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The second I find a secluded corner, I back her into the rough wood, hands framing her face as I kiss her like a starving man tasting salvation. Her mouth opens beneath mine, wild and demanding. She claws at my shirt, dragging it over my head with shaking hands, her nails leaving hot trails across my chest. Her breath breaks hot and uneven against my neck, her scent clinging to my skin like smoke curling from a wildfire—earthy, rich, threaded with the remnants of blood and arousal. It hits me like a punch, a rush of everything she is—fearless, alive, mine. Smoke, blood, and something fiercely feminine hits me like a drug. Her fingers tremble as they find my belt, fumbling with urgent desperation, each movement jerky with adrenaline and need. The buckle clinks, cold metal against burning skin, and the scrape of her nails as she tugs the leather free sends a jolt of heat down my spine. She's frantic, unfiltered, primal—and it’s that wildness, that raw survival in her touch, which undoes me.

"Turn around," I rasp.

She obeys instantly, bracing her hands against the rough wood of the wall, her breath coming in short, frantic bursts. Her pulse hammers at her throat, a wild staccato that mirrors the heat rushing through me. Her skin glistens—slick with sweat, flushed with survival. My palms curve over her hips, greedy, reverent, fingers digging in to claim and steady.

There’s no pause, no hesitation—I strip her jeans and panties down in one rough, hungry motion, the fabric rasping against her legs as the musky mix of sweat, blood, smoke, and her arousal rises like incense between us. The scent hits me hard—earthy, primal, electric with adrenaline. My zipper hisses open, and the pressure that’s been building explodes as I press the thick head of my cock to her entrance. I thrust into her in one brutal, claiming surge—no preamble, no mercy. A savage growl claws its way out of my chest, ripped from the rawest place inside me as I bury myself to the hilt, her slick heat swallowing me whole.

She cries out—loud, guttural, primal—as her back bows and her fingers claw for purchase against the wall. Her body tightens around mine, seizing in a frenzy of heat and hunger, each pulse of her muscles a visceral echo of the storm between us. The rawness of it rips through both of us like lightning, cracking open everything we’ve been holding in. Her cry is no longer fear—it’s the roar of survival turned savage, a declaration that she’s still here, still fighting, still burning.

I answer it with every brutal thrust, her nails digging into the wood as she braces herself, hips driving back into mine. Every movement is reckless, unrestrained, her body clenching with a rhythm that consumes me. The sound she makes isn’t just want—it’s demand, ferocity, and a visceral need that binds us tighter than any vow. Her heat surrounds me, searing and alive, and I surrender to it completely—lost in the wildness we’ve created together.

I drive into her with savage need, one hand tangled tight in her sweat-damp hair, yanking her head back so I can feel the cry tear from her throat. My other hand anchors her hip, fingers biting into flesh as I slam into her again and again. Each thrust is a desperate vow carved into her skin, every movement punishment for the fear she made me feel and a prayer that she’ll never leave me. Her moans echo off the wood, raw and keening, her hips meeting mine with wild abandon, desperate and unrelenting. The sound of our bodies—flesh striking flesh, breath ragged, need drowning out everything else—builds into a brutal crescendo that threatens to consume us both.

"Mine," I grind out. "You hear me, Sutton? You’re mine."

"Yes," she gasps. "God, yes. Deacon—don’t stop."

I don’t. I drive into her with a relentless hunger, each thrust a brutal brand, as if I can carve my claim into the very core of her. Her cries crescendo—rough, breathless, edged with wild pleasure—as her nails rake the wall and her back arches in exquisite abandon. Her muscles contract around me, tight and urgent, drawing me deeper until she fractures beneath the intensity, her orgasm ripping through her like a shockwave. The sight, the sound, the feel of her breaking apart beneath me is shattering—beautiful and raw, a wildfire I never want to extinguish.

I’m not far behind. I slam into her one last time, a guttural roar tearing from my chest as my release detonates deep inside her, raw and punishing. My vision splinters white, the force of it ripping through me like a live wire snapping loose. My body convulses, every muscle locking as ecstasy seizes me in its brutal grip. I collapse forward, panting against her sweat-damp shoulder, mouth open against her skin as I bite down—not to hurt, but to mark, to anchor myself in the storm of sensation. Her taste floods my senses—salt and skin, heat and survival—and I swear I could stay buried in her forever.

We collapse together, tangled and breathless, our bodies still humming with the aftershocks of what we just unleashed. My arms lock around her waist, dragging her back into me as I press my mouth to the slick, trembling curve of her neck. The salt of her skin clings to my lips, mingled with the faint scent of smoke and sex. Her body shivers—not from cold, but from the storm still rolling beneath her skin—and I grip her tighter, anchoring us both to something solid amid the chaos. Every breath we share is ragged, each heartbeat a thunderclap against my ribs. I nuzzle the shell of her ear, not speaking, justbeing, because anything more would risk unraveling this fragile, brutal moment of survival and savage connection.

She moves, just enough to look at me over her shoulder, the question in her eyes raw and open, as if she’s bracing for the answer to break something inside her—or put it back together. Her voice is low, barely above a whisper, and carries a tremble that cuts straight through the haze of sex and adrenaline. "Do fated mates love? Or is it just biology?"

I brush her hair back, letting my fingers linger as I trace the delicate line of her jaw, my touch reverent. Her skin is warm and still flushed from the storm we unleashed, her breath feathering across my knuckles like a vow whispered in the dark. I lean in, inhaling the faint scent of her—smoke and sweat, sex and survival—and press a kiss to the corner of her mouth, slow and full of everything I can't yet say.

"Completely," I murmur. "Irrevocably. I love you, Sutton Blake. I didn’t know it until I thought I’d lost you. But I do."

She stares at me for a long moment, her gaze flickering with something raw and unspoken. Then, without a word, she turns in my arms and kisses me again—slow this time. Her lips part softly against mine, unhurried and searching, like she’s savoring the taste of something she never thought she’d have again. Her hands slip up to frame my face, thumbs brushingover my cheekbones as if memorizing me. The kiss deepens—not frantic, not possessive, but full of aching tenderness. It feels like a benediction, a surrender. Like we’re finally safe enough to let love in through the cracks the fire didn’t burn away.

But we’re not done. Not yet.

I lift my head, breath ragged, heart still hammering. The taste of her is still on my lips—salt, smoke, surrender. Every nerve in my body sings with her touch, but beneath the lingering haze of sex and love, a storm churns. My wolf surges forward, claws dragging like fire through muscle and bone, scraping the edge of my control as my senses explode outward—vision sharpening, breath hitching, every sound and scent slamming into me like a live wire. not content with tenderness.

The taste of blood still clings to my teeth, the scent of sex and smoke a drug in my lungs, but beneath it all is the roar of possessive rage and raw instinct. My muscles tense, vibrating with the need to protect, to tear, to claim. The faintest scent of threat lingers on the wind—burnt wood, unfamiliar sweat—and it slams into me like a trigger pulled. My vision narrows, colors sharpening, breath shallow and fast. There's no room for softness now. Only the beast that knows danger isn’t done and would raze the earth before letting her be taken. Not when there’s danger still breathing.

The scent of blood and smoke cling thick in the air. I can hear the shouts, the snarls, the rustle of movement in the shadows. Not everyone’s dead. Not yet. My jaw clenches as I rise to my feet, muscles tight, instincts sharper than ever. There’s more coming. I can feel it in my bones, in the hum of the earth beneath me. My wolf paces inside me, restless and coiled.

We’re not finished.

And God help anyone who tries to take her from me now.

A low growl rolls across the compound, primal and warning—Kari’s wolf staking her claim on the lingering shadows. Itvibrates through the dawn like distant thunder, reminding everything out there that this ground is protected.

“Stay here,” I whisper, fingers brushing my sidearm out of instinct before I force my hand away. The smoke has thinned; the copper tang of blood is only memory now. The real magnetic pull in my gut isn’t toward the tree line—it’s toward the woman anchoring me in place.

Sutton’s hand clamps around my forearm, heat searing straight through to bone. Her grip is steady, unyielding—a silent order to look at her and nowhere else. Every phantom echo of combat quiets beneath that touch. My breath hitches. She’s the only fight worth choosing—and the only peace I’ve ever wanted.

Her eyes flare. “You say that like you think I’m going to listen.”

And damn, I love her for it.

CHAPTER 20

SUTTON

Idon’t blink when Kari’s growl ripples through the morning air, low and guttural, vibrating the stillness like a final warning shot. I notice Deacon’s hand hover near his weapon—then drop, the tremor in his fingers vanishing when he meets my gaze.