Chapter 2

POV: Daniel

Daniel sat in his truck outside the apartment complex, engine and lights off. The parking lot smelled of cold asphalt and stale oil and her. Her scent clung to the chilly air, and a hint of sweetness she’d left behind teased his tongue.

He gripped the steering wheel so hard the leather creaked. He’d told himself he wouldn’t do this—not follow, not wait, not watch. He was being a goddamn creep, and he knew it, but every inch of him screamed at him that walking away from her had been like ripping muscle from bone.

His bear prowled inside him, restlessly pacing, claws scraping his ribs. She’s ours. Go to her. Claim her again.

Daniel closed his eyes and pressed his head back against the seat. The memory flooded him—first the pub, then the bed.

She’d been sitting with her friend when he saw her, shoulders stiff, eyes dark and shadowed, she was acting like she didn’t want to be seen. But she had seen him. The moment their eyes met, she’d been sunk, no matter how hard she fought to look away.

Jenny had snorted, teasing her. “Clara, this is tall, dark and broody. Tall, dark and broody, meet Clara—the resident book witch and card-carrying member of the fun police.”

Clara had groaned, muttered something about ignoring her like she wished the earth would swallow her up.

Daniel hadn’t. He’d watched her, his gaze level and unmoving, holding her in his sights. “Book witch, huh?”

Her lips had twitched like she wanted to smile, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. “Something like that.”

He remembered leaning across the table, lowering his voice so only she could hear. “Good. Every witch needs her firewood.”

It hadn’t been a line. Not really. He’d had words for what he’d wanted to say, but it was instinct dressed in language. But the hitch in her breath, the faint flush on her cheeks—God, it had buried itself under his skin.

Her sarcasm had been sharper, every dodge quicker, but it hadn’t driven him away. It only made him want to lean in closer, close the distance she thought could keep him from her. He liked her edges. His bear liked them even more.

Later, in the cheap motel room, it had been worse. Better. Unforgivable.

The second the door had clicked shut behind them, her sarcasm had turned to flames. She’d shoved him back against the wall, kissing him hard like she was punishing herself for wanting it. He’d let her set the pace, but instinct devoured restraint.

He still felt the burn of her nails down his back, the taste of her tongue pushing past his teeth, the feral way she kissed like she hated him and wanted him in the same breath.

He still saw her sprawled out across that tiny bed, hair mussed, lips parted as she tried to draw air into her lungs. The noises she’d made when he breached her, equal parts defiance and desperate need, echoed in his skull. And when he’d knotted her, when he’d locked them together, her body had clenched around him so tight he’d almost lost his mind.

The memory of her heat, of her thighs shaking against his hips, resurfaced so sharp he had to bite back a groan. He remembered the look on her face when the knot had swollen, the way she’d drawn his name out like she couldn’t stop herself. The tether had slammed hard then, like iron shrapnel hooking into his spine. He hadn’t wanted to let her go.

But what haunted him, what looped on a cruel merry-go-round in his head, wasn’t just her gasps or the way she’d come undone. No, it was the way she looked at him afterward. Sweat-slick, trembling, eyes wide like she didn’t believe what she’d let herself do… and still she hadn’t looked away.

Daniel dragged a hand over his face, his breath ragged. Even now, the memory made his flesh hard, his cock pressing painfully against his zipper. He shifted in the seat, cursing under his breath.

It hadn’t been meant to matter. One night. A stranger. An outlet. But the second he’d been inside her; the bond had snapped tight and was electric. She was his mate. And worse—he’d scented it before he’d left her bed: she carried his cub already.

He should tell her. He should explain everything. The bond. The bear. What her body was already beginning to change into. But what right did he have?

He thought of the way humans had looked at him before—when they found out. Fear. Revulsion. Once, a scream that still vibrated in his chest. If Clara looked at him like that… if she recoiled, if she called him a monster—Daniel wasn’t sure he’d be able to come back from it.

“She deserves better than this,” he growled into the cab of the truck, voice low and ragged.

“Better than me.”

But even as he said it, his hand twitched to the door handle. He wanted to go to her. To knock. To hear her sling another barbed line at him and pretend she didn’t want him. To see her, even if she slammed the door in his face.

His bear pushed against him, pacing, snarling. She’s ours. The cub is ours. You’re wasting time.

Daniel gritted his teeth. The bear wasn’t wrong. Every second he sat here, someone else could pick up her scent. He already had. Wolves. Rogues. Curious bastards testing him. They were circling, waiting for a chance.

The thought made his vision flash gold, made his fingers twitch on the steering wheel. He would kill every last one of them before he let them lay a hand on her.

Instead, he sat in the dark, his gaze on the window of her apartment, fighting a war with himself. The bear whispered about possession and legacy. The man whispered about restraint and guilt.

He stared at the bright square of her window, the flicker of her shadow moving across it. For one raw second, he imagined she was standing there whispering his name, calling him to her.

His cock throbbed painfully at the thought, his chest aching with a hunger words couldn’t cover.

Daniel pressed his fist against his thigh, steeling himself to stay put. To wait. To watch. To burn.

And in the silence between, Daniel Blackwood sat in the dark, blood pounding in his ears, wondering how long he could last before instinct took over.

When the curtain shifted, and a flash of her pale arm passed by the window, his breath caught.

If she looked out now, she’d see him. Half-shifted eyes glowing. Waiting. Wanting. And maybe she’d realize the truth—that the monster at her door was already hers.