Kiss of Snow

“A little farther,” he said when they reached a stand of conifers intertwined with a delicate dark green vine.

Picking up a small pinecone off the forest floor, Sienna rubbed her thumb over the rough edges. “Are you doing anything tomorrow night?”

He caught the nervous bite in her scent, caught, too, the determination. His gut clenched. “Sienna.” Hurting her was the last thing he wanted to do, but he wouldn’t lead her on. “I have plans.”

Cardinal eyes slammed into his. “Rosalie?” A single frigid word.

His wolf peeled back its lips. “She’s an adult wolf, who happens to be a friend.”

“As opposed to an immature girl you can’t stand.” A challenge, the gauntlet thrown.

He picked it up. “I need something she can give me.” Rosalie was wolf enough to accept and offer the physical intimacy his own wolf craved without expecting a depth of commitment he simply couldn’t give . . . and much as he valued her friendship, Rosalie didn’t tempt him to brand her with his claim, even knowing it would destroy her in the end.





THE pinecone dug into Sienna’s palm, but she hardly felt it against the pain of the body blow Hawke had just delivered. Why had she asked the question when she’d known the answer? It was nothing a Psy—a true Psy—would’ve ever done. But when it came to this man, she had as little control as the child he called her. “Is it enough?” she asked with a fury that sought to draw blood. “Just the physical act.”

“Don’t try and bring it down to that.” Cold, cold words. “You’ve been in the den long enough to know we don’t use each other.”

No, they didn’t. That made it so much harder to bear. With wolves, sexual contact was warm and joyful and treasured. Rosalie would lie with Hawke with a packmate’s genuine affection, luxuriating in having a partner who could ease her own physical needs so very well—because while Sienna might be inexperienced, she understood that Hawke would never leave a woman unsatisfied. He was too much the dominant male to accept anything but total erotic surrender in bed.

And when he and Rosalie parted, whether it was after a day or after a month, it would be with smiles and laughter. She’d seen the same with other members of the pack, knew that several of her friends were involved in affectionate, sensual relationships that wouldn’t be permanent—but would be respected and cherished.

“I’m sorry,” she forced herself to say, nausea curdling her stomach. “That was uncalled for.” Chest so tight it ached, she said, “Is this the way to the den?” glad that her voice came out calm, betraying none of the hurt that had her curling into a fetal ball inside her mind. Because it didn’t matter how much time alone she had with him if she had to spend her nights knowing those strong hands were stroking over another woman’s skin, another woman’s breasts.

“No”—his voice a slow caress, an unintended taunt—“it’s a small detour.”

“I’d like to go back.” At that moment, the last thing she wanted was to be here, with him, not when she could almost hate him for what he was able to do to her.

“Throwing a tantrum, Sienna?” Ruthless words, that caressing tone suddenly a blade. “I thought you’d retired the spoiled brat act.”

How would you feel if the woman you wanted beyond all others planned to take another man into her bed? She didn’t yell the words, holding on to her tattered pride. Enough. Just . . . enough. Some things, a woman could not accept and live with herself. “Why are we here?” she asked in a voice touched with ice. “Why are we walking under the stars, late at night?”

Wolf-pale eyes gleaming at her in the dark, the gaze of a man used to getting exactly what he wanted. “We’re packmates. It’s a beautiful night. Simple as that.”

“Bullshit.” A harsh renunciation that scraped her throat raw. “You’re giving me just enough to make sure I can’t forget you and not enough to go against your all-important principles. Well, fuck you.” Quiet, quiet words, because she would not scream and yell, would not allow him to see her break. “I don’t want the crumbs from your table.” Turning on her heel, she started heading through the trees in the direction she thought would lead home.

“Sienna.”

She could not, would not, stop. If she did, he’d see the tears burning at the backs of her eyes, see what he did to her, and her humiliation would be complete.

“Stop right now.”

The words were right against her ear, the wolf having moved with preternatural speed. It was too much. She snapped.