Lyra lay in bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling, the pale light of dawn just beginning to touch the corners of the room. Sleep had been a stranger all night. Her heart still thudded with the ghost of his touch, her skin burning where Xander’s hands had wandered—bold, sure, and impossible to forget.
She turned over, pulling the blanket higher, but it did nothing to settle the restless stir in her chest. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw his face—cocky and intense—and felt the weight of his body, his heat, the pressure of his lips, the way his hands had cupped her thighs and her breast as if she belonged to him.
Her breath hitched as her inner wolf stirred again, restless and giddy.
“He wants us,” her wolf whispered, almost purring in her head. “You felt it too, didn’t you? The way his s
