Chapter 17
Kaiven *
The problem with having her in my tent is that I can no longer pretend distance will save me.
Distance was useful in the capital. In the transport.
Even in the camp, where work, order, and the eyes of the rasha put structure around every moment.
But inside my own space, with night settling in and the sounds of the camp lowering beyond the hide walls, there is no structure strong enough to quiet what her body does to mine.
I notice it before she does. I always do.
The shift in her scent is slight at first. Warmer.
Softer. The edge of her earlier hurt fading.
She sits near the brazier after eating the fruit I brought her, one leg folded beneath her, firelight caught in the dark waves of her hair.
The camp has gone quieter outside. Children settling.
Fires lowered. The deep rhythm of evening work turning into night.
She should look more at ease in my tent by now.
Instead, she looks more dangerous to me than she did the first night.
Because she is beginning to rest here. Not fully. Not with trust yet. But enough that her body is changing around me. Less stiff all the time. Less rigid in every breath. More willing to settle into warmth, food, quiet, and my presence.
That should make me proud. It does. It also makes me want too much.
I am across the tent when her scent sharpens again. Not fear. Not pain. Not confusion.
Arousal.
The realization goes straight through me.
Hard. Clean. Immediate. My body tightens before thought catches up.
I go still where I am, one hand braced against the edge of a storage chest, and draw in one slow breath that turns out to be a mistake.
Her scent only deepens in my lungs. Human.
Warm. Female. Softer than anything in my world.
Lighter too, but no less potent. It reaches me like heat hidden inside cloth.
Easy to miss if I were not already tuned to every change in her.
I have never been more aware of the difference between control and instinct.
She does not seem to know what just changed.
She only shifts slightly where she sits, adjusting the edge of the wrap at her shoulder, then reaches for the cup of water near the brazier.
The movement loosens the fabric across her body.
Not indecent. Not meant to tempt. That makes it worse.
The line of her throat. The softness at the top of her chest. The curve of her hip beneath the layered cloth where she sits folded on the rugs.
My body answers with humiliating speed.
I close my hand harder on the chest lid and say nothing.
That is one way I know this is not simple lust. Simple lust is easy. Simple lust can be spent and forgotten. Simple lust does not make a king stand motionless in his own tent because his wife shifted her body one inch closer to the fire.
This is hunger mixed with reverence, and I do not like how vulnerable that makes me feel.
She looks up then, perhaps sensing the change in the air if not yet understanding it.
“What?”
One word. Soft. Human.
I could lie. I should lie. Instead, I say, “You should not ask me that while smelling like this.”
Silence.
Her eyes widen first in confusion, then in something else. Awareness is not complete, but it comes quickly. She goes very still. I watch the exact second the meaning reaches her. Heat rises under her skin. I scent that too.
“I...” She stops.
I do not help her. Not because I am cruel. Because I am trying not to cross the tent in two steps and put my mouth on her throat.
She lowers the cup carefully. “I didn’t do anything.”
“I know.”
The words come out rougher than I intend.
I force myself to move then, because remaining where I am makes me feel like a predator waiting out the wrong kind of weakness.
I cross not toward her, but toward the tent flap, adjust it slightly to let cooler air in, then turn back.
The distance does nothing useful. Her scent is everywhere now, worked through the heat of the brazier and the hide and my own awareness of her.
When I look at her again, she is watching me too closely. Not frightened exactly. Not calm either. Trying to understand me. That, more than anything, pushes me toward honesty.
“My kind scents desire strongly,” I say. “Yours hides it less than ours.”
Her face goes warm again. “That’s embarrassing.”
“No.”
To me, it is the opposite. It is intimate in a way words are not. It feels like truth escaping before pride can stop it.
I do not say all that. I am already saying too much for one night.
Her fingers smooth once over the edge of the wrap near her knee, a nervous movement if ever I saw one. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with that information.”
I almost laugh then, but the sound dies before it becomes anything real. “Nothing.”
“That doesn’t seem true.”
“It is the safest answer.”
That makes her hold my gaze longer. Good. Let her see some of the strain. Not enough to frighten. Enough to understand that I am not untouched by what passes between us.
I take one step closer. Then stop. Another discipline.
The firelight moves between us. Outside, the wind passes over the tent with a low shifting sound.
Somewhere in the camp, a beast snorts and stamps, answered by a handler’s quiet voice.
Inside, all of my attention narrows to the female sitting before me with my scent on her skin and heat slowly rising beneath her own.
I say her name once. That is all. But the way it lands in the room changes something. Her shoulders loosen and tighten at once. Her eyes flick to my mouth and back up so quickly I almost miss it.
Almost.
That small glance burns through me.
I go to her then. Not fast. Not with force. Slow enough that she could move away if she chose to.
She stays where she is.
By the time I reach her, my whole body is tight with restraint.
I lower myself to one knee in front of her first, not towering over her, not taking more height than I need.
Even like this, we are too close. I can feel the warmth of her skin.
The fragile human heat of her. It is one of the things undoing me most. Tigris females are warm.
Strong. Living. But Keandra’s warmth feels more delicate, more breakable somehow, as if it should be cupped and guarded rather than merely touched.
I reach out and slide one finger under her chin, tilting her face toward mine.
“You know what I want.”
It is not a question.
“Yes.”
The word is barely there. A breath. I hold her gaze for one long second, giving her time to pull away if she means to. She does not. That is answer enough. I kiss her.
“I will not ask again.”
“I didn’t ask.”
My entire body responds to it like a lit fuse. Control shreds. The last of it.
One hard tug and I pull her forward. She gasps as she lands on the furs beside the brazier.
I follow her down, caging her with my body, one arm braced by her head, the other pinning her hip.
The firelight catches the sudden fear that flares in her eyes.
I feel it in the sudden tension of her body, in the way her breath hitches.
Fear will not stop me. It will not stop this.
But I want her to feel it. My weight. My size. The fact that she is human and I am not, and I am about to claim her like a true Tigris Kai claims his mate.
My other hand comes up to grip her wrap.
The rough fabric gives way with a sharp, satisfying sound, tearing from her throat down to her waist. Cool air touches her skin, and her scent spikes—sharp with fear, yes, but laced with something else too.
A darker, deeper note of arousal that makes something primal snarl in my chest.
“You’re mine, Narai.”
I lean down, nipping the soft skin just above her collarbone with my fangs. Not enough to break. Just enough to leave the faintest mark, a promise. She shudders beneath me, a full-body tremor that I feel everywhere.
I rip the wrap the rest of the way off. Toss it aside.
Her body is laid bare to me. Softer than I imagined.
More vulnerable. The firelight paints her in shades of gold and shadow, highlighting the soft curves of her breasts, the dip of her waist, the flare of her hips.
She is beautiful in a way that hurts, a reminder of everything fragile in this harsh world.
And I am about to ruin her for anyone else.
“You feel that?” I growl, pressing my hips against hers. The barrier of my trousers is maddening. “That’s what you do to me. That’s what I’m going to give you.”
She doesn’t answer. Just stares up at me, her dark eyes wide, her breath coming in short, sharp pants. Her hands are fisted in the furs beside her head.
I reach down, work the ties of my own trousers, and free myself. The cool air is a shock against the fevered heat of my skin. I am heavy and hard, more than ready. The sight of her, spread out beneath me, the scent of her fear and her need, is almost enough to undo me right there.
I take myself in one hand, guiding the thick head to her entrance. She is slick. Wet. More than ready for me, even with the fear coiling in her scent.
I press forward.
Just an inch.
Her body resists. Tight. So incredibly tight.
“Relax, Keandra,” I command, my voice a low rumble. “Let me in.”
She tries. I feel the minute shift in her muscles, the way she forces herself to soften around me. I reward her by pushing in another inch. A soft cry escapes her lips. A mix of pain and pleasure.
I grit my teeth, fighting the instinct to drive myself home. To take. To claim. To rut. I want to feel her body give around me. Wants to feel her surrender.
Slowly.
Slowly is an agony.
But I want her to feel every single inch as I fill her. She gasps out, “Wait.” I growl and take her mouth in a brutal kiss, my fangs scraping against her lips as my hands forcefully hold her legs spread wide. She tries to struggle weakly, but I pin her down effortlessly.