“And tonight?”
The question hung between them.
“Tonight you stay here.” His voice came out rougher than intended. “With me.”
Something flickered behind her eyes—uncertainty, maybe. Or calculation. “Why?”
Because I need you.
The thought surfaced unbidden, and with it came a surge of fury so sharp it made his claws extend. He needed ahuman. A fragile, furless creature who couldn’t survive a single night in proper cold without his protection. The Alpha King of the Yzefrxyl—fifteen years on the throne, three challengers torn apart with his bare claws, the Moon Tear power of Lux herself burning through his veins—and heneededthis weak little thing to keep his sanity intact.
It was pathetic. Infuriating.
Wrong.
And he couldn’t stop.
“Lie down.” The command came out harsh.
Elsa’s eyes widened. “What—”
“Lie. Down.”
She obeyed slowly, wariness in every line of her body as she sank back into the furs. He followed her down, crowding her against the nest, his bulk dwarfing her completely. His muzzle pressed into her hair before he could think better of it, dragging a deep breath through his lungs.
Frosted Tears. Sweet. Mine.
“Sylas—”
“Don’t talk.” His paw found her waist, claws catching in the thin fabric of her shift. He pulled her closer, fitting her back against his chest, her small body disappearing into the curve of his. “Just...stay still.”
She went rigid against him. He could feel her heart hammering through her ribs—too fast, too hard, prey-animal terror that should have pleased his beast but instead made him want to snarl.
Not at her.
At himself.
His tongue dragged across her temple before he could stop it. Salt and skin and that maddening scent that wound through his brain and quieted the static of Moon Tear energy. He licked again—behind her ear, along her jaw, the vulnerable curve of her throat where her pulse pounded.
“What are you doing?” Her voice came out strangled.
“I don’t know.” The admission scraped raw. His tongue traced her collarbone, tasting. Claiming. “I don’t—”
He couldn’t finish the sentence. Couldn’t explain the compulsion that drove him to map every inch of her skin with his mouth, to catalogue her flavor, to mark her with his scent until no other male could mistake who she belonged to.
Three days. Three nights in his nest, her presence bleeding into his furs, her warmth seeping into his bones. Three days of the Moon Tear madness retreating to a manageable hum instead of the screaming roar that had plagued him for fifteen years.
Because of her.
Because of this pathetic, breakable human who couldn’t fight off a yearling pup, let alone the creatures that hunted his storm-woods.
“You’re shaking.” Her voice had steadied. Observing now instead of panicking.
He was. Fine tremors running through his frame, muscles locked tight with the effort of nottaking. Not dragging her under him and—
No.
Sylas pressed his muzzle harder into her neck, breathing through the need that pulsed beneath his skin. His beast howled for things he couldn’t give it. Things that would break her.