There’s a loud crash—like something heavy and ceramic slamming into tile.
I’m on my feet before I can think, rushing down the hall with my heart pounding in my throat. The sound came from the bathroom. The only bathroom.
"Cameron?" I call, knocking once—twice. No answer.
Panic twists in my gut.
I shove the door open.
The first thing I see is the shattered sink—ceramic split down the middle, lying helpless on the floor like it gave up trying to hold together. Water is gushing everywhere, spraying at odd angles.
And the second thing I see—goddess have mercy—is him.
Utterly, unapologetically, sinfully naked.
My breath catches. My wolf howls internally in triumph, in delight, in lust. I knew I hadn’t hallucinated the mating night—I knew he was big, but damn. How does he still think he’s human when he’s built like that?
Broad shoulders, lean hips, sculpted muscle—he looks like a god carved from something primal and powerful. The kind of man who could ruin you with a single touch.
I blink, trying not to make it obvious that I’m very much staring.
My wolf growls in my head: Take him. Now.
Bad idea. Very, very bad idea.
"Lenora?" his voice snaps me back to reality—husky and confused. His hand twitches toward the towel hanging uselessly behind him. "I didn’t mean to. I leaned on it, and it just... broke."
"What?" I echo, brain still buffering.
He gestures helplessly to the sink.
"Oh. Right. Yeah—the sink." I tear my gaze away from him and drop to my knees beside the wreckage, assessing the damage like it’s going to stop the blush spreading down my neck.
A pipe’s busted. Water is still gushing out in spurts, soaking the floor, my clothes, everything.
I crawl underneath, tracing the stream to its source and finally manage to shut it off at the main connection point near the wall. My hands are freezing, my shirt clinging to me like a second skin, and I can feel his eyes on me the entire time.
I sit back on my heels, drenched and dripping.
And just like that, I’m not only wet outside, but inside too. My core tightens traitorously.
I stand slowly, still trying to pretend I’m unaffected as water runs down my arms.
He’s still standing there, the towel now wrapped loosely around his hips, his hair damp and curling near his temple, watching me with something between embarrassment and... something else. Something unreadable. Something that feels dangerous.
Because goddess, this isn’t how I planned it. But now that I’ve seen him , smelled his skin warm from the shower, seen how his muscles flex when he moves—
"Sorry," he mutters, eyes sliding away from mine.
I nod, staring up at the ceiling like it holds the secrets to restraint. Anything to keep me from looking at him again. At that towel. At the way it barely clings to his hips.
"It’s fine," I say quickly, voice brittle. "The sink was a little old anyway."
My throat is dry. My skin still damp. I can’t even focus enough to be mad about the flood. I need to get out of here. Fast.
"I need to dry up," I mumble, practically fleeing the bathroom.
I grab a towel—doesn’t matter whose—and head into the hallway, the cold air biting at my soaked clothes as I press the fabric to my face, my arms, my chest. But it’s not helping. Not with this.
My body aches in the worst, most delicious way. It’s not just the sight of him—it’s the scent. His heat. The bond thrumming between us, furious with need.
I pace the room like that’ll help, like I can shake it off, but I can’t. I feel like I’m going to crawl out of my own skin if I don’t do something.
I won’t survive staying in this house.
Not when I want him so badly it hurts.
And to make matters worse, my father’s wolf senses are no joke. I don’t need that kind of embarrassment today. Or ever.
So I head outside, barefoot and flushed, slipping into the shadowed woods beyond the cottage. The trees close in around me like old friends, and I find the one I always come to when I need to breathe.
I lean against its sturdy trunk, heart thudding, the forest whispering softly around me. I try to focus. To calm down.
I close my eyes, and all I can see is him.
The way water slid over his chest. The curve of muscle under skin. The raw power he doesn’t even seem to know he has.