Chapter 11
Three more days passed in the same pattern. Training that left them both breathless and aching. Kisses stolen in quiet moments—against the cabin wall, behind the woodpile, in the shadows of the forest. Each one hotter than the last, each one pushing closer to the line they’d drawn.
Ember learned the geography of his restraint the way she’d learned the mountain trails.
She knew the sounds he made when he was close to breaking—the low growl in his chest, the way his breathing changed, the flex of his hands when he was fighting the urge to grab her.
She knew exactly how hard she could push before he pulled away. She pushed a little harder every time.
On the fourth night, they came closer than they’d ever been.
It started innocently—or as innocently as anything between them could be anymore.
She’d been reaching for something on a high shelf, stretching onto her toes, when his hands found her waist to steady her.
Just a simple touch, but when she turned, she found him right there, barely a breath between them, his eyes already burning gold.
“You’ve been doing this on purpose,” he said. Not an accusation but a recognition.
“Maybe.”
“You’re testing my control.”
“Is that what you think I’m doing?”
His hands slid down to grip her hips, pulling her flush against him. She gasped at the contact, at the evidence of his desire pressing against her stomach. He was hard—achingly, impressively hard—and an answering heat pulsed between her thighs.
“I think,” he said, his voice rough as gravel, “that you have no idea how dangerous this game is.”
“Maybe I like danger.”
The kiss that followed was nothing like the measured, careful ones he’d been giving her. This was raw and demanding, his tongue sweeping into her mouth like he was claiming territory. His hands roamed over her hips, her waist, sliding up her ribs to close over her breasts.
She moaned against his mouth and he swallowed the sound greedily.
He walked her backwards until her shoulders hit the wall. He lifted her like she weighed nothing, and her legs instinctively wrapped around his waist. He pressed her against the wall until she could feel every hard line of his body against every soft curve of hers.
“Rykan…” His name came out as a plea.
He ground his erection against her core and stars exploded behind her eyes. Even through layers of clothing, the friction was exquisite—a teasing promise of what could be if he would just give in. She rocked her hips, chasing the sensation, and he groaned like she was killing him.
“I want—” She couldn’t form the words. She didn’t know how to ask for what she needed. “Please.”
His hand slid lower, seeking the hem of her shirt. When his fingers brushed against the bare skin of her stomach, electricity shot through her. His touch was hesitant at first, exploring, testing her response. She arched into him, silently begging for more.
He answered.
His hand moved higher, finding her breast, and she cried out as his thumb brushed across her nipple. The sensation was overwhelming, both too much and not enough. He repeated the motion and she shattered, her body bucking against his as waves of pleasure washed over her.
Her gasping breath filled the sudden silence. She’d never… no one had ever… and he’d barely touched her. He pulled back to look at her, his golden eyes wide with something like awe.
“Did you…?”
Heat flooded her cheeks. She’d never been so embarrassed, never felt so exposed. “I…”
“Again,” he demanded. “I want to see it again.”
He slid his thigh between her legs, wedging her against the wall as his other hand slid beneath her shirt as well.
He cupped both breasts, his thumbs circling her nipples with deliberate, maddening strokes.
The pleasure built again, sharper this time, more focused.
She twisted in his arms, desperate for something she couldn’t name.
“Look at me,” he ordered.
Her eyes fluttered open, and she found his burning into hers. The possessive hunger she saw there made her tremble.
“I want to watch you.” His voice was rough. “I want to watch you fall apart in my hands.”
The words themselves were almost enough to send her over the edge. When he pinched her nipples—just hard enough to blur the line between pleasure and pain—she did as he wanted. She came again, harder this time, her head thrown back against the wall as she cried out his name.
He lowered her gently to her feet but didn’t release her, supporting her when her legs threatened to give out. Then he lifted her shirt over her head and tossed it aside. He took a moment to look at her and the reverence in his expression made her chest ache.
“So beautiful.” He sank to his knees before her, pressing a kiss to her stomach that made her muscles clench.
He stripped the remaining clothes from her body, baring her completely to the cool cabin air and his burning gaze.
She should have felt shy and exposed, but instead, she felt powerful.
She saw the way his eyes devoured her, the way his hands trembled as he traced the curve of her hips, and she understood what she was seeing.
Worship.
His fingers dipped between her thighs, testing her readiness. She was wet—soaked from wanting him—and he made a sound deep in his chest when he discovered it. He spread her folds, opening her to his gaze, and then he leaned in and tasted her.
She cried out, her hands fisting in his hair as he explored her with his tongue.
He was ruthless, pushing her higher and higher until she was begging, pleading, completely undone in his arms. When he finally worked a finger into her, stroking a place inside that made stars burst behind her eyes, she broke completely.
Her knees buckled, but he caught her, easing her down onto his lap.
He kissed her, hard and desperate, and she could taste herself on his tongue.
He trailed kisses along on her jaw and then his mouth found her throat, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin below her ear.
She felt the sharp points of his fangs—longer now, closer to the surface—and a shiver of anticipation ran through her.
She remembered what he’d told her about the claiming bite. About the bond it would create.
She wanted it. Gods help her, she wanted it.
“Ember.” Her name was a tortured sound against her skin. “I can’t… If we don’t stop—”
“Don’t stop.” She tangled her fingers in his hair, holding him to her throat. “I don’t want you to stop.”
He froze.
For one endless moment, she thought he would do it. She felt the tension coiling in his body, felt his fangs pressing just hard enough to dimple her skin without breaking it. Her pulse hammered beneath his mouth. Her entire body throbbed with need.
Then he tore himself violently away. One moment he was everywhere—surrounding her, consuming her, the only thing in her world—and the next he was across the room, his back to her, his shoulders heaving.
“Rykan—”
“Don’t.” The word cracked like breaking ice. “Don’t say anything right now.”
She stayed pressed against the wall where he’d left her, her legs trembling, her body screaming in protest at the sudden absence of his heat. She could see his hands clenched into fists at his sides. Could see the fine tremor running through his massive frame.
“I need to—” He didn’t finish the sentence. The cabin door slammed behind him, and then she was alone.
The fire crackled in the silence.
She leaned back against the wall, her knees drawn up to her chest, her heart still racing.
The cold air that rushed through the cabin with his departure barely registered.
All she could think about was the look on his face in that final moment—the desperate hunger, the ruthless control, and the anguish of denying himself something he wanted so badly.
What would have happened if he hadn’t stopped?
She knew the answer. He’d explained it clearly enough that day in the snow, when he’d warned her about the claiming bite and the bond it would create. If he’d broken the skin at her throat, she would have become his mate. Permanently. Irrevocably.
She pressed her fingers to her throat, tracing the spot where his fangs had rested. The skin was tender but unbroken—a near miss that left her aching with disappointment.
Is that really what I want?
She knew what society would say. The proper circles of Port Cantor, the business associates who had known her father, the tutors who had shaped her education—they would be horrified.
A Duvain heir, consorting with a Vultor?
Worse, wanting him to be a permanent part of her life?
It was the kind of scandal that could occupy Port Cantor’s elite for months.
But sitting alone in this cabin, with the taste of him still on her lips and the phantom weight of his body still pressing against her, she didn’t care about any of that.
Let them be scandalized. Let them whisper behind gloved hands and exchange meaningful looks at garden parties.
She had spent her entire life being the perfect Duvain daughter—demure, proper, obedient. And what had it gotten her?
A sabotaged ship. A legacy being stolen while she was trapped on a mountain. A life defined by what others expected rather than what she wanted.
She pushed herself to her feet and moved to the window.
Outside, the mountain stretched in endless white, broken only by the dark shapes of pine trees and the distant silhouette of the peaks.
Somewhere out there, Rykan was running off his frustration, probably cursing himself for letting things go so far.
But he didn’t stop because he didn’t want me, she thought. He stopped because he wanted me too much. The distinction mattered more than she could explain.