Chapter 2

Leah

My heart slammed against my ribs like it was trying to break free. The man on top of me was a stranger—dangerous, bleeding, and far too heavy—yet every breath I took dragged in more of his scent, dark and smoky, like pine resin burning under a winter moon. It sank into my lungs and set my blood on fire. Fear clawed at me, sharp and rational, but beneath it ran something hotter, something that made my thighs clench and my skin prickle with need. I didn’t understand it. I’d never felt anything close to this before.

His black eyes burned into mine, pupils blown wide with the same hunger I felt twisting inside me. For a second I thought he might kiss me—or kill me. Maybe both. His hips shifted, pressing harder between my legs, and I felt the unmistakable ridge of him, thick and rigid against me. A low growl rumbled in his chest, vibrating through my body. My breath hitched; heat flooded me so fast I had to bite my lip to keep from moaning.

He was already working his belt open with one hand, the metallic clink loud in the small cabin. The sound snapped something in me. Panic finally overrode the haze of lust.

“Don’t touch me!” I shouted, shoving at his chest with all the strength I had. “I’m Samuel Black’s fiancée—the second son of Moon Growler Pack!”

The name hit him like cold water. His fingers froze on his zipper, and something icy flashed across those midnight eyes. Good. He knew the name. He knew the consequences.

I pressed my advantage, voice steady even though my pulse was racing. “You know who Samuel is. You know what happens to anyone who touches his future wife. Leave now, and I’ll pretend this never happened.”

Footsteps thundered in the corridor outside, accompanied by furious snarls. “Kaelen’s gotta be on this deck! Search every damn room!”

Kaelen. So that was his name.

My stomach dropped. He wasn’t some random predator looking for an easy mark—he was a hunted man. Someone was after him, which meant he was either incredibly valuable or incredibly dangerous. Probably both.

Before I could process that, something cold and impossibly hard pressed between my legs. I glanced down in horror—and saw the glint of a dagger, not… what I’d thought. Heat flooded my face. He hadn’t been undoing his pants to take me. He’d been reaching for a weapon.

He shifted his weight, powerful arms caging me in, the flat of the blade now resting against my throat. Alpha pressure rolled off him in waves, thick and suffocating. Desperation etched tight lines around his mouth; he knew he was cornered.

Warm wetness seeped through my shirt. I looked at my hand—blood. His blood. A gunshot wound in his side, edges already blackening from wolfsbane. The poison was spreading fast. Without treatment, it would reach his heart in minutes. Whoever wanted him dead had broken kingdom law to make sure it stuck.

He was going to die. And if those wolves outside found him here, they’d kill me too for hiding him.

I swallowed against the steel at my throat. “I can get you out of this,” I said quickly. “I can treat the wolfsbane poisoning. But you don’t touch me. You don’t hurt me. Deal?”

His eyes narrowed, wild and distrustful. “Why the hell should I trust you?”

“You don’t have a choice,” I shot back. “We either both die in the next two minutes, or we both live. Pick one.”

For a heartbeat he just stared, chest heaving. Then the feral edge in his gaze softened—just a fraction. “You better not be playing games.”

“Put the knife away before we’re both dead.”

With a fluid twist of his wrist—smooth, lethal, almost beautiful—he sheathed the dagger and slid it under the pillow.

Footsteps were closer now, voices right outside the door. No time.

I flipped us in one desperate surge, straddling him, pinning his broad shoulders beneath me. My hair tumbled down like a curtain, hiding the blood soaking his side. I rolled my hips slowly, deliberately, letting out a breathy moan that sounded far more convincing than I felt.

He went rigid beneath me, clearly stunned that the blotch-faced female dared to take control. I leaned down, lips brushing his ear, and whispered, “Play along.”

At first he did—mechanical, tense, hands hovering without touching. But then his palms settled on my waist, thumbs pressing into bare skin where my shirt had ridden up. His grip tightened. His hips lifted to meet mine, slow and deliberate, and the growl that left his throat this time wasn’t acting. Heat flared low in my belly again, treacherous and overwhelming. I tried to pull back, but his strength was absolute; I couldn’t have escaped if I wanted to.

Just as I felt myself slipping—ready to give in, terrified I might—the door exploded inward.