The almost‑kiss shattering like g
