Chapter 11

Ryder paid the bill before I could even pretend to reach for my bag, tossing down a wad of cash with a casual disregard that screamed pack money. He caught my wrist as I slid out of the leather booth, pulling me flush against his chest before I could take a step toward the door. His lips brushed the shell of my ear, his hot breath sending a sudden shudder straight down my spine.

“Ready to see where your new life starts, little wolf?” he rasped, his voice vibrating in his chest.

I couldn’t bring myself to throw back a witty comeback. My pulse was hammering too hard against my throat.

Outside, the autumn wind bit into my cheeks, but the cold felt almost artificial compared to the fever burning under my skin. Ryder led me down the brick alley to his matte-black motorcycle. He picked up the spare helmet, strapping it securely beneath my chin with practiced, heavy fingers. His gaze lingered on my lips—swollen and red from his earlier assault—and a dark, hungry glint flared in his eyes before he swung his long leg over the leather seat.

I climbed up behind him, wrapping my arms tightly around his waist and pressing my chest flat against his broad, leather-clad back. The moment he kicked the starter, the engine erupted into a guttural, earth-shaking roar that vibrated straight through my thighs and up my spine. I buried my face into the crook of his neck, inhaling the intoxicating blend of cold autumn air, heavy leather, and his distinct pine-and-cedar scent.

We carved through the campus traffic, leaving the university buildings and suburban streets behind as we headed north toward the dense, timbered ridge overlooking the valley. The scenery shifted rapidly from manicured college lawns to towering pines and jagged rock faces—the edge of the pack’s private territory.

After ten minutes of fast, winding curves up the mountain road, Ryder pulled off onto a hidden gravel drive bordered by thick evergreens. The tires crunched sharply against the stones until the trees cleared, revealing a secluded modern cabin built into the cliffside. It was a masterpiece of dark timber, matte steel, and massive floor-to-ceiling glass looking out over the endless canopy of pine trees below.

He killed the engine. The sudden silence was suffocating, broken only by the crackle of the cooling exhaust and the heavy, ragged rhythm of our breath.

Ryder pulled off his helmet and turned in the saddle, his dark, feral eyes locking onto mine with a fierce, possessive claim that made my knees go completely weak before my boots even touched the gravel.

“Welcome home, Haven,” he growled softly, reaching out to drag his thumb across my trembling lower lip.

I unbuckled my helmet with trembling hands, setting it on the handlebars as Ryder swung his long leg off the bike. Before my boots could even settle firmly into the gravel, his hands were on my waist, lifting me off the seat and slamming my back against the matte-black tank of the motorcycle.

The cold metal bit through my green sweater, but the sheer heat of Ryder’s body pressing flush against mine incinerated the chill instantly.

“You’re shaking, little wolf,” he growled, his voice a dark, low velvet that sent a dirty shiver straight down my spine. His heavy fingers dug into my hips, locking me in place while his dark eyes blazed with that wild, unhinged wolf hunger.

“It’s the mountain air, Black,” I breathed, though we both knew it was a fucking lie. My skin was practically vibrating, the mate bond pulsing a violent, rhythmic beat right beneath my collarbone. “And you’re entirely too goddamn aggressive.”

“You love it,” he rasped.

His mouth smashed into mine before I could spit back another insult.

It wasn’t a soft, gentle entry into his world; it was a total, hostile takeover. His tongue slid past my lips with a rough, possessive demand, claiming every single inch of my mouth while a deep, continuous growl vibrated out of his chest and straight into mine. My hands flew up to his shoulders, my fingers twisting tight into the cold, heavy leather of his jacket before sliding up to the nape of his neck, pulling him down harder, deeper.

I opened for him completely, letting out a helpless, ruined whimper straight into his throat. That sound drove him completely feral. Ryder lifted me effortlessly by my thighs, hitching me up against his waist as he pressed me back against the motorcycle. My legs wrapped tightly around his hips, my boots locking behind his back as the solid friction of his body grinding into mine sent a bolt of pure, white-hot fire straight between my thighs.

His mouth tore away from mine, trailing hot, wet bites down the line of my jaw, sinking his teeth gently—just hard enough to leave a sting—into the sensitive pulse point of my neck.

“Fuck, Haven,” he groaned, his hot breath branding my skin as his large hand slid up under my knit sweater, his calloused palm cupping the bare skin of my waist, scorching everywhere he touched. “You smell so goddamn good. You taste like sugar and pine and mine.”

“Ryder...” I gasped, my head falling back against his shoulder as his thumb dragged sparks across my ribs. “Inside... fucking take me inside.”

A dark, triumphant laugh rumbled through his chest. He didn’t break the physical connection for a single second, carrying me up the timber steps of the porch with my legs firmly wrapped around his waist, his mouth locking back onto mine in a filthy, breathless reclaim before the cabin door even clicked shut behind us.