He swept his tongue across the seam of her lips, and they parted on a gasp. She’d wanted to know him; and he wanted to know her. The sizzle of contact shimmered over his skin with every stroke of her tongue against his as he devoured her. He’d promised he wouldn’t force her, but she fisted his hair and raised her hips to grind against him. All that separated him from her luscious form was the blankets. Tension in his gut unfurled to pour lava into his veins. Desire galvanized his system. The banked hunger he’d fought to keep contained as she spoke to him, invited him closer, and stroked his fur, loosened—threatening to burn him alive. Darcy Ashwood wore his mark. Despite everything he imagined in the mission set forth by the Clan council, he never dreamed he’d find the woman marked to be his. The mountains he’d grown up in had been overrun by death. Fire and bombs killed with indiscriminate force. She-cats he’d courted had been beheaded for trophies, if any bodies had been found at all.
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