Eli
The heat strikes without warning.
One moment I'm moving feed sacks in the shed's half-light, lungs full of cold air and dust. The next, fire races beneath my skin, sudden and consuming, settling deep with liquid intensity. My legs give out. I catch myself against the workbench, breath coming in sharp bursts.
A hot wetness blooms between my thighs, shocking enough that I look down and find dark patches soaking through my jeans. Not sweat. Slick. My wolf curls tight in my head, confused and aching, instincts it doesn't understand clawing to the surface.
“No,” I whisper, panicked. My hands shake as I press them to my thighs, shocked at the dampness of the fabric. My body’s burning, trembling. My scent spikes, heavy and sweet, and the bond roars awake, a bright thread between me and
