“It’s too much,” I heard myself say without thinking, followed quickly by, “but don’t you dare make me leave.”

He seemed to understand what I’d meant and stilled. His other hand crawled over my chest to my chin and turned it. I gazed at his lips, wanting them on mine. “Let me see those gray eyes.”

I rose and then slid back down on his shaft, lifting my lashes.

His hand descended my body, my own still clutching his forearm, and he touched me. A touch so gentle and precise, my breath hitched, breaking across his lips. The question was hoarse, his gaze narrowed and searching mine. “Where in the stars did you come from?”

I just smiled and cupped his stubble-lined jaw, then silenced his curiosity with my mouth on his.

TWO

Aster

Anger was more powerful than guilt.

Yet the latter lingered. It poked beneath my skin like a dull blade unable to wholly penetrate.

And so I clung to the anger. I let it blend with the heady arrival of flutters that left my chest to wreak havoc through every extremity when I turned away from the window beside the bed and rolled into the warrior holding me.

His arm tightened, and I waited for it. Though I’d never experienced anything like this before, I’d heard that the morning after spending the night with a stranger could bring some awkwardness.

But the wolf did not tense. He did not need a moment to remember who he was holding and what we’d done.

My nose was smooshed into his chest as he grabbed me by the rear, his other hand sliding beneath me to tangle in my hair. I stilled when he murmured, “Three, two, one…”

It was then I heard the footsteps thundering up the stairs outside.

“Scythe, what the fuck?” The hollered words were accompanied by an unnecessary bang on the door. “Serrin’s yapping Dade’s ear off about your attitude again. Get the fuck up and to the barracks—” A barked chuckle sounded after a sudden pause. “Who have you got in there? Must be extra tasty if you haven’t kicked them to the street already.”

I pushed against the wolf’s smooth skin, his chest hair tickling my nose, but he pushed me back against him. “Your legion awaits you,” I whispered, lips rubbing over his pectoral.

“Too late to give a fuck,” he rumbled. “Not that I had any to give in the first place.”

Indeed, enough light filtered into the room, even with the drapes closed, to let us know it was nearing midday.

Another thud, followed by, “Fuck you, asshole,” and then pounding down the stairs. “Not cleaning up your mess this time.”

“Scythe,” I said to his chest, not in question but tasting the name. “Not your birth-given name.”

“No,” he said, curt enough that I knew not to ask him to tell me what it was.