2

As the story came to a close, I pulled away from her chest, frowning. “But—Mom, the woman in your story got to have a mate and a pack because she was a wolf. I won’t ever get to have a mate because I’m not a wolf.”

Mom smiled and pushed a strand of my hair behind my ear. “Sweet girl, good things come to those who fight for them.” She kissed the side of my head. “Never give up on fate, love.”

1

BRYN

I arched my back off the mattress as pleasure bloomed from my core. All around me was darkness, but I had no fear. The bed beneath me cushioned my body as I pressed into it. Further south, a man was buried between my legs, his silky locks brushing across my inner thighs. His tongue lapped into me, each stroke eliciting a moan and a shiver. My heart pounded hard and fast against my ribcage, and my breaths were shallow and quick.

He held my legs in place—his calloused hands deliciously rough across my smooth skin. I couldn’t move away from that wicked mouth even if I wanted to. I cursed under my breath and reached down to run my fingers through his soft hair. He growled under my touch, the reverberations of his voice sending a fresh wave of shivering ecstasy through my body.

His tongue dipped deeper, and heat flared through my body. I gripped his hair tighter and looked down, desperate to see him. The man—who devoured my pussy like it was his last meal on earth—was shrouded in darkness. And then he glanced up at me, and I saw his eyes, shining bright green. I bit my lip, transfixed by the only points of light in the pitch black.

His lips found my clit, and I jerked back onto the bed with a cry. I released his hair and ran my hands slowly over my stomach and up my chest. I gripped my breasts, pinching my nipples between my fingers. Below me, the man groaned. Those eyes were watching me, luminous with intensity.

I ran my fingers over my breasts again, more slowly this time. His hands tightened around my waist, and he pressed his face more firmly into me. One of his hands released me to slide smoothly down my leg until it reached my opening. He easily slipped a finger inside me, curling it, pressing it against that oh-so-coveted spot. I groaned, pressure mounting within me, until—

I woke with a gasp. I was no longer in that dark room. I was in my own—the familiar pinewood planks greeted me as I sat up. I sighed, pushing my hair off my damp forehead. Though my heart still beat the rhythm of desire, I was alone in the cool semi-darkness of my bedroom.

Flopping back on my bed, I let out a groan—now of frustration rather than lust. This was far from the first time I’d dreamt of that dark stranger, but I never stuck around long enough to finish or, hell, to even see the face of the man who occupied my nighttime fantasies.

These dreams weren’t always sexual; sometimes, I would dream I was deep in the woods, surrounded by darkness and trees. As I walked barefoot over the warm earth, I sensed something stalking toward me, but I never felt afraid. When I turned, I would always find the purest green eyes staring back at me with desire and need. Every time I tried to walk over to him, to reach for him, I would wake up.

And now, for the umpteenth time, I was left with a fading lust and the strong desire to hose myself off. I glanced at the clock on the wall across from my bed and found that I still had an hour before dawn. If there was any silver lining to that frequent fantasy, it was that it normally woke me up ahead of schedule.

I sighed and threw my legs over the side of the bed. It was my week to help make breakfast for the pack, so I needed an early start. I took a cool shower, scrubbing away the moisture between my legs, and brushed my teeth. Then I ran a comb through my long, curly chestnut-brown hair and pulled it back into a ponytail. My room was spartan, containing only my bed, dresser, and desk—the only spot of color came from the dried wildflowers I’d set up in glass jars on the dresser. My room, Mom’s garden, and the magical clearing full of wildflowers in the forest near our cabin were the only places I felt safe or at peace. The rest of the village was more like a prison.

I went to my dresser and found a pair of loose, black cotton pants and a long-sleeved teal shirt with a hole in the seam at the armpit. I’d need to repair that when I had the chance, but it wasn’t noticeable, so for now, it was fine.

The final pieces of my outfit (such as it was) were a pair of mismatched socks, black boots, a slouchy hat, and thick gloves. I grabbed a jacket from the hook on the back of my door. It was nearing the beginning of summer in the Kaniksu National Forest, but the morning temperature was often around forty degrees Fahrenheit. Because I was human, I wasn’t as tolerant of the cold as the wolves in the pack.

Dressed, I headed down the short staircase to the kitchen, where Mom was making herself a cup of tea—mint, from the smell of it. Mom was one of the oldest members of the Kings’ pack, but due to the brightness of her eyes and the effortless grace of her movements, she didn’t look it. Her long, slate-gray hair with white at the temples, the laugh lines around her mouth and faint crow’s feet at the corners of her eyes, and the endlessly deep chocolate brown of her eyes—these were the only indications of her age.

“Dreaming again?” she asked.