...The Edge of Surrender..
The forest was silent when Lorenzo carried Elena back to the safety of the packhouse. Silent ,except for the violent pounding of his heart and the shallow, ragged breaths that seemed to crawl under his skin.
Her body pressed against his chest, trembling with a heat that had nothing to do with fear.
Heat.
And the realization nearly shattered his control.
....
Elena stirred, lashes fluttering. Her lips parted in a soft whisper, trembling and fragile:
"Lorenzo…"
The sound tore through him, pulling every primal instinct to the surface. Her voice, still raw, still hers after years of silence, wrapped around him like a leash, yanking at his wolf, yanking at him.
The bond flared. Electric. Ruthless. Her scent , sweet, intoxicating, undeniable ,filled his senses, burning, demanding.
His wolf howled inside him, claws and teeth craving what was theirs ,to mark, to claim, to mate.
"Elena…" His voice dropped, a growl as he lowered her gently onto the bed. His hands clenched at his sides, muscles taut, fighting against the urge to take her here and now. "You're burning."
Her fingers dug weakly into his shirt. Her wide, glassy eyes met his, desperate. "It hurts…" she whispered. "It feels like fire inside me."
His jaw clenched. The mate bond was merciless during heat ,a force designed by the Goddess herself to ensure mates found each other, no matter the cost.
He could take her. She was begging for it in every trembling breath, in every shiver that raced across her skin. But his wolf was a storm of hunger, and one wrong move could shatter her completely.
"I can't," he rasped, stepping back, every inch of him aching. "Not like this. Not while you're like this. I won't take you unready."
Her whimper nearly broke him.
.....
Then the windows rattled. A howl echoed guttural, feral, sharp.
Lorenzo's head snapped up. Rogues. Not one. A pack.
"Elena, stay here," he commanded, voice steel beneath the burn of restraint. His chest tightened with the thought of leaving her alone.
She shook her head, tears glistening. "Don't"
But before she could finish, the door ripped open. One of his warriors, blood streaked across his arms, shouted: "Alpha! They've breached the eastern border. They are too many"
The wolf inside Lorenzo snapped the last thread of control.
"Stay with her!" he barked. "If she's touched, none of you will survive."
.....
The night erupted. Snarls, screams, and the metallic tang of blood filled the air. Lorenzo tore into the rogues with merciless precision. Claws ripped, fangs sank, golden eyes blazing.
But it wasn't just battle rage that drove him. It was her scent ,every pulse, every tremor from Elena, wrapped around him like fire, scorching reason from his mind.
Every strike was fueled by the thought of them reaching her. Every kill a promise: they would not touch her.
The ground became a canvas of crimson.
But control slipped. Her heat through the bond was a storm, wild and relentless, pulling at him. His wolf's growl deepened, sharp, vibrating with unspent need.
"Alpha!" one of his men shouted, watching him shred the last rogue far past death. "Control yourself!"
He didn't answer. Every nerve screamed with Elena. Every heartbeat echoed her need, her desperation, her scent , and it nearly drove him insane.
....
"Back at the Packhouse"
Elena writhed on the bed, sheets tangled around her trembling body. Her wolf howled inside her chest, desperate and feral, begging for the only one who could end the fire inside her.
Every heartbeat of his on the battlefield echoed through her. Every thought of him, soaked in blood and fury, pulled her closer to the edge.
Her nails dug into the mattress. Breath shattered into gasps. She screamed , not from pain, but from the molten, raw longing that burned through her, lighting every nerve on fire.
Far away, on the battlefield, Lorenzo froze mid-slaughter. His wolf snarled, ears flattening, head snapping toward the distant packhouse.
Mine. Now.
And in that instant, every ounce of control he had shattered.
....