Page 23

“Holt,” she says softly. “This is a record of every good thing that’s happened in this forest.”

“It’s a maintenance log.”

“It’s really not.” She closes it and hands it back like it’s made of glass. Then she leans into me again, closer than before.

Her breath is warm on my throat. Her scent is everywhere, rain and soap and woman. Under it, sweet and warm and getting stronger, is the scent I first caught at the creek on her first day. She wants me.

“Holt,” she murmurs against my neck. “About the glade.”

“What about it?”

“I want to do it again.” She tips her head back to look at me. “The kissing part. Not the landslide.”

The orc in me growls. It’s a low sound, right in my chest, and I can’t stop it.

“Wren.” I make myself say it. “You should know what you’re getting into.”

“I know what I’m getting into.” Her eyes drop to my mouth. “About seven feet of grumpy ranger.”

“I’m serious.” I take her hand and put it flat on my chest so she can feel how hard my heart is pounding. “This body came with things nobody warned me about. The strength. The instincts. I’ve spent years keeping them on a leash. I’ve worked hard to learn every part so I never hurt anyone. But with you…” I swallow. “With you, the leash is very thin.”

At poker nights, other monsters whisper about finding the one. Then their bodies change again, something they call a knot. I’ve always blamed the beer for that part. With Wren this close, I’m wondering if I owe somebody an apology.

She doesn’t pull her hand away. Instead, she spreads her fingers wide over my heart.

“Do you think you’ll hurt me?” she asks.

“No. Never.”

“I trust you more than anyone I’ve ever met.” She leans in until her lips are an inch from mine. “And I don’t want you to be careful, Holt. I want you.”

Every argument vanishes from my head.

“You’re mine,” I growl, the words torn from me. “Do you know that?”

She laughs, a low, breathless sound.

“Then you’d better prove it.”

I kiss her, no longer careful.

CHAPTER 7

FIRE STARTER

WREN

Holt kisses me as if the leash is gone.

There’s nothing careful about it now. His mouth is hungry, his tusks press against my cheeks, and he cradles the back of my head as if he’s afraid I’ll disappear. The blanket slides off my shoulders. I’m not cold anymore. I’m not sure I’ll ever be cold again.

I grab two fistfuls of his wet shirt. “This needs to come off.”

He pulls back just far enough to drag it over his head and tosses it at the hook. It misses. Neither of us cares.

Oh my.

In the firelight, he’s all muscle and shadow. A dusting of dark hair runs down his chest, narrows over his stomach, and disappears into the waistband of his wet ranger pants.