It’s been too long since my last true hunt night. I want to tackle her to the ground and fuck her however I’d like. I want to watch her pretend not to like it—to watch how well she takes it. She wanted me to be rough the other night, but I wanted to spite her by making her come from something more gentle. Now the itch to fuck her rough and dirty, to do what I want instead of worrying about some power struggle between us, is relentless.
When I look over at her, she’s still smiling. Her ponytail swishes behind her, and her cheeks are dark, flushed with cold.
I’ve never missed color as much as I do with her. I’d like to know exactly what shade of pink her face is right now—how violet her eyes are in the sunlight.
She takes note of the scenery in a way that’s both appreciative and calculated. “I’ll need to do this loop at least three times, and a couple of times a week, I should try to do four loops just to stay in shape. I can already feel myself lagging.”
“Four times! Slow down, you fucking menace,” I growl.
She speeds up to spite me, but then glances back, and with a roll of her eyes, slows to a stop.
I jog to catch up and step alongside her, pulling the canteen on my chest up to drink. My side is cramping. I run plenty, but not at an all-out sprint like this. “What on earth would possess you to run twenty miles in a day?”
She swipes the water from my hand before I can drink any more, unclips it, and gives me a look that says I’m a moron.
It hits me. Twenty miles is the distance between Mountain Haven and Lunameade. She wants to be able to run home.
“I thought I told you not to run from me, Harlow.”
She licks water from her lips and hands the canteen back to me. “Who said I was running from you? Maybe I just want to go home.”
“This is your home now.”
She smirks. “And what a cozy home it is, with my husband who wants to snuggle me to death.”
She glances at the granite rock face beside us and the bits of foliage strewn about the bottom, her eyes homing in on one spot.
The elaborate natural cover we’ve woven for the entrance to the mountain caves.
I try not to react, but she must see something in me because she cocks her head and smiles wickedly. “Something wrong, my wolf? Cramp? I didn’t expect you to be so out of shape.”
When I don’t say anything, she walks straight toward the entrance, as if she knows exactly where it is. I rack my brain, trying to figure out if I slipped up. I must have, though I can’t remember mentioning the tunnels to her. When she asked where we had been for ten years, I said underground, but that could be anywhere. How did she manage to find the primary entrance to the caves so quickly?
It’s not the only way in, but it is the most frequented and largest. It’s the primary evacuation route in case of trouble. I was going to have to show her eventually—the fort has fallback and safety protocols, just like Lunameade. Her job as my wife is to help ensure that all of our people follow the fallback plans and escape safely. I just wasn’t expecting her to know this a few days into our marriage—or, at least, not without me telling her.
“Harlow?”
She shoves her hand between the edge of the pine boughs and tugs.
“It latches to keep out animals.” I step up beside her, caging herbetween the granite wall and my body. I bend down so my mouth is right next to her ear and guide her hand to the latch, trying to ignore the Stellarium-Blossoms scent of her skin.
The latch pops free. The hinges squeak softly as the large, round door swings open.
We’re immediately assaulted by the musty smell of the caves and the faint noise of farmers working deep within the tunnels.
Harlow squints into the dim sunstone glow. “Bigger than I expected.”
“Not the first time I’ve heard that.”
She glares at me. “My wolf, was that a joke? Are you well?” She touches her hand to my forehead. “Did my exceptional speed disorient you too much?”
I swat her hand away. “How did you know this was here?”
She leans against the lip of the cave, one hip jutted out.
Divine dammit. I thought the lingerie stretching was bad, but the fact that I know she’s not wearing anything under those stretchy skin-tight pants is worse. She looks sinful.
“I didn’t know until you helped me open the latch.”
