The cabin *creaks* around us, the firelight *flickering* across the walls, casting *shadows* that dance like *demons*. The scent of *pine* and *blood* and *lust* is thick in the air, *cloying*, *intoxicating*. Knox is *still* pale, his dark eyes *tired* but *burning*, his hand *tight* around mine. His skin is *warm*, his grip *possessive*, his scent—*cedar* and *rain*—*wrapping* around me like a *blanket*.
*Fuck.*
I *hate* this.
I *hate* him.
I *hate* all of them.
But *f**k*—
I *love* them too.
And that *terrifies* me.
---
Zane *paces* like a caged beast, his gray eyes *cold*, his posture *rigid*. The *creak* of the floorboards under his boots is a *metronome*, marking the *tension* in the room. His scent—*smoke* and *leather*—*fills* my nose, *sharp* and *comforting* all at once.
