EMBER
The crowd presses close outside the temple doors, blindfolds clutched in hand. My heart is pounding, not from nerves about the trial itself, but because I know he will be here. Mr. Pine and Winterberry. That scent has ingrained itself upon me.
I catch Olcan’s seedy gaze in the crowd. He pushes toward me, but before he can approach, the massive doors groan open. The sound rolls like thunder through the cool night air, bringing with it the scent of ivy and eucalyptus.
We move as one into the temple. I slip deeper, hiding behind some taller male figures out of Olcan’s leery eyesight.
Inside is different than yesterday. The open hall beneath the moonlight is softer, more intimate.
Thick, padded cushions ring the bases of each column.
Sheer curtains, silky and glimmering in the moonbeam.
They hang down to partition the space, swaying slightly in the night breeze.
The shadows are deep enough to hide sins, even though we will be blindfolded.
To my left, a long table is set out with bowls, platters, and glass dishes. Strawberries. Melted chocolate. A dish of whipped cream so perfect I lean in to slip my finger in it, popping it into my mouth.
Oh, wow, they weren’t kidding about tasting.
“Welcome,” a commanding voice draws our attention back toward the doors.
The priest raises his arms in welcome. “Tonight’s trial is Taste.
Please place your blindfolds on. Where yesterday was based on touching your mate, tonight is centered around relishing their flavor.
Follow your senses, find your scented pair and taste. ”
The heavy doors slam shut, sealing us in. I slip my silk blindfold over my eyes and tuck my now-short hair behind my ears.
At once, the hall is filled with movement. Hurried footsteps, curtains swishing, low groans and murmured comments spilling into the shadows.
“Virgin? Where are you, virgin?” a grating voice calls out somewhere to my right.
I turn sharply away from it. The last thing I want is to be found by Olcan or his creepy brother.
A hand catches my wrist. I jerk, ready to swing, when a nose nuzzles into the hollow of my neck.
“There you are,” a deep, familiar voice groans. Pine. Winterberry. My knees nearly give way.
It’s him.
My lungs inhale his scent as he pulls me into the shelter of a column’s draped curtain.
The absence of the moon dissipates on my skin.
His arms settle around me, solid and warm, and every muscle in my body goes tight.
Suddenly, the snickers of those girls resurface.
What do I know about pleasing a mate? What if he expects things from me?
To distract myself from my thoughts, I ask, “What can I call you?” My voice is softer than I mean for it to be. “I don’t even know your name.”
His nose skims the line of my jaw. The growl vibrates through my skin. “Mate.”
The word hits me like a jolt. Oh gods. That’s why my body reacts to him. That’s why I’ve been craving him since the moment he touched me. The trials…worked. On my first season.
His lips ghost along my neck. I’m blind, but every breath, every touch seems sharper in the dark. When he exhales, his nose brushes mine. His hands cradle my cheeks before his mouth claims mine in a kiss that’s slow at first, soft, teasing. Slowly breaking down my wall of doubt.
The second kiss is deeper, more tempting, dangerous. His tongue sweeps along my bottom lip, coaxing me to open to him. Gods, he tastes like winter wind over warm pine, sharp and earthy, and mine.
This is the last shred of doubt falling away to primal hunger.
He groans, leaning into me. It appears he’s just as excited as I am.
The evidence is hard against my stomach.
The only time I ever even thought about the fact that we’re always nude is when I walked into the feast a few days ago, but now with his hardness pressed onto me, I’m going to be unable to think of anything else.
I fist his hair and pull him closer, losing myself in the hungry press of lips and teeth. He growls low in his throat as his mouth leaves mine, trailing heat down my neck, across my collarbone. His hands slide down, mapping my body like he’s memorizing me.
The cushions give under my hips as he lowers me, his weight braced above me. My thighs part under the confident glide of his palms, and then his mouth is there — hot, insistent.
“Gods!” The sound rips from my throat before I can stop it.
He chuckles against me, the sound sending shivers up my spine.
Around us, other wolves groan, gasp, cry out.
It’s a symphony of primal hunger. But his focus is only on me.
Every flick of his tongue is deliberate, devastating.
The pressure in my core builds until I’m gasping, clawing at the cushions, and when I shatter, it’s with his hands gripping my thighs tight enough to bruise.
He doesn’t stop. He devours until I’m trembling, squeezing my legs around his head. Only then does he kiss his way back up, every inch of my skin a raw nerve.
“You taste delicious,” he growls into my ear, trailing a fang down my throat.
I shiver, causing my nipples to brush against his warm chest.
“May I taste you, mate?” he asks.
“I thought you already did?” As the words leave my mouth, I realize where he is, that his fangs are against the skin of my neck, patiently waiting.
Gods, this is happening. Claiming: the act of a mate to claim you as theirs.
Teeth marks are the equivalent of a wedding ring in our society, a brand for all to see.
“Uh… I…” Yes. I want to say yes, but I don’t even know his name or his pack. My brother, what if I’m leaving him alone?
“It’s okay.” His fangs retract, and his lips touch my neck instead. Right where my pulse beats incessantly. “I’ll prove myself to you, my mate.”
“How will you do…?”
Before I can finish my sentence, his mouth is on my breast. My back arches, leaning into him. Gods, if this is what mating feels like… Maybe, I should let him claim me.
Then I feel him slipping lower again, his finger swirling against that glorious pleasure point between my legs.
“Oh gods.”
“That’s right, you like that?”
“Yes,” I stammer. “Oh, yes.”
“What’s my name?”
“I … I don’t know.”
He stops suddenly. My lip pouts. “Please …”
“Who. Am. I?” he growls. His fangs painfully dragging against my inner thigh.
“Uh…” It’s so hard to think with his proximity to my core. What does he want me to say? “Mate. You’re my mate.”
He smiles against my thigh before his mouth is on my center again. My head tosses back in pleasure.
“Good girl,” he growls against my skin before he sucks and nibbles me until I’m fisting the cushion and coming on his tongue again. He dips lower, tasting it. Gods, that’s … so vulgar. But why does it feel so good?
“Mmm, it’s even sweeter when you orgasm.”
“Oh gods.” I bite my bottom lip as his finger slides inside me, in and out. Just when I think I can’t feel more pleasure, he finds a way.
“You are so tight.” He kisses inside my thigh.
“It’s almost like…” He pulls his finger out.
I hear the snap of a blindfold. My hand is still tangled in his hair when he pulls back just enough for his breath to fan over my stomach, the heat of him replaced by cool temple air.
For a heartbeat, I don’t understand what’s happening as his breathing stops.
My hand falls from his hair, and I reach up to peek under the edge of my blindfold.
I come face to face with Thorn, Alpha of Aurora pack, still between my legs, and he just made me come…twice.
Blue eyes, sharp as ice over a deep, endless ocean, lock onto mine. Steam from our body heat curls between us, dampening his long hair until it clings to his cheekbones. His chest rises and falls hard, each breath controlled, but not enough to mask the ripple of shock breaking over his features.
For a moment, he doesn’t move. Doesn’t even blink.
The groans, the shuffling of feet, the whispered breaths fade into nothing. Only the sound of my own heartbeat pounds in my ears, along with the sharp inhale he takes, as if he’s been punched in the gut.
“You?” The word scrapes out of him low and raw, more disbelief than question.
Now I’m staring at him openly too. At the broad, bare chest I’ve seen in the baths, the long line of his throat that moves when he swallows. But it’s his expression that roots me in place. It’s utterly unguarded, like the world has just shifted under his feet.
“I…” My voice catches. I’m at a loss for words. My brain is trying to reconcile that my mate is Thorn Alpha of Aurora pack. Of all the males here. I never even suspected it would be him. I mean, why would a wolf that lives surrounded by ice smell like cedar trees?
He stands, my legs slipping from his shoulders. He runs both hands through his hair, pacing half a step back before looking at me again, eyes wide with something halfway between awe and panic.
“You,” he repeats, softer now.
And that’s when his gaze drops to my throat. The spell is broken, his awe hardens into something dangerous.
“Who did that?” his voice is a low snarl.
“Did what?” I touch my neck; it still slightly stings, meaning it’s still bruised from the bookshelves falling on my head.
“Did he leave a mark on you?”
“Who?” He? Does he think this is from when he caught Olcan threatening me in the hallway? That sniveling coward wouldn’t dare.
“I’ll kill him.” His claws extend. His fangs lengthen, and there’s a murderous gleam in his eye.
Oh no. Not now. Not here.
I’ve seen this before. Once it starts, it’s near impossible to pull a wolf back until blood is spilled.
“Thorn, don’t—” My voice is sharp as I reach for him as my hand grabs his wrist.
The sound of his name freezes him mid-step. His claws retract. His fangs dull. The rage drains from his eyes, leaving confusion in its wake.
He stares at me for a long moment, brows drawn, chest heaving. Then, without a word, he turns and walks away.
I sit there, still trying to catch my breath, my pulse thundering in my ears. What just occurred? So much just happened in the span of a few minutes. My first intimate moment with a male, and it’s not just any male, it’s an Alpha … and did I just stop bloodlust?