Reed POV:
She was yelling at me to fuck off, her voice ragged, furious, cracking under pain—but still fierce. My wolf? He was losing his damn mind, growling, snapping inside my head like I was the idiot who put her in this state.
And maybe I was.
But the real curse?
Her scent.
Gods, her scent—it was like being handcuffed inside a room filled with every sinful thing imaginable. Sweet, sharp, intoxicating. Like fire and honey. Like blood and roses. Like her.
It was wrong.
She was in pain. She was bleeding. She was curled up and cursing me out, and I was standing there like a man possessed, because every inhale made my spine tighten and my thoughts go dark. It was like someone had lit a match in my brain and dropped it into gasoline.
Temptation on legs. A fucking walking aphrodisiac.
It was worse than heat. Worse than any rut I'd ever had.
I've faced down rival alphas, hunted traitors, stared death in the eye.
