This Dark Wolf (Soul Bitten Shifter #1) - Everly Frost Page 0,71

watch Tristan struggle with the effects of my scent—even more than he did on the night we first met. He blinked away my power then. Right now, he’s sucking in more of it with every inhale, his chest expanding in dangerous increments. I’m suddenly drawn to the tattoo across his shoulder and chest—the snake killing the wolf while fighting beside it. As if he chooses to welcome his demons into his life.

I prepare for a fight with him. At least I know I have the skills to beat nearly anyone now. Whether I can beat a butt-naked, out-of-control Tristan remains to be seen.

I lower my voice, angry with him. “Helen told you I wasn’t ready, Tristan.”

Tristan opens his eyes. I’m shocked to see his pupils are fully dilated, but he doesn’t shake his head or show any signs of fighting the effect anymore.

“Would you ever be ready?” he asks, his voice much more controlled than I was expecting.

I glare back at him. This was a hiccup. If it weren’t for the white wolf—whoever he is—I’m sure I’d be completely in control right now. It was a combination of that animal’s appearance and my rush to get back before Tristan returned that threw me off-balance.

“You took me unawares. This will never happen again.” I tip my chin as best I can while lying on the floor. With a concerted effort, I slow my own breathing, trying to transport my mind back to the garden in Hidden House, already feeling much calmer.

“My fault then,” he murmurs. “I’ll remember not to surprise you in future.”

His pupils are no less dilated, even though I’m sure I’m getting myself under control now. His balance shifts to the right as he raises his left hand off the floor to stroke the strands of my hair that have fallen across my cheek, light brushes that make me shiver. My stomach muscles suddenly clench, along with my inner thigh muscles. An intense toe-curling sensation builds, surprising me.

“Tessa,” he murmurs. “There’s a more important question.”

“What is it?” I whisper when he falls silent.

“Why are we fighting this?” he asks, searching my eyes.

My lips part slowly.

“I’m not going to hurt your body,” he says. “I will never lay a hand on you in a way that will harm you. I’m not going to mark you or try to claim you. I can give you everything you want and nothing that you don’t want. At least for a time. All you have to do is ask.”

I lick my dry lips. My wolf’s energy has stopped beating inside me and now she unfurls, more like a cat than anything else, luxuriating in Tristan’s low, growled promises.

But my human mind is confused. “What would I ask for, Tristan?”

Tristan dips his head, his lips nudging the edge of my jaw, soft brushes like the way he stroked my hair.

“Everything you want,” he whispers, slowly brushing the corner of my lips with his.

My wolf’s energy is in tune with my body. The slow burn that began in my stomach ignites at my center, my tension building. But my power and my body are at odds with my human heart.

“How can I ask for anything except my freedom?” I whisper.

Tristan freezes. “I can’t let you leave.”

“Then you can’t give me everything I want.” I want to scorch him with my glare, raking it across his extraordinary eyes, the fullness of his lips, his jaw, even his broad shoulders, and most especially the image of his wolf dying by snake bite.

“Get off me,” I snarl.

A hint of surprise passes across his face. I guess I’m not so fucking vulnerable after all.

He immediately rolls to the side, gliding to his feet, as agile as his wolf as he scoops up his jeans, but this time, he doesn’t stride to the elevator, veering toward his bedroom instead. I thought he’d leave and return to Jace, but it seems he’s determined to stay. I guess Tristan did say to Jace that he shouldn’t have left me alone in the first place.

I rise to my feet, as quiet as my dark wolf, not quite calm and not quite in control, but right now, I’d give anything to fight him.

Tristan pauses with his back to me, a perfect sculpture of a man, the muscles across his shoulders and back rippling as he rolls his shoulders and stretches his neck side to side as if he were easing out his own tension.

Without fully turning—without bothering to put on his jeans—he casts a challenging