Page 13 of Ranger’s Honor (Lone Star Wolf Rangers #4)

DALTON

I don’t move. Neither does she.

Kari’s eyes are locked on mine, still lit with the fire that damn near leveled me a minute ago. There’s something fierce in them—something that scrapes across the walls I’ve spent years fortifying.

My chest tightens, a low ache blooming under the sternum. I should shut it down. Instead, I let the burn settle in, let it remind me I’m still human. Her breath’s uneven, chest rising and falling with a rhythm that syncs too perfectly with the pounding behind my ribs.

I should turn around. Say something that’ll dial us back. But there’s nothing left in me to pull us apart right now.

Not when I still smell her skin, still taste her defiance in the air.

"We’re going" I rasp.

Her eye brows lift. "We?"

There’s no sarcasm in it—just a beat of surprise, like she’s not used to being included.

Her gaze sharpens, searching my face for strings I’m not pulling.

Relief flickers across her features, chased by something steadier.

She’s still suspicious. Still calculating.

But underneath it all, there’s that glint of resolve I’ve come to recognize—she’s all in.

"You found it, you’re not staying behind. But you don’t even think about going in alone... not again."

She doesn’t argue. Doesn’t smirk or gloat.

Just nods once, sharp and clean, then heads for the stairs.

I exhale through my teeth and grab my gear—blade, backup piece, tracker drone, comms. By the time she comes back down in black jeans and a fitted jacket, eyes sharp and mouth set, my instincts are already crowding in. I’m not ready for what it does to me.

She moves like a mission—purposeful, focused, every step calculated like she's got a target and a plan to reach it. Her spine’s straight, shoulders squared, and something primal stirs in me—part pride, part protectiveness, all possessive instinct roaring to the surface.

She looks like she belongs in this fight, and hell if that doesn’t wreck me in ways I can’t name.

The way her eyes are scanning as if she’s already diagramming every weak spot in whatever we’re walking into.

It hits me low and hot, the way it does when she’s like this—unshakable, dangerous, all fire under pressure.

And fuck me, but that’s more dangerous than anything waiting out there.

The second warehouse squats at the edge of a marshland, wrapped in scrub pine and cracked asphalt. Not much on the satellite feed—no recent utilities, no paper trail—but the road in is worn, and something about it stinks of fresh cover-up.

We park and trek the rest of the way on foot. Kari keeps pace. Silent. Focused. She doesn’t stumble. Her movements are sharp and economical, like muscle memory’s already kicking in. Although why she should have muscle memory eludes me.

It should unnerve me—how easily she reads the terrain, how instinctively she moves through danger—but it doesn’t.

It lights something dark and hungry in me.

Twists low in my gut, tightens around my ribs like a claim.

She’s not backup. Not bait. Not just Gideon’s little sister.

She’s a weapon in her own right. She’s my mate.

And the possessive, primal part of me? It eats that up.

She doesn’t hesitate. Doesn’t question. She follows my lead like she was born to it, her trust in me absolute—and that, more than anything, makes me want to bare my teeth at the world and dare it to touch her.

I scan the perimeter with infrared. No heat signatures, but motion sensors blink along the southern wall. I motion for her to hold position as I duck around the building’s east side. The fence line’s breached—recently. I kneel, fingers brushing the ragged edge.

Kari crouches beside me without a word. "Tool marks. Not weathered. Someone came through here."

"Probably about the same time you got that file uploaded."

She nods and slides past me, hugging the wall. I let her take point. Only because I’m glued to her six.

The warehouse itself is gutted, but the bones remain.

The steel rafters loom above like ribs, skeletal and rust-bitten.

It reminds me of that other op—the smell, the silence, the sense that something had gone very wrong just before we got there.

That memory presses in with the staleness of rust and regret, sharp enough to draw blood if I let it.

The scent of oxidized metal hangs thick in the air, mingled with mildew and something faintly sour, like old oil.

Every step echoes too loudly across the buckled concrete floor, the sound bouncing off empty walls and broken windows.

Somewhere deeper inside, a single drip repeats like a metronome.

Outside, the whine of insects presses against the walls, blending with the distant hum of the marsh—alive, watching.

The kind of place that remembers violence. That waits for more.

Steel rafters stretch across the ceiling, shadowed by partial scaffolding and a half-collapsed security station tucked in the rear—remnants of structure in a place abandoned by order. Kari’s already climbing.

"Kari...”

"Relax. I’m not going far. I just want a look at that camera mount."

I grind my molars as she scales the scaffolding. The metal groans but holds. Her fingertips brush the rusted security housing—and I see her freeze.

"Found something. Not standard. There’s a second lens inside. And a...”

She slips.

I’m moving before thought can catch up, instinct striking like a battle cry.

My boots hit the crate below—wood splintering under my weight, the crack ricocheting like gunfire—just as she loses her footing.

Her gasp slices through the air, high and sharp, and I see the shock flare in her eyes a split second before gravity takes her.

Her gasp slices through the air, and the world narrows to her.

Time slows. She drops, twisting midair, arms flailing for balance she won’t find.

My pulse slams against my ribs, every instinct in me igniting in one savage burst. I launch forward, catching her mid-tumble, my grip locking around her waist in a hold that says she’s mine and nothing’s taking her from me.

We spin hard, momentum dragging us down. My back slams into the floor, pain ripping across my spine, but I twist mid-fall, taking the hit so she doesn’t. The air punches out of my lungs, but I don’t loosen my hold. I’d rather break my back than let her hit that ground alone.

For a split second, all I can think is I almost lost her.

That fucking fast. One slip, one second slower, and she’d be gone.

The fear hits like a blade to the chest, sharp and unrelenting, cutting deeper than the pain ripping through my back.

My arms lock around her, pulling her tight against me, shielding her from the impact.

I can feel her heartbeat hammering against my ribs, the tremor in her breath against my neck.

Something surges through me, hot and electric, not a bond yet, but the brutal certainty that she’s mine.

A promise and a warning, tangled together and burning in my veins.

Her breathing is shallow and fast against my throat, the scent of her skin flooding every sense I have. She’s alive. Safe. In my arms where she belongs. The part of me that’s still human wants to shake her for risking herself. The rest of me—the wolf—just wants to hold her here and never let go.

She blinks down at me, eyes wide, pupils blown, stunned… and then she grins. And fuck me, it’s beautiful.

But all I can think is—next time, I’m not giving her the chance to fall.

"Caught me."

"You scared the shit out of me."

"You liked it."

I don’t answer. I can’t. Not when she’s flush against me, her ample breasts pressing firmly into my chest, her warm palms spread wide over the toned muscles beneath my shirt.

Her fingers flex, as if bracing to hold onto something solid and steady amidst a storm.

Her pupils have dilated, nearly swallowing the brilliant color of her irises.

She smells like a heady mixture of sweat, skin, saltwater, and the intoxicating scent that is uniquely her when her primal instincts awaken.

In the charged stillness that surrounds us, the sound of our breathing fills my ears: ragged and shallow, almost synchronized as if two halves of a shared existence.

One heartbeat—then I move. In a single, deliberate motion, I pin her against the wall; her breasts crushed between our chests, my muscular arms caging her in on either side of her head.

Her breath hitches in surprise or anticipation.

Her nails dig into the flesh of my shoulders with a sting that sends shivers down my spine.

An involuntary growl rises in my throat – pure instinct.

“Dalton.”

It’s not a warning. Not a protest. It’s a need—raw and all-consuming—and I shatter under its weight.

This is insane, dangerous, reckless in every possible way. And I don’t care. Not when I can feel her pulse pounding against mine, not when her soft body trembles beneath me, not when her luscious mouth tips toward mine in a dare I can’t refuse.

Logic disintegrates, caution combusts. All I can see are those stormy eyes is defiance, and all I can feel is the heat radiating from within our bodies as it threatens to engulf us both.

Our mouths collide with desperation; our tongues dance in unison as they explore each other's taste—hardened earth beneath raindrops and the electric promise of a storm I know will break me.

I wedge my thigh between hers, grinding against her until the tension snaps taut between us.

Her back arches in response; her fists grip at my shirt, the buttons digging into my skin.

If I could etch her into my bones, I would—carry her fire in every breath.

Instead, I grasp her hair tightly, twist, and tilt her head back, exposing the pale curve of her throat.

My teeth sink into the hollow beside her pulse, biting down hard enough to draw blood as I mark her as mine.

She moans low in her chest, legs locking around my waist, grinding up against me with relentless force.

“Now,” she breathes, voice frayed and splintering. “Please...”

A growl tears loose from deep in my chest as my hand finds her zipper. I drag it down impatiently, the denim stubbornly clinging to her hips. I strip them away inch by inch, every tug feeling like the slow removal of armor from a fighter who doesn’t yet know she’s already surrendered.

Her panties are warm and damp against my palm.

Her gasp is sharp and sweet when I press harder against her sensitive flesh before boldly moving the fabric aside.

My fingers slide through her slick arousal before bringing them to her lips.

She wraps them around my fingers first with her teeth, then takes them into her mouth—tongue curling slow and deliberate—her eyes locked on mine in a challenge I’ll always answer.

“Fuck,” I rasp. It’s not enough—it never will be—but I give her more, again and again, until her legs threaten to buckle.

Dropping to my knees now, I force her hips against the wall with firm hands while feeling the muscles twitch under my grasp.

Taking a deep breath just above the apex of her thighs, the scent of her arousal is thick and intoxicating.

My tongue slides tentatively over her engorged nub, testing and tasting, before pressing harder and sealing my mouth around her clit.

She jerks suddenly in response, her leg nearly kicking me as I hold her open with iron resolve. Her fingers tangle in my hair, nails scraping across my scalp with a sting that only drives me further into the abyss of desire.

Every sound she makes—those half-formed moans, those bitten-off gasps—feeds the insatiable hunger tearing through me.

I circle her clit slowly at first, then faster, harder, until she’s biting down on her arm to keep from screaming.

I hold her there, trembling on the edge of ecstasy, coaxing wave after wave until her thighs spasm against my ears and her head knocks back against the wall.

Sweat drips from her skin like beads of liquid gold, running down the curve of her spine.

When her strength fails and her resolve slips away, I press a soft yet assertive kiss to the inside of her thigh before pulling her upright once more.

I spin her around to face the wall; our fingers fumble together as she presses flat against it so that my hips lock perfectly against her ass.

My teeth find purchase on her shoulder as I shove open my own jeans and thrust into her without faltering from behind.

Her gasp is one of shock and relief entwined. We move in sync, wild and unbroken; the slap of skin and rasp of denim echoing through the small space. My hands roam her body, learning every curve and every shudder that passes through her.

She glances back at me, hair disheveled, lips parted, eyes burning with a shared ache. Perhaps we're both survivors of some carnage, and this is the only way we know how to feel alive.

"Don't let go," I murmur.

I wrap my hand around her hair once more, tilting her head back so that I can claim her mouth again.

Messy and possessive, pouring every desperate, beautiful, and ugly thing I have into her.

Our climaxes barrel towards us, a whirlwind of bone, blood, grief, and hope, tearing me apart.

Her voice breaks around my name like both a curse and prayer before she collapses against the wall.

I turn her to face me, and she clings desperately to me; arms locked tight around my neck as if holding onto me for dear life.

We stay like that for what feels like an eternity, inhaling each other's essence until our realities blur into one.

Eventually, it seems as though the world has shrunk down to just the sound of our hearts beating in tandem.

Then, soft, fierce and final. "You can't lose me. I'm not letting you," she says, voice quivering from the aftershocks.

Her fingers dig into my shoulders; her gaze locks onto mine with unwavering certainty. She doesn't beg; she asserts her claim.

The bond between us flares, hot and complete, flooding my chest until it feels like my throat is tightening painfully. I don't speak because if I do so now, I won't survive whatever comes next.