I thought she was heading off to dry herself. A normal thing to do after getting sprayed in the face with sink water—especially after walking in on someone stark naked. But instead of heading to her room or even grabbing a towel, Lenora disappears out the front door.
A beat passes. Then another. And I find myself frowning at the door like it might explain something to me.
I throw on the first pair of sweatpants I find—still a little damp from the shower—and tug them up without bothering with a shirt. My feet are bare, but I don’t care. I step outside, the cool air brushing my skin, grounding me just enough to think:
But my body is already moving before I finish that thought.
The woods are quieter than I expect. Peaceful, even. Birds chirp somewhere overhead. Leaves crunch softly beneath my feet. The air smells clean—crisp pine, damp moss, and something else more subtle. Something that makes my chest feel tight in a way I don’t understand.
It tugs at me, that scent. Pulling me deeper into the trees. Pulling me to her.
I don’t know why I’m doing this—just that I need to. She walked out of that house looking like her skin didn’t quite fit right, and something about that has me rattled. Has me... worried.
"Lenora?" I call, voice low.
There’s a pause. Then:
"Cameron, please turn back." Her voice is tight—strained.
I frown. "Are you okay?"
I step around a thick clump of brush, catching a flash of silver hair behind a tree.
"Terrific," she says, but the tone is anything but. It’s clipped. Breathless.
"Are you sure?" I press, taking another step toward her.
That’s when she groans—low and frustrated. "I said turn back."
But it’s too late. I round the trunk—
And everything halts.
She’s there, leaning back against the wide bark, cheeks flushed, lips parted, eyes wide. One hand braced against the tree. The other... not.
"Oh—shit—sorry!" I turn around so fast I nearly lose my footing. I face the other direction, heat flooding my neck, ears burning. "I—I didn’t—I thought you were hurt!"
"I am hurting," she says behind me, voice lower now, throatier.
I hear the soft shift of fabric. I shouldn’t turn—but I do.
Her hand drops from between her thighs, her shorts sliding up her hips, skin flushed and damp with effort. Her chest rises and falls rapidly, lips parted like she’s just run a mile. I catch the scent again—sweet, wild, thick with heat—and it hits me in the gut.
She steps toward me slowly, her movements smooth, deliberate, predatory.
"You want to know why I’m hurting, Cameron?" she murmurs, tone edged with frustration and raw hunger. "Because I’m so fucking horny right now I’d trade my title, my land, even my place in the pack—just for you to turn me around and fuck me against this tree."
Her words crash over me like a wave. My spine stiffens, pulse roaring in my ears.
"You think I want to feel ?" she continues, voice trembling now—not from weakness, but restraint.
"You think I wanted to be reduced to sneaking into the woods like some teenager because my mate won’t touch me?"
She’s right in front of me now. Close enough that the heat radiating off her burns through the inches between us. I can see the glisten of sweat at her collarbone, the bite of her lip, the tension thrumming beneath her skin like a livewire.
I swallow, barely able to breathe.
"I’m not trying to punish you," I say quietly. "I just... I don’t want to hurt you."
Her laugh is sharp, breathless. "You’re hurting me more by holding back."