Ronan
The cabin is still except for Eli’s ragged breathing.
The scent of his heat still hangs thick in the air. Sweet, dizzying, tangled with sweat and the cold tang of snow blowing in through a crack in the roof.
My wolf paces under my skin, restless, ears back, tail low, wanting more. Take him. Bite him. Fill him.
But I don’t.
I kneel in the shadows next to him, watching him shake. He’s curled in on himself, knees pulled tight, face pressed to his forearm like he’s trying to hide from me, from what just happened.
His jeans are damp with slick and sperm, the fabric sticking to his thighs. My mark glows dark against his pale neck, bruises blooming under it like flowers of possession.
I reach for the bucket in the corner. The old water is icy but clean enough. I rip a scrap of fabr
