I smile into the pillow, oddly pleased that my presence has given him even a modicum of peace. "How long until we need to see Voss?"

"If you're feeling up for it, we could go as soon as you're up and ready," he says, and I feel a reluctance in him that mirrors my own.

With a sigh, I turn in his arms to face him, our noses almost touching on the narrow bed. This close, I can see the fan of dark lashes, the curve of lips that I've now tasted but still hunger for.

Heat flares in his eyes as they drop to my mouth, and his hand slides from my waist to my hip, fingers splaying possessively. The fire inside me answers his call, curling through my veins with scorching heat.

"Nessa," he says, my name a warning and a plea.

I lean forward, closing the scant distance between us. Our lips meet with no hesitation. No restraint. This kiss is hunger unleashed—teeth nipping at my lower lip, his tongue sweeping into my mouth when I gasp. I arch against him, my hands finding the hard planes of his chest, the defined muscles of his shoulders.

Emotions flow between us, intensifying each sensation. His desire coils through me, mirroring and amplifying my own until I can't tell where mine ends and his begins.

His hand tangles in my hair, angling my head to deepen the kiss. My fingers find the hem of his shirt, seeking skin, trailing fire up his side. A low groan rumbles in his chest when my nails scrape lightly along his ribs.

"We should stop," he murmurs against my mouth, even as his hand slides beneath my tunic to trace patterns on the sensitive skin of my lower back.

"Why?" I ask.

"Because I've wanted this for too long. When I finally have you, I don't want to fucking rush. I'm going to take my time."

The simple statement sends waves of magma beneath my skin. I bite my lip. "I guess I can't complain about that logic."

"Good." His lips trail down my neck, finding a pulse point that makes me gasp. "Voss," he reminds us both, his voice strained. "We need to get it over with."

I sigh, resting my forehead against his chest. "I know."

When he pulls away, the loss of his heat is physical pain. But there's a promise in his eyes that steals my breath—it's a guarantee that what we just started isn't even close to finished, and it won't be long before he has me how he wants.

"Focus, angry human," Typhon grumbles in my mind. "Your heat and pheromones are making it impossible to think. And we have much to consider before meeting with the Rector."

I throw a pillow in Typhon's direction, which he dodges with insulting ease. "Were you watching the whole time? Creep."