Page 78 of Hungry As Her Python

But the Fates?

Those tricky, meddling, sadistic puppet masters?

They didn’t give a damn about permission.

They just snapped their cosmic fingers, tangled two souls together, and walked away like they hadn’t just lit someone’s life on fire.

Now, I was grateful to those all-powerful beings for gifting me with Maribella Strega.

Grateful, worshipful, the whole nine yards.

But come on—give a guy a chance to woo his woman.

Let me buy her flowers, cook her dinner, save her from a dumpster fire or two before throwing us into the deep end.

How was I supposed to court her properly and protect her if the bond kept tightening every time we so much as breathed in the same zip code?

I was starting to understand those old Shifter tales of mate raids back in the Viking and Clan days.

Find her.

Claim her.

Mark her so deep she couldn’t even think about another male without her body turning traitor.

If I could, I’d hoist my Sugar over my shoulder, carry her to my lair, and keep her there until she was so high on me she forgot her own name.

Might be cheating a bit, but a Snake had to do what a Snake had to do.

Luckily, my girl texted me before I could go completely unhinged and start drawing up blueprints for a romantic kidnapping.

Not ruling it out for later.

Just seeing how this goes first.

When she opened the bakery’s side door, flour-dusted and perfect in black capris and a pink top that clung to her curves like it had been sewn there by the Goddess herself, my Python went still.

Alert. Ready.

Possessive to the point my jaw ached from keeping my fangs sheathed.

And I swear to all the Old Gods and the New—if she’d told me to strip naked and slither through broken glass just to be near her, I’d have been halfway down the hallway already.

Instead, I kept my hands shoved in my jeans pockets, because one look at her soft, wary eyes told me I was already on thin ice.

“Hey, Sugar,” I said low, the word tasting like a promise.

She stepped aside.

“Come in. I got home a little while ago, but I made coffee.”

I would’ve drunk molten tar if she’d said it with that careful little voice.

Her place smelled like cinnamon and fresh bread.

Safe. Home.

My inner Python uncoiled, wanting to wrap her up until the rest of the damn world stopped existing.