Staggering forward, she wiped at the sweat and grime that matted her face, her fingers trembling as she fought against the rising tide of fear. She bit her lip, trying to contain the small moan that escaped her. I want to feel you!” she cried, her voice a desperate plea, urging him toward the precipice with her. Her hands fumbled at the wall behind her, desperate for an anchor as her senses spun, completely overwhelmed by the force of his attention. She could hardly process the sensations. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end, every nerve in her body alive with fear. Then, the door creaked open. Elara’s world narrowed to the rhythmic pulse of the werewolf’s thrusts, each one more urgent and frenzied than the last. Finally, she spotted a book resting on the dais—a thick tome bound in worn leather, its cover embossed with faded symbols. Every nerve was alive with the sensation, and she could feel herself surrendering. But as she gazed at it, a strange heat unfurled within her. She leaned against it, trying to steady her breaths, but every nerve in her body was alive, buzzing with the awareness that she was still hunted, still hunted.
