Chapter 1: Feral Welcome
The city had become a gray, silent film playing on a loop behind her eyes. Chloe noticed it most in her studio, where afternoon light would slice through the dust motes in exactly the same way at exactly the same time, where the only sound was the soft tap of her stylus on the tablet and the dead hum of the refrigerator. Her life was a series of muted, tasteful palettes—greige, mist, charcoal—for clients whose names blurred together. She was good at creating warmth for others, crafting spaces that hinted at lives more vivid than her own.
So when the email arrived from a reclusive author seeking a designer to “atmospherically optimize” his remote cabin for a hefty, “don’t-ask-questions” fee, she deleted it. Then she fished it from the trash an hour later. Her auburn hair fell across the screen as she read it again, her freckled hands, still streaked with cerulean paint from a nursery project, hovering over the keyboard.
Rebellion, for her, was a quiet thing. It was buying the ticket, packing a single duffel bag of practical clothes, and leaving a note for her cat-sitter that was more detailed than her goodbye to her boss. It was the six-hour drive into the deepening green, where the pines pressed closer and the asphalt frayed into gravel.
The cabin wasn’t what she’d expected. It wasn’t a charming rustic chalet. It was a low, strong thing of dark timber and river stone, hunched in a clearing as if it had grown there. A knot of something between fear and thrilling recognition tightened in her chest when she saw it.
The key was under a mossy rock, just as the email said.
Inside, the air was still and cool. It smelled of pine resin, aged leather, and something else—a mineral dampness, like the air after a lightning strike. The main room was a sunken nest of warmth, all exposed beams and a massive stone fireplace. Velvet armchairs, worn soft at the arms, hugged the hearth. On a low table of burled wood sat a bottle of amber whiskey and a half-empty deck of playing cards, as if a game had been abruptly paused.
He’d said the place would be empty.
“Hello?” Her voice was swallowed by the timber and wool. Silence rushed back in.
Shaking off the paranoia, she got to work. She measured, she photographed, she sketched. She noted the sublime quality of the light through the west-facing window, how it turned the dust to gold. She opened the whiskey, taking a single, burning sip for courage, and left the bottle uncapped.
Dusk fell quickly in the woods, bleeding the color from the world. She built a fire, her city hands clumsy with the kindling. As flames took hold, she sat in one of the deep chairs, letting the whiskey warmth unspool the day’s tension. This was it. This was the adventure. The quiet was so immense it had a sound of its own.
The knock at the door was so soft she felt it in her bones before she heard it.
Her heart jackhammered against her ribs. No one for miles, the email had promised.
It came again, not a knock but a slow, deliberate drag of claws over wood.
She stood, frozen, as the heavy iron latch lifted from the outside.
The door swung inward on silent hinges.
Two figures were framed in the twilight. The man was tall, his shoulders nearly filling the doorway. Dark, tousled hair fell over a face all stark angles and shadow. But it was his eyes that held her—amber, catching the firelight in a way that wasn’t a reflection, but a glow from within. He moved into the room with a predator’s silent grace, his gaze fixed on her.
Behind him slid a woman, lean and agile. Silver-white hair fell in a shock around a face of sharp, elegant bones and ice-blue eyes that scanned the room, and her, with amused curiosity.
“You’re in our seat,” the man said, his voice a low rumble like distant thunder.
Chloe’s mouth was dry. “Your seat? The email said the owner was abroad. I’m the designer.”
The white-haired woman, Sasha, laughed, a sound like cracking ice. “Designer. How delightful.” She drifted past Chloe, her fingers trailing over the back of the chair Chloe had just vacated. “Liam’s not big on emails. Or ownership, in the human sense.”
Liam. The name fit him.
He went to the fireplace, crouching to add a log with an easy strength. The muscles in his back moved beneath his simple cotton shirt. “You lit our fire. Drank our whiskey.” He turned his head, those amber eyes pinning her again. “Started our game.”
“I didn’t touch the cards.”
“Didn’t you?” Sasha purred. She had picked up the deck, was shuffling it with a hypnotic, fluent skill. “You entered the space. You changed the air. You sat where he sits. That’s a move.”
Chloe wrapped her arms around herself, aware of her softness, her city-smart clothes suddenly feeling like a costume. “I’m sorry. I’ll just… gather my things and go to the motel in town.”
“No.” Liam’s command was quiet, absolute. He rose to his full height. “The woods are not safe at night. Not for you.”
A shiver, not entirely unpleasant, traced her spine. “Why?”
Sasha dealt three cards face down on the table with a flick of her wrist. “Because the woods are ours. And you, little designer, smell like city and fear and curious, curious paint. It’s a beacon.”
This was crazy. Terrifying. The most alive she’d felt in a decade. Chloe forced her chin up. “What do you want?”
Liam took a slow step toward her. The air thickened, charged with the scent of him—clean sweat, wild air, that dark, damp-fur smell from when she first entered. “You came looking for something not gray. Not safe.” He was close enough now that she felt the heat coming off him. “Is that true?”
Her breath hitched. She gave the smallest nod.
Sasha appeared at her other side, a phantom. “She’s trembling, Liam. Look.” She didn’t touch her, but Chloe felt her presence like a cool breeze. “Not all from fear, I think.”
“Speak,” Liam said, his voice rough, but his gaze dropped to her mouth.
“I… I feel trapped,” Chloe whispered, the confession torn from her. “In my life. In everything. I thought this was just a job.”
“It’s not a job,” Sasha murmured, her lips now close to Chloe’s ear. “It’s an invitation.”
Liam’s calloused hand came up, but he didn’t touch her face. He hovered his palm near her cheek, letting her feel the radiating warmth. “We can show you what it means to not be trapped. To be… claimed. By a place. By a purpose.”
The invitation was obscene. Impossible. It lit a fuse on every buried yearning she’d ever denied.
Sasha’s tongue, then, a shocking wet stroke from her collarbone to the hinge of her jaw. Chloe gasped, her eyes flying wide.
At the same moment, Liam’s hands found her hips, his grip firm and sure, and he pulled her backward onto his lap as he settled into the deep velvet chair. She landed against the solid wall of his chest, her legs dangling over the armrest, caged by his arms.
“Let us show you,” Sasha whispered, kneeling beside the chair, her ice-blue eyes blazing with a wicked, shared intent. Her fingers went to the first button of Chloe’s blouse.
Chloe’s paint-stained fingers trembled against Liam’s denim-clad thighs. The firelight danced over their skin, gilding the moment in flickering, primal gold. This was the danger she’d craved, solid and warm and real beneath her hands.
She didn’t push Sasha away. She turned her head, meeting Liam’s molten gaze, and saw not a monster, but an anchor in the chaos.
“Show me,” she said, and the words were not a whisper, but a vow.
Sasha’s smile was brilliant and fierce. The last button gave way.
The last button gave way.
Chloe’s blouse fell open, and the cool cabin air touched her skin, raising goosebumps. Sasha’s cool fingers followed, pushing the fabric aside, baring her plain, lace-trimmed bra to the firelight. To their eyes.
“See?” Sasha breathed, not to Chloe, but to Liam, her voice rich with approval. “Soft. So human. But her heart… listen to it hammer.”
Chloe was acutely aware of the frantic rhythm against her ribs, a wild drum against Liam’s solid chest. His arms around her hips were like iron bands, not restraining, but holding her in reality. This was happening.
Liam’s nose dragged along the column of her throat, inhaling deeply. A low sound vibrated from his chest into her back. “Fear. And want. They taste different. You’re mostly want now.”
“I don’t… I don’t know what I want,” Chloe managed, but the protest was weak, dying as Sasha’s palm smoothed over her stomach.
“Yes, you do,” Sasha murmured. Her other hand came up, fingers deftly unhooking the clasp of Chloe’s bra between her shoulder blades. The garment loosened. “You want to feel. You want to stop thinking. You want to be fucking used by something real. Admit it.”
The crude words, spoken in that melodic, icy voice, shattered another internal barrier. A hot pulse of sheer, shocking arousal throbbed between Chloe’s legs. She whimpered.
That was all the admission they needed.
Sasha pulled the bra away. Chloe’s breasts, full and freckled, were exposed to the warmth of the fire. Liam’s gaze dropped, his amber eyes darkening. He didn’t move to touch, just watched, his breath hot on her shoulder.
“Pretty,” Sasha said, her tone clinical and coveting all at once. She cupped one breast, her thumb scraping slowly over the taut nipple. “Responsive. Look how she arches for it.”
Chloe hadn’t even realized she’d pushed into the touch. A moan caught in her throat. This was too much. Not enough.
“Liam,” Sasha said, a command and an offering.
Finally, his hands moved. One slid from her hip, up her ribcage, leaving a trail of fire. His palm was rough, calloused, impossibly warm as he covered her other breast, squeezing with a firm, possessive pressure that made her cry out. His thumb mirrored Sasha’s, circling her nipple, rougher, more demanding.
“Mine,” he growled into her ear, the word a physical vibration. “This is mine to touch. Do you understand?”
Tears pricked at Chloe’s eyes—not from pain, but from the sheer, overwhelming rightness of it. The claiming. She nodded frantically, her head falling back against his shoulder. “Yours.”
Sasha laughed, delighted. “Good girl.” She leaned in, her silver hair falling like a curtain around Chloe’s face, and took the nipple Liam wasn’t torturing into her mouth.
The sensation was electric, a sharp, wet pull that shot straight to Chloe’s core. She jolted in Liam’s lap, a cry tearing from her lips. Sasha’s tongue was cool, clever, lapping and sucking with a ruthless precision. Liam’s hand on her other breast kept up its relentless rhythm, pinching and rolling. The dual assault unmoored her completely. Pleasure, bright and shocking, coiled tight in her belly.
Her hands, which had been trembling on his thighs, now clutched at him, fingernails digging into denim. Her hips began to move of their own volition, a slow, desperate rocking against the hard ridge she could feel through Liam’s jeans.
“Fuck,” Liam snarled, his own control fraying. His hand left her breast and clamped onto her hip, stilling her movements. “Not yet.”
Sasha released her breast with a wet pop, her lips glossy. She trailed her mouth up Chloe’s neck, to her ear. “He likes to take his time. But I don’t think you have much time left in you, do you, little thing? You’re so wet already. I can smell it.”
The obscene observation made Chloe burn with shame and desperate need. She was. She was soaked.
Liam’s hand slid from her hip, inward, over the soft cotton of her trousers. His fingers pressed against the seam, against the heat and swollen flesh beneath. Chloe bucked, a broken sound escaping her.
“Please,” she whispered. It was the first true begging, raw and unfiltered.
“Please what?” Liam’s voice was gravel. He rubbed the heel of his hand against her, a slow, maddening pressure through the fabric.
“God… I don’t know.”
“Yes, you do.” Sasha’s fingers joined Liam’s, working the button of her trousers, then the zipper. The sound was loud in the crackling silence. Together, they dragged the garment and her panties down her legs, leaving her bare from the waist down, splayed across Liam’s lap. The air kissed her most intimate skin, and she felt utterly, terrifyingly exposed.
Sasha knelt on the rug, her ice-blue eyes level with Chloe’s sex. She didn’t touch. Just looked, her nostrils flaring. “Perfect.”
Liam’s arms locked around Chloe’s torso, holding her immobile. “Taste her.”
A predatory smile touched Sasha’s lips. She didn’t hesitate. She leaned forward and swiped her tongue through Chloe’s folds in one long, flat stroke.
Chloe screamed. It was an animal sound, torn from a place she didn’t recognize. The sensation was too intense, too direct, too good. Sasha’s tongue was a wicked, agile thing, circling her clit, diving inside her, tasting her with a hum of pleasure that Chloe felt against her most sensitive nerves.
“Fuck, she’s sweet,” Sasha moaned, her breath hot against wet skin before diving back in.
Liam held Chloe through the convulsions that rocked her, one hand fisted in her auburn hair, pulling her head back to expose her throat. He watched Sasha work between her legs, his eyes blazing. His other hand groped roughly over her breast, squeezing, possessive.
The coil snapped far too quickly. The orgasm crashed into Chloe with the force of a flash flood, blinding and brutal. Her back arched against Liam’s chest, a strangled cry ripping from her throat as she shattered, waves of pleasure pulsing through her as Sasha’s tongue lapped at her relentlessly, drawing out every last tremor.
She went limp, boneless, gasping, sweat cooling on her skin.
Sasha pulled back, licking her lips clean. She looked up at Liam, a challenge in her eyes. “Your turn.”
Chloe was floating, spent, but the hunger in Liam’s gaze reignited something ember-hot inside her. He shifted beneath her, his hands moving her like she weighed nothing. He stood, lifting her, and laid her down on the thick wolf-pelt rug before the fire. The fur was soft and coarse against her bare back.
He stood over her, a dark silhouette against the firelight, and stripped. His shirt was gone in one rough motion. His chest was broad, sculpted with muscle and scars—silvery lines that told silent, violent stories. His jeans and boxers followed. His erection sprang free, thick and heavy, jutting from a thatch of dark hair. Chloe’s mouth went dry. He was magnificent, terrifying, fully animal in his arousal.
Sasha slithered up beside Chloe, propping her head on a hand, a spectator now, her eyes gleaming. “Look at him. He doesn’t just want to fuck you, city girl. He wants to ruin you for anything else.”
Liam dropped to his knees between her spread legs. He didn’t kiss her. He didn’t gentle her. He gripped her thighs, his fingers biting into her soft flesh, and pushed them wider, exposing her completely to the heat of the fire and the heat of his stare. He leaned down, his own breath huffing against her wet, sensitive skin, but he didn’t use his mouth. He rubbed the broad, leaking head of his cock through her folds, slicking himself with her arousal and Sasha’s saliva.
The touch, the possessive ownership of it, made a fresh sob catch in Chloe’s throat. She was still throbbing from her climax, oversensitive, but a new, deeper hunger was clawing its way up.
“Look at me,” he commanded.
Her eyes, hazy with pleasure, found his. The amber was almost entirely swallowed by black, pupil blown wide with need.
“This cunt is mine,” he stated, the crude word a brand. “Say it.”
“It’s yours,” she gasped, meaning it with every fractured piece of her soul.
With a final, brutal adjustment of her hips, he drove into her.
Chloe choked. He was huge, stretching her burningly, unforgivingly full. There was no gentle sinking, no slow accommodation. It was a single, powerful thrust that seated him to the hilt, that stole the air from her lungs and replaced it with a primal recognition. This. This was the danger. This was the anchor.
“Fuck,” he ground out, his body tensing above her, a statue of captured lightning. “So tight. So fucking hot.”
He began to move.
It was not lovemaking. It was a claiming, just as he’d promised. His pace was relentless, deep, pounding strokes that jarred her body against the fur rug, that drove soft, helpless sounds from her mouth with every impact. The slap of skin on skin, the wet, filthy sound of their joining, filled the cabin, harmonizing with the crackle of the fire.
Sasha watched, her own hand slipping between her legs, her breath coming faster. “That’s it. Take her. Mark her from the inside.”
Liam’s rhythm stuttered, grew more urgent. He braced one hand by her head, the other gripping her hip so hard she’d bruise. His head dropped, his forehead touching hers, his eyes locked on hers. In that proximity, she could see the faint, bestial gold ring around his dilated pupils, could feel the wild, chaotic energy barely contained within his human skin.
“Come for me,” he growled, his voice ragged. “Come on my cock. Now.”
The command, the sheer dominance in his tone, combined with the ruthless friction inside her, detonated a second climax. It was different from the first—deeper, less sharp, a rolling wave of possession that shook her silently at first, then with a guttural cry she muffled against his shoulder. Her internal muscles clamped around him, milking him, and that was his undoing.
With a roar that was more beast than man, Liam shoved into her one last, devastating time and poured himself into her. She felt the hot, insistent pulse of his release, claiming her in the most fundamental way possible. He collapsed slightly, his weight pressing her into the fur, his breath hot and ragged in her ear.
For long moments, there was only the sound of their harsh breathing and the fire.
Slowly, he softened inside her and pulled out. The loss of him felt profound. He rolled onto his back beside her, one arm thrown over his eyes.
Sasha moved then, curling herself against Chloe’s other side, her cool skin a shock. She nu
Sasha moved then, curling herself against Chloe’s other side, her cool skin a shock. She nudged her nose into Chloe’s auburn hair, inhaling deeply. “Mmm. You smell different now. Less city. More him. More us.”
Chloe lay between them, a spent vessel, her body humming with a foreign electricity. The heat from the fire played across her bare skin, but it was nothing compared to the residual burn where Liam had been inside her, the tender ache of her breasts, the wetness on her thighs. Reality was a slow, creeping tide. She’d just let two strangers, wild and terrifying, do unspeakable things to her on a rug. And she’d come apart screaming for more.
A laugh bubbled up, hysterical and thin. She clamped a hand over her mouth.
Liam’s arm shifted from his eyes. He turned his head on the fur, his profile sharp against the firelight. “What?”
“I just… I designed a minimalist loft in SoHo last week.” Her voice was raspy, raw from crying out. “The client wanted ‘ethical bamboo and a aura of serene detachment.’”
Sasha’s laugh was a genuine, delighted chuckle. She propped herself up on an elbow, her silver hair falling over one shoulder, her ice-blue eyes tracing the lines of Chloe’s face. “And what does your serene detachment feel like now, designer?”
Chloe met her gaze. The playful wickedness was still there, but underneath, something else flickered. Curiosity. Something almost like yearning. “Shattered,” Chloe whispered. “It feels shattered.”
“Good,” Liam rumbled, his hand finding hers on the rug between them. His fingers laced through hers, a gesture of possession that was surprisingly gentle. “That’s the first thing that needs to break.”
A comfortable silence settled, but it was charged, alive. Chloe’s senses were dialed to eleven. She felt the individual strands of the wolf pelt against her back, heard the sap popping in a log, smelled their mingled scents—male musk, her own arousal, Sasha’s crisp, frosty perfume, and beneath it all, that wild, damp-fur tang.
Sasha’s cool fingers began to trace idle patterns on Chloe’s stomach, just above the thatch of auburn curls. “You’re so soft here,” she murmured, almost to herself. “All of you. Ripe. Like you’ve been waiting in a city for decades, just getting softer and riper, for this.”
Her touch drifted lower, a feather-light skim over the curls. Chloe’s breath hitched. Her body, which moments ago felt utterly wrecked, sparked back to life with a greedy, shocking urgency. She was sore, sensitive, but the touch wasn’t an invasion now. It was an exploration. And she wanted to be explored.
Liam watched, his amber eyes hooded. He made no move to intervene, just observed Sasha’s trailing fingers with a calm, proprietary intensity. He squeezed Chloe’s hand once, a silent signal. This is allowed. This is part of it.
“Look at that,” Sasha breathed, her fingertips venturing lower, gently parting folds that were swollen and slick. “Still so wet. And so eager. Does this pretty little cunt ever get enough?”
The filthy word, spoken with Sasha’s clinical fascination, made Chloe’s hips twitch. “I don’t know,” she gasped. “It’s never… it’s never been like this.”
“Because it’s never been used properly,” Sasha said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. She shifted her body, sliding down so she was lying alongside Chloe, facing her, their noses inches apart. One leg slid over Chloe’s thigh, a cool, smooth weight. “It’s never been claimed by something that knows what it’s for. To be fucked. To be filled. To take a knot.”
Chloe’s eyes widened. A knot? The term was animal, primal, and it sent another violent thrill through her.
Sasha smiled, reading her confusion and arousal. “Later,” she promised, a wicked glint in her eye. “For now…” Her hand continued its gentle, maddening exploration, circling Chloe’s clit but never applying the pressure she craved. “For now, I want to explore. I want to feel what he felt. From the inside.”
She shifted again, her movements fluid and purposeful. She swung her leg fully over Chloe’s hips, straddling her thigh. The firelight gilded the sleek lines of Sasha’s body, the delicate curve of her waist, the small, perfect breasts with their pale, peaked nipples. She was a creature of winter and grace, and she was looking down at Chloe with a hunger that mirrored Liam’s, but colder, more deliberate.
Sasha leaned down, bracing her hands on either side of Chloe’s head. Her silver hair curtained them, creating a private, intimate world of shared breath. “You liked his taste on my tongue, didn’t you?” Sasha whispered.
Chloe, mesmerized, could only nod.
“I want to taste us on you,” Sasha said, and then she kissed her.
It wasn’t like any kiss Chloe had ever experienced. It was deep, consuming, and filthy. Sasha’s tongue plunged into her mouth, claiming it with the same ownership Liam had claimed her body. Chloe could taste the faint, metallic trace of herself on Sasha’s lips and tongue, mixed with the whiskey. It was a feedback loop of their own desire, and it was profoundly arousing.
Sasha rocked her hips gently, her own wetness smearing against Chloe’s upper thigh. The slick, hot slide was an electric promise. Chloe’s hands came up, tentatively settling on Sasha’s narrow hips. Her skin was like cool silk over steel.
Breaking the kiss, Sasha trailed her mouth down Chloe’s jaw, to her neck, to her collarbone. “He marked you with his cock,” she murmured between kisses. “I’m going to mark you with my pleasure.”
She positioned herself with an innate precision. She slid her body down, aligning their centers, so that her stomach pressed against Chloe’s, their breasts crushed together. Then, with a slow, undulating roll of her hips, she brought her wet, swollen flesh into direct, grinding contact with Chloe’s.
Chloe cried out into the fur.
Tribbing. Scissoring. The act had clinical names that didn’t do it justice. This was pure, unmediated friction, heat against heat, a slippery, desperate sharing of sensation. Sasha set a slow, sinuous rhythm, grinding herself against Chloe’s clit and folds with a practiced, devastating accuracy.
“Oh, fuck,” Chloe sobbed, her head thrashing back. It was overwhelming. It wasn’t the brutal, penetrating fullness Liam had given her. This was a bright, sharp, crescendoing flame building from every point of contact. The soft crush of their breasts, the slide of their bellies, the tickle of Sasha’s pubic hair against her own, and the core of it—that relentless, grinding pressure on her most sensitive nerves.
Sasha moaned into her neck, her own breath becoming ragged. “That’s it. Feel it. This is mine. This feeling is mine.” Her hips moved faster, losing some of their graceful control, becoming needier. “You feel so fucking good. So soft and hot. Your clit is so hard for me. I can feel it.”
Chloe’s hands slid around to grip Sasha’s ass, pulling her closer, trying to deepen the contact. She was spiraling again, the coil tightening impossibly fast. She could feel Sasha’s own tension, the way her inner muscles were fluttering against her own flesh. The mutual urgency was a feedback loop, accelerating them both.
Liam watched from his side, his hand still holding Chloe’s. His gaze was heated, dark with a possessive pride. He was seeing his woman give herself to another part of his world, and it stoked his own primal satisfaction. “Let her make you come,” he said, his voice a low growl. “Give Sasha what she wants. Scream for her.”
His permission, his command, was the final key. Sasha’s rhythm became frantic, a hard, driving grind. She buried her face in Chloe’s neck, her teeth scraping the skin.
“Come with me,” Sasha gasped, her voice breaking. “Now, Chloe. Now!”
The orgasm didn’t crash this time. It erupted. It was a simultaneous detonation. Chloe felt Sasha’s body lock, a shuddering vibration against her own, and that tiny, final trigger unleashed her own release. It was a sharp, white-hot lance of pleasure, so intense her vision whited out at the edges. A broken, shared cry tore from both their throats, echoing in the cabin as they shook against each other, slick and convulsing.
Wave after wave of contracting, fluttering pleasure passed between them, shared through their joined, sensitive flesh. It seemed to last forever, a feedback loop of diminishing, delicious shocks.
Finally, spent, Sasha collapsed on top of her, a cool, boneless weight. Their hearts hammered against each other, a frantic, synced rhythm slowing gradually. The air was thick with the scent of sex and female pleasure.
After a long moment, Sasha pushed herself up, a faint, sated smile on her lips. She looked down at the mess they’d made on each other’s thighs and stomachs. “Mmm.” She leaned down and licked a stripe up Chloe’s sternum, cleaning a bead of sweat. “Even better than I imagined.”
She rolled off, lying on her back beside Liam, all three of them in a row on the great fur rug, staring up at the dark wood ceiling. The fire was burning lower, casting deeper, dancing shadows.
Chloe felt hollowed out, purified. Every nerve ending was quiet, for the first time in her adult life. The restless chatter in her mind was gone. There was only the weight of her body, the heat of the fire, and the solid, breathing presence of the two wild creatures beside her.
Liam shifted, rising onto one elbow. He looked at Chloe, his gaze sweeping over her flushed skin, the bite marks on her neck, the sheen of sweat and sex. His expression was unreadable. Then he leaned over her, his body blocking the firelight. He didn’t kiss her. He simply lowered his head and inhaled deeply at the junction of her neck and shoulder, where her scent would be strongest.
“Mine,” he said again, the word final, absolute.
He stood up in one powerful motion. “Get up. Both of you. Clean up.”
The shift was abrupt, from primal intimacy to commanded action. Sasha sighed but complied, unfolding her lean form and rising. She offered a hand to Chloe. Chloe took it, her legs wobbling as she stood.
Liam was already pulling on his jeans. He tossed Chloe’s discarded clothes to her. “Get dressed. Quickly.”
“Why?” Chloe asked, her voice still dreamy with endorphins. “What’s wrong?”
Liam’s head was cocked, his gaze fixed on the dark window beyond the fire’s glow. His whole body was tense, listening. “The woods aren’t quiet.”
Sasha was instantly alert, her playful seductiveness gone, replaced by a sharp, predatory focus. She sniffed the air, her nostrils flaring. “He’s right. Something’s circling.”
Fear, clean and cold, doused the last of