“I hate to be the one to tell you, but I’m covered in scars.”

Eli had scars too. Cordeau’s lieutenants had taken him down with a stun gun, chained him, and Cordeau had used his claws to rake him open from his chest to his belly and then he ordered his men to get started on the real torture.

“You’re beautiful, Cat, with or without them. Jake has found a plastic surgeon, a shifter, one of us, so we’ll see him.”

“I’m pregnant.” Instantly her hands covered her belly, still flat, her body still not giving away their secret. “I don’t want cosmetic surgery enough to endanger our child.”

He loved her for that alone. “We’ll do whatever you want, baby.” He dipped his head to trace her hip bone, to find the soft indentation where he could feel her heart pounding through her body. He closed his eyes, savoring the sound and feel of life.

Her breath hissed out of her lungs as he wedged his shoulders firmly between her thighs, stretching her legs with his width, leaving her open and vulnerable to him. He scented her, the call of his mate. Already the taste of her was in his mouth. Still, he needed to feel every pulse point. For the moment he was content to just feel her heart right there. Waiting for him.

He kissed her other hip, lapped at the little indentation and then kissed his way down her thighs. First one, then the other.

“No. Eli.” Catarina wailed her protest. She lifted her hips as if trying to follow him. “You’re making me crazy.”

“Always in such a hurry,” he murmured, lifting her leg, bending it, pressing kisses to the back of her knee. He felt it there. Life. He took another breath and his lungs expanded. Sometimes when he woke up beside her, he was choking, his lungs burning. But there it was, the air that he needed. Her. Catarina.

He kissed his way to her foot. Lifted it, pressed a kiss to the sole and back up her other leg. She trembled. Writhed. So alive, his woman. So responsive to his every touch. So impatient.

He took his time on the inside of her thighs. He inhaled, taking her scent deep into his lungs. Maybe if he could keep her scent in his lungs long enough he’d believe she was safe and no one would try to take her from him—not even death. He licked along the inside of her thigh and discovered the sweet, spicy taste, unique to her—his addiction. He craved her taste. He dreamt of it. Woke with it on his tongue.