Riven buried his nose against that pulse point, lips brushing the skin as he inhaled deeply, grounding himself in the scent that had become his anchor. It was earthy. Strong. And underneath that? Something more elusive—warmth. A sweetness he hadn't expected.
He thought it would taste like the scent: strong and bracing.
But it didn't.
Metaphorically, of course, it tasted like something soft. Like the first breath of spring after a long winter. Like honey that lingered just a second longer on the tongue. A taste that made him tremble and exhale softly against Ronan's neck, shuddering with the effort it took to hold back.
He was getting too worked up. He remembered when Ronan had marked him. If he felt everything that he was feeling right now, it would be a miracle that Ronan did not lose control. The effect a mate's scent could have on a wolf was insane.
