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The white wolf was following her.
She was running, but the snow at her feet was heavy and clinging—pulling her into the ground. It wasn’t white snow, it was red. The tang of blood, sharp and burning, flooded her nostrils.
She could feel the breath of the wolf on the nape of her neck, smell the blood on his fur, and ran faster.
Air powered from her lungs, her claws tore up the ground. Claws. Fur. She was a wolf now. And her wolf didn’t want to run anymore. She stopped, spinning in the blood-red snow to face the white wolf.
But she was alone. Completely alone.
Olivia sat up, the terror of her dream waking her.
“Olivia?” Mal’s voice. Mal’s hands running over her arms. Mal’s warmth as he tugged her back down beside him. “Bad dream.” His voice was thick. “Just a dream.”
She burrowed closer, wrapping her arms around his waist and pressing her face to his chest.
His smell, his strength, made the trembling stop.
“What was it?” he asked, sounding more awake.
She shook her head.
“Tell me.” His words were muffled against her temple.
She looked up at him. “I was being chased by a white wolf.”
His hand slid through her hair while his arm tightened around her waist.
“I realized I was a wolf, s-so I turned to face him. H-he was gone.” She sucked in a deep breath. “I was alone.”
“It was a dream,” he whispered.
“That felt real. The ground was red.” She shook her head. “It felt real.”
“Never happen.” Was he smiling?
She blinked. “Okay. But—”
“I’d never let it happen,” he said, interrupting her. Yes, he was definitely smiling.
She smiled, too, confused. “You weren’t there.”
He traced the side of her face with his fingertips, his eyes narrowing as they swept over her. His smile tightened then faded, leaving him looking vulnerable. “Which will never happen.” His voice shook. “Never.”
Any hint of lingering fear or confusion was gone. Mal’s brown eyes bored into her, into her soul. She couldn’t move, didn’t want to. Right now, the only thing she wanted was to stay wrapped up in his arms and lost in his dark eyes.
Until he kissed her.
Soft. Gentle. The brush of his lips feather-light against hers, leaving her gasping. Mal, tender, made her ache, body and heart.
Her hands slid up his sides, his chest and neck. She cradled his face, her thumbs stroking the rough stubble of his cheeks and hard angle of his jaw. He pressed his forehead to hers, the slight shake of his head making her hesitate.
Then he was over her, the bed shifting beneath his weight. The tip of his tongue traced the seam of her lips, and she opened for him. His kiss was long and slow, his tongue and lips worshipping hers, drawing her earlobe into his mouth, nipping the length of her neck.
But then he stopped. “We have to go.” He looked at her.
“What?” she managed. They were going somewhere? “I’m good.”