Chapter 8

8

JONAH

J onah stepped carefully through the darkened forest, his boots crunching softly against the frost-covered ground. The cold bit at his exposed skin, but he didn’t mind. He was used to this—long nights alone, moving silently through the wilderness with only his instincts for company. The solitude gave him clarity, something he desperately needed now.

The cabin was a temporary refuge, but he knew better than to let his guard down. Their pursuers were skilled, probably armed, and Jonah couldn’t afford to assume they wouldn’t pick up his and Phoebe’s trail again. He paused at the edge of the clearing, crouching low as he scanned the terrain. The faint scent of smoke from the cabin’s chimney lingered in the air, but otherwise, the forest was still.

Too still.

Jonah’s eyes swept the perimeter once more, his muscles coiled tight. For a fleeting moment, he considered shifting. His snow leopard form was faster, stronger, and far better equipped for the cold. But the risk was too great. Phoebe was sharp—she’d notice if he disappeared too long or returned with signs of something not quite normal. And if their hunters caught even a glimpse of his true nature, it would be over.

He exhaled sharply, forcing the thought aside. Shifting wasn’t an option, not here. Not now.

Satisfied the area was secure for the moment, Jonah turned back toward the cabin. The wind picked up as he walked, seeping through his coat and chilling him to the bone. By the time he stepped inside, closing the door quietly behind him, his hands were stiff, and his breath came in visible puffs of air.

Phoebe stirred at the sound, sitting up slightly in the bed. Her eyes were shadowed but bright in the firelight and followed him as he shrugged off his coat and hung it near the stove. Beneath it, his flannel shirt was damp from exertion, and he peeled it off with a faint grunt, draping it over the same chair.

“You’re freezing,” Phoebe said, her voice husky with sleep.

Jonah turned to the fire, his bare chest catching the warmth as he rubbed his hands together. “It’s cold out there.”

“No kidding,” she murmured, pulling the blankets tighter around her shoulders. “Anything out there?”

“Quiet,” he replied, his tone clipped. “Too quiet, maybe.”

Phoebe didn’t respond, but Jonah could feel her looking at him, a tangible weight that sent a flicker of heat racing down his spine. He remained facing the fire, willing himself to focus on the glow of the embers and not the woman behind him. But her presence was magnetic, impossible to ignore.

He turned to warm his back, his sharp gaze meeting hers. She was sitting upright now, the blanket pooled around her waist. At some point she had removed her bra. He glanced toward the fireplace where it, her flight suit and her parka were hung. The snow leopard inside him growled when it spotted her panties as well and he scented her arousal. Her hair was tousled, her expression soft but intent, and the firelight cast a golden glow across her sun-kissed skin.

Jonah’s breath hitched as Phoebe lifted the edge of the blanket, her eyes locking onto his with a quiet, unmistakable invitation.

“Phoebe,” he said, his voice low, strained.

“Don’t,” she whispered, her voice carrying an edge of vulnerability that made his chest tighten. “Don’t overthink it. Just come here. You need to get out of those wet clothes.”

Jonah’s hands clenched at his sides, his instincts warring with reason. Every muscle in his body roared for him to close the distance, to take what she was offering—take what was his. But the part of him that had lived in solitude, that had spent years avoiding connection, held him back.

“This isn’t the time,” he said finally, though his voice lacked conviction.

“Maybe it’s exactly the time,” Phoebe countered, her gaze unwavering. “We don’t know what’s coming next. Can’t we just—” She hesitated, her voice softening. “Can’t we just stop fighting?”

Jonah took a step closer, his pulse pounding as the tension in the room thickened. “You don’t know what you’re asking for,” he said, his voice rough.

Phoebe’s lips curved into a faint, bittersweet smile. “Maybe not. But I know I’m tired of being alone.”

Her words struck a chord he hadn’t realized was there, and Jonah’s restraint snapped like a taut wire. He crossed the room in two long strides, the fire casting flickering shadows across his bare chest as he loomed over her.

“You have no idea what you’re doing to me,” he growled, his voice low and raw.

“Then show me,” Phoebe whispered, her breath hitching as she tilted her head back to meet his gaze.

Jonah’s hand cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing over her skin as he leaned down, his body thrumming with a need that eclipsed everything else. For the first time in years, the fear, the danger, the constant fight for survival—all of it faded into the background.

There was only her.

He stared at her. This was not going to happen. He shook his head.

“Don’t be stupid, Jonah. You need to warm up.”

She had a point, and she was right. Sure, she was. And just because I get into that nice warm bed with my fated mate does not mean we’re going to end up having sex. Sure, it doesn’t. We’re in this isolated cabin, with dangerous people tracking us. This is possibly the worst time to have sex with Phoebe. That is logical. The only problem is neither my throbbing cock nor my inner snow leopard is feeling a need for logic. The need to have sex with Phoebe is far more compelling, not to mention far more preferable.

The wind howled outside, and their survival was not guaranteed. Yet in this moment, the storm inside him demanded to be heard above all else.

“Damn you, Phoebe,” he muttered, though the heat in his voice had turned from its usual surliness to something more dangerous. He peeled his clothes away as if they were nothing more than tissue paper, revealing skin that tingled wherever air touched it.

“Let’s focus on survival, shall we?” His voice was low and steady, but he could feel the thrum of his pulse as he joined her in bed.

Phoebe laid back, trailing her fingers down his chest. As she parted her legs, she was the very essence of temptation, and Jonah knew he was no saint.

Phoebe’s hand reached up, drawing her finger down the center of his torso. Jonah grasped her hand, bringing it up before she could get much lower than his waist. From the very first touch, the way she did so made his skin sing in a way that evoked a pleasure so sharp that it felt like it pierced straight through to his soul.

His fingers, calloused and unyielding, danced across her flesh, pinching her pebbled nipples into sharp points, making her gasp in the small space between their mouths.

“That’s it, kitten, show me how you purr,” he rumbled at her, watching the way she shivered at the sound of his voice, his breath caressing the hollow of her throat as his mouth followed the path his fingers had blazed. His lips wrapped around one of her nipples and sucked it between them, suckling with a strong rhythm as his hand snaked its way down her naked body. Each touch—either with lips or fingers—was like a stroke of velvet against her heated skin, making her tremble.

He tried to fight it, the pull of her, the way his body responded, but it was like trying to stop the rising storm outside with his bare hands. Every touch was a spark, every sigh a promise of something darker, something deeper. In the safety of the cabin, with the fury of the storm as their soundtrack, Phoebe and Jonah danced on the edge of something Phoebe had no ability to comprehend.

But right then, with his hands charting a map of arousal throughout her body, none of it mattered. He had come alive in a way he hadn’t been in… well, forever. It was raw, it was primal, it was terrifying, and it was completely addictive.

“Jonah,” she breathed out, a plea and a surrender all rolled into one.

Jonah knew better than to let her finish so quickly, so easily. He silenced her with a kiss that spoke of things yet to come, of storms to be weathered together, and of the battle he knew they would have to fight. And for a brief, stolen moment, hunger and cold were forgotten, fear was pushed aside, and the only thing that existed was the two of them, lost within the eye of their own personal storm.

The wind and snow outside howled, but its ferocity paled in comparison to the tempest Jonah unleashed within her. His fingers were deft, dancing their way over her skin with an intimacy that suggested not just a vague familiarity but possession. They continued down her body, to that hot place between her legs. His fingers found her most sensitive spot, started to rotate in a way that no man should ever be allowed to do but she couldn’t seem to stop herself from enjoying it anyway—she didn’t seem to want to.

“Jonah,” she gasped, her voice hitching as his fingers worked their wicked magic. The rough pads of his fingertips drove her higher.

“Come for me, kitten. I want to feel you surrender to me.” Jonah whispered, his fingers speeding up their pace as her breath hitched in her throat. Her hips undulated beneath his fingers, unstoppable, begging for more as he coaxed more and more pleasure from her.

A surge of electricity cascaded through his veins, and Jonah growled, unashamed as the pleasure tried to steal his every thought. But he held back, pushing her onward. In that moment of release, when her body shuddered and her mind seemed to blank, he wondered if she resented him for knowing exactly how to make her unravel, and if she might begin to love him for that knowledge.

She was still riding the wave when he placed the broad head of his cock at the opening to her center and he began to push inside. There was no gentle preamble, no whispered warnings, just the raw, undeniable truth of him filling her completely—taking his prize.

He wielded his body with precision and unapologetic passion. His thick, long length stretched her, sending ripples of heat to every corner of her being. Dripping for him, she tightened around him, her nails drawing lines of fire across his back.

“Jonah,” she cried through clenched teeth, even as her hips arched to meet his every thrust. The tangle of emotions was relentless.

Jonah felt a mix of resentment, need, and a frightening depth of desire he didn’t want to name. With each movement, he staked his claim, leaving her breathless, wanting, and utterly confused by the intensity of it. All he knew was that the dizziness and disorientation he had been staving off since he’d found her began to ebb.

As the cabin creaked and groaned against the storm’s assault, so too did the barriers between them strain under the weight of their frenzied union. The world beyond their sheltered enclave ceased to exist, the danger lurking outside, the gnawing hunger, the uncertainty of their future, all faded into insignificance. In that time and space, with him moving within her, every whisper of friction and slide of skin tasted of a forbidden and fated sort of freedom. And he feared, more than anything else, that he might grow to crave the maelstrom of emotion she brought to him.

The storm outside could have torn the world apart for all Jonah cared. In that moment, as her hips moved against his with a rhythm that spoke of dark, primal things, nothing else mattered. He watched her, in awe, as he swiveled his hips, rotating them into her, stroking every inch of her deep inside with those calculated twists of his hips. He wasn’t hammering into her; he was crafting each thrust like an artist, painting strokes of pleasure. As he moved between her thighs, Phoebe fell back, her breath coming in short gasps.

“Look at me, Phoebe,” he growled, his voice thick with arousal and need.

She opened her eyes just in time to see him lean over, the fierceness in his gaze making her shiver. His mouth was on her then, teasing her nipples to peaks, drawing out a soft moan that sounded more like surrender than anything else. The way he pinched them, just shy of too much, sent jolts straight to where they were joined. And when his tongue flicked out, circling the sensitive tips, she was lost.

“Jonah…” was all she could manage, but it was enough.

Enough to feel the power shift, to know he was conqueror, and she was supplicant. Her pussy clenched around him in a way he’d never felt before.

Whatever danger might be waiting outside stopped mattering because inside that old cabin, the world had shrunk to just the two of them. There were no men hunting them, no secret flight computer to get to its rightful owner and no need to find out who was behind it all and whether or not it was connected to his father’s death. Her body still trembled from the aftershocks as Jonah hovered above her, his rhythm slow, steady and strong, his breath ragged.

“Damn, Phoebe,” he murmured, letting her hear the pleasure in his voice, feel it against the sweat-slick skin of her collarbone. He was waiting, holding back for her, letting her coast back to reality as the pleasure began to ebb.

Her eyes fluttered open, meeting his dark gaze. They were like twin storms themselves, tempestuous, but now there was something else, something more. A quiet intensity that made his heart thump harder. With a slow exhale, she let her legs fall from around his waist, signaling she was ready for him to find his own release.

Jonah closed his eyes, a crease forming between his brows as if he were savoring a fine wine, not just the clutch of her body around his. His lips moved silently, words lost, but their meaning clear. It was incredible. They were incredible. And then, with a tension that coiled and snapped like a live wire, he began pounding into her with a relentless, brutal passion before giving her a final, deep, hard thrust, before he shook in her arms, his pleasure loud in the silent room, raw and unguarded.

It was the sound of a man undone, and it seemed to spark something within her, a flicker of passion reignited, a longing to feel this again, with him.

As the storm raged on, Jonah’s shudders subsided, and he collapsed into Phoebe’s embrace, his head resting against her chest. Slowly, Jonah pushed himself up on shaky arms, his eyes meeting hers with a smile.

He rolled from her before crossing to the fireplace to stoke the fire and then to the woodstove to do the same. He watched her as he returned to the bed. Jonah turned to survey the cabin, the windows rattling in their frames, and the shadows cast by the fire writhing across the walls. They were in the eye of the storm.