Page 112 of Ravenous

“Then I’ll make it so good youhaveto give me more.” The sexy wolf dripped lust. He stripped off his shirt, muscles flexing, confidence radiating.

Her magic flared like a torch, arcing between them. She felt weightless; he was the only solid thing in the room. “How good?” she whispered in defeat, already knowing the answer.

His hand cupped her nape, thumb warm at her pulse, a quiet claim that guided her close. His other hand found her breast and kneaded, slow and thorough, as if his palm had been made to grip her. “You’re about to find out.”

And then they were kissing, mouths reckless, teeth grazing, his canines scraping just enough to warn, the sharp scent of him flooding her senses…

And then they were coming with muffled yells, her nails biting into his muscles, his roars breaking against her flesh…

And then they were riding the aftershock. Skin slick, hearts loud, the world narrowed to heat and pulse.

And she realized it was the last time.

The sweetness of him—the connection, the illusion of future—only made the loss sharper. Grief slammed into her like a fist, harder than pleasure.Fate can’t be fought.She tried to blink back tears, but one escaped. Then another. More salt against the delectable taste of him.

“Gods, Meera,” he breathed, voice raw. “Please doona cry, lass.”

She sobbed, “It’s n-no good.” She couldn’t look at him. Couldn’t stand the tenderness in his eyes. “It never will be. We can’t win this fight. We never could.”

“Fuck,” he rasped, shaken for the first time. “Mayhap Iamenchanted. But what I feel for you—what we have—’tis pure. Has to be. It canna have been fouled by magic.”

And with those words, she understood: the divide between them was a chasm no amount of pleasure could bridge.

“Goodbye, Lowell.” Heart turned to stone, tears drying, Meera rose and walked away—knowing she would not survive the memory of him intact.

Chapter 43Thane

Twelve days till the Hunter’s Moon

Jastorgh arrived in Thane’s office in all his cavalier glory, wings half spread asif he expected applause.

“You have a lot of nerve showing up here,” Thane grated.

“I do. So much!” Jastorgh preened. “It fair oozes from me.”

“You fucked me over and put my mate in jeopardy.” The mate that had refused to see Thane since. But he’d continued to work toward the future, digging in the Skein for leverage.

The rogue witches showed the most promise. They were no friends to Ditch’s coven but seemed to know a lot about it. How to use them without tipping into outright war?

Jastorgh scoffed. “Your mate told me she could handle herself. And unlike you, I took her at her word. Does everyone keep forgetting she’s the high bitchess of some very serious bitches?”

“We got lucky in the Helter, but things could have gone sideways.” Why had the monsters been so quiet? Thane had sensed legions more, lying in wait.

For what? The idea of taking Lykae into that land to hunt filled him with foreboding.

“Water under the bridge, wolf, bygones, second chances, et cetera. I’m on a clock. So”—Jastorgh produced a scroll and two small hex bags—“do you want these or not?”

“Hand them over.” Thane accepted the letter and the two bags. One was red, the other black. Grains of some kind filled them. He opened Ditch’s sealand read:

Wolf,

If you pour one bag around each cage, magic will make Berserker bars truly unbreakable. Use the black one for yours, and your beast won’t know what hit him.

D

He sniffed the black bag, and his Instinct blared: —Be wary of magics!—Lykae hated it. Despite his mate’s scent on these spells, his hackles rose. Thane set the bags away warily. What a risk trusting them would be!

Ditch might double-cross him, then try to attack that very night, knowing he—and his best men guarding him—would be compromised.