EMBER
I’m not going to lie, I’ve been dreaming about the Taste trial since last year. The way Thorn devoured me. Like his mouth knew my body better than I did. I’ve never been the same since that first time. If he could do that with his tongue, I can only imagine what his cock would do.
That thought is why I ended up in the forest hours before midnight, my hand buried between my thighs, muffling my moans against my own arm.
By the time I slip into the river, shivering in the icy current, I’m raw. My nerves sing, my body is a live wire waiting only for him.
The temple is full when I arrive, just in time for midnight.
I was so distracted, I forgot my blindfold back in the room, so I rip off a piece of linen from the table that’s decked with whipped cream and strawberries to wrap it around my eyes.
My pulse thrums as the priest drones about the rules for the newbies. I barely hear him.
When the signal is given to begin, chaos erupts. Wolves searching blind for their match.
Bodies brush mine — heat, musk, sweat, laughter. The air is thick with hushed moans and lips smacking. I push forward, nose lifted, straining, waiting for him.
A sharp tug on my hair jerks me sideways. I stumble, slammed into a chest that reeks of sour musk. Laughter ripples around me and then fingers shove me. My lip curls, but I shove through them, deeper into the press of bodies.
And finally, the scent of pine tingles my nose. My chest aches. But it’s mixed with something, something wrong. Too sweet. Cloying like fruit rotting on the vine. My wolf snarls inside, the scent soiled.
I rip the cloth from my eyes. Then wish I hadn’t.
Because there he is. Sitting against the wall, his face pressed into the curve of another female’s neck.
White hair gleaming even in the dim torchlight.
Those familiar scars etched down his temple.
His body is slack, but it appears as though his arms are around her.
Aura. She has the audacity to smile at me.
The floor drops out beneath me. My lungs crush inward. For a heartbeat, I can’t breathe, can’t think.
My claws extend before I can stop them. Everything in me wants to rip her throat out.
Rip her away from what is mine. But there’s no bloodshed in the temple.
I’ve disobeyed that law before. Maybe I can get away with it again…
But I doubt the priests give second chances and I can’t survive another year without Thorn again.
So I force myself to whirl around. Fury burning hot enough to blister, shame chasing me like a storm, I shove through the crush of bodies and bolt for the doors.
If I stay a second longer, I know with utmost certainty that I’ll kill her.