Eli
I don't remember falling asleep.
One moment I'm curled on the cot like a wounded animal, muscles coiled tight, staring at the water-stained rafters.
The next, the world tilts into hell, and I'm somewhere else. Somewhere dark and suffocating, drowning in his scent.
It's the lodge but twisted.
Firelight flickers against crumbling stone walls, shadows writhing like living things, and Ronan is there, waiting, broad shoulders filling the doorway.
He moves toward me, slow and predatory, every inch the monster I should run from. But my body won't fucking move.
The bond sings, low and sultry, a pulse between my ribs that makes my skin crawl and burn.
My wolf cowers and arches in the same breath, pathetic and needy.
He reaches me and his hands catch my face, warm, calloused, fingers pressing into my jaw until my lips part on a gasp.
His eyes burn gold, pupils blown wide like a junkie's.
"Mine," he breathes. His words rasp, raw and cutting, dark as a midnight confession.
I try to speak. I can't. My throat closes around the words.
His mouth claims mine. Hard, bruising, a clash of teeth and tongue that steals my breath and leaves me gasping.
His hand fists in my hair, yanking my head back so his teeth can scrape down my throat. I feel his fangs nick skin, and the pain sparks heat, molten and dizzying, making me whimper.
"You fight me when you're awake," he growls against my skin, voice vibrating through my bones, "But here..."
His other hand slides down, fingers closing around my wrist, pinning it above my head against the rough wood of the wall. "...here, you're honest. Here, you show me what you really want."
I shake my head, a weak denial, but the sound that slips out is half-moan, half-whimper, completely fucking shameful.
He smirks against my neck, and I feel his lips curve. "You don't even know what you're begging for, do you, little pet?"
Then he bites. Harder this time. My knees buckle. His free hand slides beneath my shirt, rough fingers dragging over skin, circling a nipple until I gasp and arch into his touch.
My hips jerk forward, helpless, and he catches the movement, pressing his body flush to mine. Hard muscle, the press of him thick and hot through his jeans, making me ache.
"You feel that?" His voice is ragged now, edged with something feral and desperate. "That's what you do to me. That's how fucking crazy you make me."
He grinds against me, slow and devastating, and I can feel every inch of him, huge, hard, straining against denim.
The friction is maddening, every nerve ending burning. My hips move of their own accord, chasing him, grinding back until I'm panting, desperate, completely lost.
His hand leaves my wrist and cups the back of my neck, fingers stroking the bite mark.
The bond flares bright and white-hot, flooding me with pleasure so sharp it's almost pain.
My body arches against him. A moan rips free, raw and needy, echoing off the stone walls.
"You hate me," he whispers, teeth brushing my ear, making me shiver, "but your body doesn't. Your body knows exactly what it wants."
His hand drifts lower, under the waistband of my jeans, fingers brushing the pre-cum leaking from my crown-
I jolt awake with a strangled sound, heart racing, sweat slicking my skin like I've been running for my life.
The cabin is dark, the coals in the hearth long dead, but I can still feel him. His hands. His mouth. His cock pressing against me. The ache between my thighs is humiliating, undeniable.
I shove both hands into my hair, gasping. "No," I whisper to the empty room. "No, no, fucking no."
But the bond hums in answer, languid and satisfied, like it knows something I don't. Like it's laughing at me.
I press my palms against my eyes until stars burst behind them.
My throat still feels raw from his imagined teeth.
My jeans are damp with sweat and something else I don't want to think about.
My body trembles with leftover pleasure, and I want to claw my skin off.
My own wolf whines, confused, needy, and I want to tear it out of me with my bare hands.
I can't stay here.
Not if he can reach me even in my sleep. Not if my own body betrays me every time his shadow falls across the room. Not if I keep waking up wanting him to finish what he started in my dreams.
My gaze drifts to the door. The bolt is heavy, but I could work it loose. If I run while he's sleeping I may have a chance.
There's a window too. It has bars, but the wood around them looks old. A determined wolf could splinter it. A desperate man might try.
"You're not his pet," I whisper into the dark. My voice is hoarse, wrecked. My chest tightens. "You're not his fucking plaything."
I slide off the cot, feet silent on the boards, and cross to the window.
My fingers brush the cold iron bars. I test it, gently. It holds, but not impossibly. A little time, a little leverage, maybe something to pry with...
The bond pulses again, that phantom echo of his voice in my skull. Mine.
I shudder, yanking my hand back like it's been burned.
I can't wait for him to take me apart piece by piece, until there's nothing left but his mark and his scent and the memory of his hands on my skin.
I can't become what he wants. A thing on a leash, a body that answers to his touch before thought, a broken wolf who begs for his attention.
I'm leaving. Before he makes me forget who I am. Before I start wanting to forget.
I bare my teeth at the empty room. "Not yours," I rasp. "Not fucking yet."
And then I start working on finding a way out.