Page 8 of Wild Games

The words are carefully neutral, but I hear his warning beneath them: Don’t interfere with the investigation. Don’t let your instability compromise what needs to be done. If anyone finds out how messed up you are, I might not be able to protect you.

When the door closes behind him, I slump against the wall, finally letting the full weight of what happened crash over me.

But the fear is stronger than the shame. Because when she made that sound, when her scent spiked with arousal and invitation, my wolf nearly took over completely. Not the partial shifts I’m used to fighting, but a complete loss of control.

The hours crawl by, but I don’t sleep. My wolf paces, snarling, replaying every second of those few minutes on endless repeat. Dawn is still far off when I hear movement upstairs. I’ve made it.

But next time, I might not be strong enough to stop him from taking what we both know is ours.

5

CAMILLE

Consciousness returns slowly, dragging me from dreams that leave my skin slick with sweat, and my core pulsing with unfulfilled need. In the dream, rough hands gripped my hips hard enough to bruise, dark eyes stared into mine, while a deep voice growled promises against my throat. Promises about what he’d do when he finally came back for what belongs to him.

I kick off the tangled sheets, my body still humming from the phantom touches, but my wounded pride is enough to make me angry that I’ve spent the night thinking about him.

And pissed off at me in my dreams for being such a pushover.

But no matter how angry I am, there’s no denying that the ache between my thighs hasn’t lessened one bit since last night’s encounter on the porch. Even now, fully awake, I can still feel the echo of his presence in the darkness and the weight of that feral gaze that made every nerve ending spark to life.

Frustrated, I groan into the soft pillows. I don’t need this. Solving this case is going to be hard enough. I need to forget about him, do my job, and then get the hell out of here. If he doesn’t want me, I shouldn’t be losing any sleep over him.

Deep down, I know I’m all talk. There’s no denying biology. Even a cold shower does nothing to ease the fever burning beneath my skin. The water sluices over sensitized flesh, and I bite back a whimper when the pressure hits my breasts. Everything feels too much and not enough at once. My hands shake as I towel off, and I know it has nothing to do with the temperature.

This is what happens once a mate bond is recognized. The body craves its other half. I’ve read about it in clinical terms during my training but experiencing it firsthand is something else entirely. The constant awareness, the hypersensitivity, the gnawing emptiness that no amount of food or water can fill.

I won’t have a moment’s peace until I give in to the urges that will plague us both.

Dressing carefully, I choose clothes that won’t irritate my oversensitive skin. Even the soft cotton of my pretty summer dress, the furthest thing from an investigator’s outfit I could find, feels like sandpaper against my nipples.

As I leave the cabin, my phone buzzes with a message from Raven telling me to be safe. It makes me so irrationally angry, as though I need reminding, that by the time I make it to the packhouse for breakfast, I’m wound so tightly, I could snap.

The dining hall buzzes with morning conversation, competitors fuelling up for another day of training ahead of the fast-approaching finals.

I scan the room, telling myself I’m checking for potential suspects and not searching for one particular wolf.

My treacherous body proves me a liar when I scent him near the service counter, and I freeze, caught in his trance, as I admire his tall frame, broad shoulders and dark, wavy hair. The muscles in his arms bulge through his navy henley, and the dark jeans stretched over his thick thighs highlight his firm ass to perfection.

He’s talking to one of the servers, a pretty brunette who gazes up at him with obvious interest. I can’t blame her for finding him attractive, but then she makes a joke, tossing her head back in laughter, while he looks at her blankly.

“Oh, Jax. You’re so funny.”

So that’s who he is.

Her hand comes to rest on his forearm in a gesture that’s far too familiar.

The touch lingers.

Rage floods through me so fast, that it steals my breath despite rationally knowing they’re pack mates, and most likely, just friends. My vision sharpens, tinged red at the edges, as my wolf surges forward with violent intent.

The possessive fury is completely irrational. I have no claim on him, not when he keeps running. But logic means nothing to the primal part of me that sees another female touching what belongs to us.

His head snaps up as if sensing my fury. Our eyes lock from across the crowded room, and the impact nearly drives me to my knees. Heat races through my veins, pooling low in my belly. I watch his chest expand on a sharp inhale. His free hand clenches into a fist on the counter, knuckles whitening with strain.

“You okay there?”

I drag my attention to Jamie Reynolds, if I recognise her correctly from my files, who’s appeared at my elbow with a concerned expression on her beautiful face. Heat floods my cheeks as I realize I’m standing frozen in the middle of the dining hall, probably looking like I’m about to commit murder.