CHAPTER 3

I barely had time to scream.

The giant wolf lunged for me — claws out, teeth bared.

I stumbled backward blindly, my back slamming into the broken wall. Splinters tore at my skin, but I hardly felt it.

I could only stare — paralyzed — as death hurtled toward me.

And then, out of nowhere, Thorne moved.

One second he was crumpled against the ground, bloodied and broken.

The next — he was exploding upward with a roar so fierce it shook the very earth beneath us.

He moved like a beast unleashed, raw, feral, unstoppable.

Before the wolf could reach me, Thorne slammed into him midair, knocking the beast sideways with bone-shattering force.

The two of them crashed to the ground, snapping and snarling, a brutal tangle of limbs and claws.

For a moment, I couldn't even tell them apart — just teeth and rage and blood.

But then Thorne surged on top, straddling the larger wolf, his dagger flashing wickedly. He drove it deep into the creature's throat, a wet, tearing sound filling the cabin.

The wolf gave a choked gurgle — then went still.

Blood soaked the floor, steaming in the cold night air.

Panting, Thorne staggered to his feet, wild golden eyes locked on me.

I couldn’t move.

Couldn’t breathe.

He was terrifying.

He was magnificent.

His chest heaved with exertion, blood dripping down his arms, muscles flexing beneath torn skin.

And his eyes — gods, his eyes — burned with something savage and possessive and hungry.

He took one step toward me.

I took a shaky breath — and suddenly he was there, pinning me against the wall, his body a cage of heat and fury.

"You should have run," he growled low against my throat, his voice ragged with too much need, too much restraint.

His hands fisted in my shirt, trembling.

"You should still run."

But I didn’t move.

I couldn't.

Because the way he was looking at me — like I was the only thing keeping him tethered to this world — made my heart shatter and catch fire at the same time.

Thorne cursed savagely under his breath.

And then his mouth crashed against mine.

It wasn’t gentle.

It wasn’t sweet.

It was raw, brutal — a claiming.

I gasped into him, and he swallowed the sound greedily, pressing closer, devouring me.

His hands roamed roughly, desperately — sliding under my clothes, mapping every inch of exposed skin like he was trying to memorize me by touch alone.

I arched into him instinctively, my body answering his without hesitation.

Everywhere he touched, he left fire in his wake.

I grabbed at him — his hair, his shoulders, anything I could reach — needing him closer, deeper, needing to drown in him completely.

Thorne groaned into my mouth, the sound low and desperate, and ground his hips against mine.

I could feel how much he wanted me.

Hard. Hot. Unyielding.

A needy sound tore from my throat before I could stop it.

He ripped his mouth from mine, dragging in a ragged breath.

"If you don't stop me," he rasped, his forehead pressing against mine, "I won't be able to."

His whole body trembled with restraint, with need.

My pulse thundered in my ears.

"I don't want you to stop," I whispered, my voice shaking.

Something snapped inside him.

He lifted me effortlessly, pressing me harder against the wall, his mouth finding mine again — deeper, rougher, hungrier.

Our bodies aligned perfectly — hot, aching, desperate.

I wrapped my legs around his waist, gasping at the contact, at the way his body fitted against mine like we were two halves of the same broken soul.

Thorne growled, grinding against me, the friction making me see stars.

He kissed a trail down my jaw, along my throat, nipping lightly at the sensitive skin there until I was whimpering, clawing at him, begging for more.

His teeth grazed the spot where my neck met my shoulder — where a mating mark would go — and for a terrifying, exhilarating moment, I thought he might actually bite me.

I wanted him to.

Gods, I wanted him to.

But just before he broke the skin, he pulled back with a strangled snarl, slamming his fist into the wall beside my head hard enough to crack the wood.

"I can't," he gasped. "You're not ready. I'm not ready."

He set me down gently, trembling with the effort it took to step away.

I stood there, dazed, my body screaming at the loss of him.

"You are mine," he said hoarsely, voice thick with emotion. "Even if I don't deserve you. Even if the gods themselves try to tear you from me — you're mine."

The ferocity in his voice made my knees buckle.

He caught me before I could fall, gathering me against his chest.

I buried my face against him, breathing him in, trying to slow my racing heart.

The danger hadn’t passed. I knew that.

There were still hunters out there.

Still blood staining the floor.

Still a thousand reasons why this — us — could never work.

But for now, in this stolen, broken moment...

I was his.

And he was mine.

Just as the adrenaline started to ebb, a new scent hit the air — sharp, metallic, foreign.

Thorne stiffened against me, muscles locking.

"Shit," he whispered.

I looked up, heart thudding.

Through the shattered window, a shadow moved — bigger than before.

A figure stepped into view — tall, hooded, radiating menace.

And flanking him were two more wolves, larger and more vicious than any we’d faced yet.

Not hunters.

Not rogues.

Royal enforcers.

Thorne cursed again under his breath, pulling me behind him instinctively.

"This is bad," he said grimly.

The lead figure threw back his hood — revealing silver hair, sharp cruel eyes, and a jagged scar running down his cheek.

I recognized him instantly.

Everyone did.

Commander Varun.

The Alpha King’s executioner.

And he was looking directly at Thorne — and at me — with lethal intent.

"You have something that doesn’t belong to you, Thorne," he said, his voice a velvet snarl.

His gaze flicked to me, lingering just long enough to make my skin crawl.

"No," Thorne growled, voice low and dangerous. "He’s mine."

Mine.

The word echoed in the cold night air, thrumming between us.

And suddenly I understood.

They hadn’t come for Thorne.

They had come for me.