Ben

I’m snapping the last latch on the travel chest when her scent hits me.

Ginger and nutmeg.

My wolf surges forward like he’s been starved, a low rumble rolling through my chest before I can stop it.

Mate.

The word is a pulse of heat in my skull, ancient and demanding. I turn just as Tessa steps into the room, a Firestone curl escaping her braid, cheeks flushed with motion and purpose.

I don’t give her time to speak.

I cross the room in three strides and pull her into my arms. She laughs softly, the sound cut off as my mouth claims hers.

The kiss isn’t gentle.

It’s...