Chapter 8 - Bruises and Teeth

Eli

The moon bleeds silver when Jace slams the door, sealing me inside.

The cabin smells like smoke and pine, but underneath lurks something else. Him.

His scent has seeped into my shirt from when he pinned me down, from when his teeth found my throat.

I press trembling fingers to the wound.

The bite pulses angry and swollen, still wet with blood and saliva.

My wolf stirs restlessly beneath my skin, hungry in ways that make bile rise in my throat. Every atom of my body cries out to be touched.

I pace like a caged animal. Back and forth across splintered boards that catch at my bare feet, my mind a hurricane of useless options.

Running is out of the question. The forest crawls with his pack and he can feel me as surely as I can pinpoint where he is right now.

Fight? He'd snap my neck without breaking stride. Wait? That feels like dying slowly.

The bond thrums in my veins like poison, pulling me toward him with every heartbeat.

I rake my nails down my arms until the sting drowns out the ache. I'm not yours. I'm not.

The door explodes open and Ronan fills the frame. All broad shoulders and black tattoos, dangerous as a loaded gun.

His chest is bare, streaked with blood near his collarbone. I don’t know if it's his or someone else's, but I want to lick it off him.

His eyes burn gold in the darkness, predatory and implacable.

I stumble backward. "No."

He closes the door with deliberate mildness, the sound final as a coffin lid.

"No?" His voice is gravel and smoke. "That's not how this works, little pet."

"You think marking me makes me yours?"

My voice cracks, but the words keep coming. "You think I'm going to roll over and spread my legs because you bit me?"

His head tilts, wolf-like and considering. "That's exactly what you'll do."

Rage explodes through me and I lunge at him. I know it’s stupid, but I’m desperate.

My fist connects with his jaw. Pain shoots through my knuckles. He doesn't even blink.

"You've got teeth," he murmurs, darkly pleased. Then his hand fists in my shirt and drives me into the wall so hard my ribs crack. Air rushes from my lungs in a wheeze.

I claw at his forearm, drawing blood. "Get- off- me-"

He drags me into the night before I can scream, his grip iron around my wrist.

Wolves scatter from the clearing as he throws me into the dirt. "Shift," he orders, voice cutting through the darkness like a blade.

"No."

His boot finds my shoulder, grinding me into the earth. "Shift. Or I'll break every bone in this skin before I tear into the next."

Fury burns through me like wildfire and I let it consume me.

My body convulses, bones snapping and reforming, muscles twisting as fur erupts across my skin. The change tears through me until I'm on four legs, lips peeled back in a snarl.

Ronan's wolf is a nightmare made flesh. Huge, dark and built for killing.

He shifts in one fluid explosion of violence, black fur and burning eyes, and then he's on me.

His teeth find my neck, his weight crushing me into the dirt.

I scramble and bite back, but he's relentless. Merciless. His jaws close around my throat again. Lower this time, a claiming bite that sends liquid fire through every nerve.

Pain. Heat. Shame. Need. They blur into something unbearable. I yelp and twist, but my traitorous wolf rolls belly-up, tail tucked, surrendering everything I am.

He’s claimed me in both forms now. How the fuck am I getting out of this?

He growls deep enough to rattle my bones.

For one white-hot moment, the world dissolves. Every nerve screaming with the bond as his teeth tighten just enough to bruise, to own, to break.

Then he releases me, stepping back to shake out his dark pelt like I'm nothing more than prey subdued.

I shift back to human, naked and shaking in the cold. Dirt streaks my skin. My neck throbs. My thighs ache from struggling against chains I can't see. I hate him. I hate him. I-

Ronan pads closer, shifting mid-stride until he towers over me again, human and terrifying. He’s as beautiful and powerful as a god.

Blood stains his mouth. A lazy, dangerous smile curves his lips.

"You have the spirit, but not the skills to fight well," he says softly, crouching beside me.

His hand cups my jaw, thumb smearing blood across my cheek. "But you'll learn, little pet."

"Go to hell," I rasp, chest heaving.

He leans in until his mouth hovers a breath from mine, golden eyes burning into my soul. "Wherever I go, I’m taking you with me."

Then he's gone. Walking back toward the firelight, leaving me in the dirt.

I’m trembling with rage. And with something deeper, darker, that knots low in my gut, ravenous and aching, bound wholly to him.