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Words.

Nowords.

Rut.

Claim.

Drive into her body.

Heat.

Bianca.

Words.

“Archie,” she says again, slowly, softly. “Come back to me. Tell me what you want.”

“You,” I growl, my lips raising, my tusks digging against them.

“There you are,” Bianca croons. She’s proud of me for speaking a word when all my body wants is to rut. To give over to the longing… the solace of a beast set free.

Uncontrolled.

Unrestrained.

Everything civilized abandoned.

Rut.

“Archie, tell me what you want.”

“You. Rut you. Claim you. Take you.”

She smiles again. I don’t understand her.

“Archie, do you care about my pleasure when you rut? My life, my body—do I exist to you during a rut?”

I flinch from the bars, forcing my hands inside my cell. I hold myself still. Fighting to answer her… to answerBianca.

“Yes… I do.” I groan as need overwhelms me. “The rut is a celebration of passion. Domination, yes, but also connection. Rough though… very rough. Rougher if you fight back.”

“So I have some control. If I don’t fight, then you won’t be as rough—if I don’t like the roughness, that is.”

“Yes… but you can’t run. I would have no power…mustchase. Must claim. Must rut.”

“Andafter?” Bianca pushes, her eyes sparkling with intense focus. “After… will you feel better, be more able to control yourself?”

I’m panting, sweating, the force required to remain still almost unbearable. “My body… right now, like a storm that is never allowed to become. Like clouds filled with thunder and driving rain, but never allowed freedom. A cage. After,yes—after the storm is allowed to crash over me, over you, free… yes, I could be me again.”

I ram the bars the second my resolve fails. Again, she’s just beyond my reach, but that doesn’t stop me from grasping for her, rattling the wall of bars as my body slams against it.

“Archie…”

Her mouth moves and I’m snarling as fury builds at being denied what I need most—I’ve never needed anything more than her.

“Archie…”

“Archie…”