Chapter Sixty-Seven: Heat of the Protector
Chapter Sixty-Seven: Heat of the Protector
The camp still smelled of blood.
The healer’s tents had been scrubbed, the torn canvas patched, but the metallic tang lingered as if the soil itself refused to release it. Faith walked through the yard barefoot, her toes sinking into damp earth, her wolf uneasy beneath her skin. Every step was heavy with memory — the flash of claws, the shriek of surprise, the gush of warm crimson as she’d struck back with killing intent.
She had taken a life.
Her stomach twisted, but not with regret. She had acted to protect herself, and more importantly, the life now stirring inside her womb. That realization sat in her chest like a burning coal — bright, heavy, and unrelenting.
Behind her, the crunch of boots in gravel. David’s scent rolled over her before his voice.
“You shouldn’t be walking alone.”
Faith turned. He was a shadow against the lantern glow, tall, broad, eyes sharp and predatory. He hadn’t been himself since the attack. His hand always hovered near her, even when he forced space. His gaze flicked constantly to the treeline, as if every branch concealed an enemy. And when his eyes finally landed on her, it was with a hunger that tangled protection with something darker.
“I needed air,” Faith said, though her voice wavered at the way he was looking at her.
“Air,” David repeated, his jaw tightening. “You almost lost it in there.” He stalked closer, the ground seeming to bend beneath his weight. “Do you understand what that would have done to me Faith?”
Faith lifted her chin. “I understand I’m not glass, David. You can’t cage me.”
He stopped a breath away, the heat of his body reaching hers. His chest rose and fell, rough and uneven. “Glass? No. You’re fire.” His hand slid around her throat —not squeezing, but claiming. “But fire burns out if it’s not shielded from the storm.”
His words vibrated through her bones.
Her wolf stirred, pressing against her skin, answering his possessive touch with a thrum of desire. She hated how much of her body responded to his dominance, even when her mind told her to push back. But perhaps hate wasn’t the word. Fear, maybe. Fear of how completely she was his.
Faith swallowed hard. “And what happens when the storm breaks the shield? Do you smother me to keep me safe?”
David’s eyes darkened. His thumb brushed the hollow of her throat, a caress at odds with the tension in his jaw. “If that’s what it takes to keep you breathing, then yes. I’ll smother you, cage you, chain you —whatever it takes. Do not ask me to choose between your freedom and your life.”
The intensity of his vow cut through her anger. She saw it in his eyes — the battle tearing him apart. Alpha. Brother. Mate. Protector. Each role demanded something different, but only one mattered now: the one bound to her.
She pressed her palm against his chest, feeling the steady hammer of his heart. “I don’t want to fight you.”
“Then stop fighting me,” he growled.
His mouth crashed down on hers. It was not gentle. It was claiming, punishing, desperate. Faith gasped against him, the kiss stealing the air she’d sought in the first place. His arms caged her against his body, one hand gripping the back of her neck, the other dragging down her spine. Every nerve in her body lit with heat.
Her protest dissolved.
Because beneath the feral protectiveness, she felt the tremor of something else — fear. David was terrified. He’d watched her bleed, smelled death on her skin. The great Alpha, breaker of enemies, was undone by the thought of losing her.
When his lips broke from hers, his forehead pressed against hers, breath ragged. “I can’t lose you, Faith. Not now, not ever.Not when you carry what’s ours.”
Her pulse fluttered. She cupped his jaw, tracing the scar with her thumb. “You won’t lose me. But if you wrap me so tight I can’t move, I’ll lose myself.”
His eyes softened, but only slightly. He kissed her again, slower this time, a vow and a surrender tangled together. The bond between them pulsed, hot and demanding, the Blood Moon’s echo still in the sky above.
When he pulled her into their chambers, Faith didn’t resist.
The firelight painted his body in bronze and shadow as he stripped away his shirt, his muscles taut with restrained power. Faith’s breath caught — not because she hadn’t seen him before, but because she had never seen him this undone, this desperate.
He lifted her easily, setting her on the furs. His touch was everywhere — too much and not enough as if by covering every inch of her, he could erase the memory of claws and blood.
Faith arched beneath him, her wolf howling in her chest. She wanted to push him away and pull him closer all at once. Wanted to scream at him for caging her and beg him never to let go.
David’s mouth traced down her throat, his teeth scraping possessively against her pulse. “Mine,” he murmured, the word vibrating into her skin. “Mine to guard. Mine to protect. Mine to love.”
Faith’s fingers tangled in his hair. “And yours to fight beside,” she whispered fiercely. “Don’t forget that.”
His growl was half frustration, half arousal, but his grip softened just enough for her to feel it — the choice he was making, to let her speak, to let her be.
The night burned with them. Not gentle, not slow — a storm of claws and kisses, of desperate need and primal love. Every thrust, every gasp, every growl was a battle cry of its own: we are alive, we are together, we will not be broken.
When it was over, Faith lay against his chest, their heartbeats tangled, the bond humming louder than the rain outside.
David’s arm wrapped around her, locking her in place, but his voice was softer than she had ever heard it. “Sleep. I’ll keep watch.”
Her eyelids grew heavy, but her wolf stirred restlessly. Somewhere beyond the walls, the forest whispered with unseen movement. Divine was not idle.
Faith buried her face against David’s skin, breathing him in. For now, in this moment, she let herself believe him. Let herself rest in the heat of her protector.
But in the back of her mind, a thought gnawed: storms never pass without breaking something.