Thaddeus
She was gone—but her scent still lingered.
God help me, it lingered.
I closed my eyes and inhaled, deep and greedily, dragging it through my lungs like a starving man. Wildflowers warmed by summer sun. Winter pine. And beneath it all, something sweet—dangerously sweet—something that made my mouth water as though I were… hungry.
My cock stirred in my breeches.
Again.
I dropped my head back with a low, miserable groan.
This was torture.
Divine retribution for being a rake.
A cad.
A libertine.
I would have traded every encounter I’d ever had—every fluttering debutante, every eager widow—just for permission to put my face in her neck. To breathe her in at the source. To touch those red curls with my bare hands.
The flame.
The whisper curled through my skull like heat along bare skin.
“Stop it,” I snapped, fists clenching. “You are making it worse.”
It didn’t listen.
It never listened.
The creature twisted beneath my ribs, impatient, prowling, pacing—until suddenly it stilled.
My eyes snapped open.
I blinked hard, rubbed at them, and leaned closer to the window.
The giant brute—her uncle, no doubt—and her. Walking across the grounds.
My gaze lifted to where the path curved.
Toward the loch.
I saw the bundle of clothes tucked under her arm.
My pulse thudded.
A slow, wicked smile spread across my lips before I could stop it—dark, involuntary, shameful.
Bathing.
She was going bathing.
The creature inside me purred, stretching like a satisfied fiend.
And I—God forgive me—pressed my nose to the cold windowpane again.
No.
I needed more than a scent trapped behind glass.
I needed to see her—up close, unguarded, real.
If I cut through the wooded area, they would not see me.
She would not see me.
I spun from the window and ran.
The beast surged upward, rising like a tide beneath my ribs, silently urging me forward.
Mate, he sighed, low and delighted.
Mate.
Pain lanced behind my eyes. My heart thundered so hard it rattled my ribs as I flew down the stairs, nearly tripping in my haste. I flung the front door open with enough force to crack the hinges and sprinted across the grounds.
The cold air bit into my face.
I did not slow.
I could not.
The moment I slipped into the shadowed line of trees, he pushed upward.
Not fully taking control—no, not yet—but guiding me.
Twisting my feet along the quietest paths.
Turning my head toward every faint trace of her scent.
I followed his lead.
Not because I trusted him.
But because his need mirrored mine—wild, scraping, starving.
Each day he grew louder.
Stronger.
More certain of himself.
I am the master, I told him fiercely.
A ripple of dark amusement slid through my chest.
He scoffed.
And God help me, I followed the beast.
My lungs burned from the sprint and I leaned into the tree, dragging in long, sharp breaths. From this slope I could see everything—the loch, the reeds… and her. No uncle in sight.
Just the girl.
Euphemia, he snapped.
I ignored him.
Her scarf came off first.
She undid her braid and my fingers curled tight around the branch above me.
“Dear God,” I croaked as her hair tumbled free.
A curtain of deep, impossible red spilling down to the curve of her backside.
A memory?
A dream?
Something half-forgotten tugged at me, familiar as breath.
My jaw dropped as her dress fell.
“Turn,” I whispered, begging like a madman. “Just a fraction.”
She didn’t.
Her bloomers slipped down next.
Even in the dimming light, her pale skin shimmered. Petite frame, yes—but those buttocks? Glorious. Round. Soft. Sculpted by a cruel and generous God. She gathered her hair over one shoulder, baring her back—her spine a delicate line I wanted to trace with my hand, my mouth—
When she bent for something, I leaned forward so sharply the branch creaked.
Ours, he growled.
A shiver cut through me.
She stepped into the loch. Slowly. Carefully. Of course she took her time—the water was frigid.
Fine.
More for me to watch.
Her back.
Her shoulders.
The elegant taper of her waist.
Those thighs—made to cradle—
She slipped beneath the surface.
“No,” I whispered harshly. A man denied a blessing.
Then her scent hit me.
It struck like a physical blow—sharp enough that my knees nearly gave out.
I caught myself on a low branch before I toppled straight onto my arse.
The beast inside me reared up with a guttural snarl of triumph, his voice curling through my ribs like smoke.
Yes. She is ours. Mine. She will take our knot.
Hearing such filth in my own head made my vision swim.
I dragged a shaking hand through my hair, breath misting in the cold air as I fought for composure.
God help me, even the simple act of her bathing was enough to reduce me to madness.
The beast prowled behind my sternum, restless, insistent, his desire bleeding into my own with every pulse of my heart.
Closer, he demanded. I want her scent on my tongue.
“No,” I bit out under my breath, jaw tightening until my teeth ached.
But the refusal meant nothing—not to him, and increasingly not to my own body.
My feet moved without my consent, one step forward, then another, the ground seeming to pull me toward her in slow, inevitable inches.
I couldn’t tell who controlled me anymore. The man? The monster? Both?
All I knew was that the distance between us was shrinking, the scent of her growing sweeter, and the beast inside me was purring as though he had been waiting eons for this exact moment.
She lifted her hands to wash her hair, elbows raised, and I sucked in a sharp breath as the suds slipped over her shoulders.
When she tilted back slightly, I caught the barest glimpse of her bosom—just the corner of one perfect breast—yet it was enough to unman me completely.
My foot shifted on the slope. A twig snapped beneath my heel with a violent crack.
She startled, spinning so fast she lost her footing.
For one glorious, sinful heartbeat I saw them—both of them—two magnificent breasts flashing like pale fire before she plunged under the surface.
By the time her head broke the water again, I had already dropped into a crouch, shoving myself deep into the long grass.
My heart thrashed painfully against my ribs.
If she looked up—if she so much as glanced toward the trees—she would see me.
She would know what I was doing. I couldn’t allow that. Not yet.
So I stayed low, breath held, watching her through the shifting blades of grass.
Brooding.
Silent.
Plotting.
Every instinct screamed that I had to have her—her scent, her warmth, her breathless little gasp when the cold water touched her skin. The beast inside me prowled in fevered circles, whispering that she was already ours.
I swallowed hard.
It didn’t matter what line I crossed or what dignity I surrendered.
I would have her.
No matter the cost.