for air. He slid his hands down her arms, feeling the shape of her limbs through her lightweight jacket. She sighed, then inhaled, her breasts pressing firmer against his chest, against the chain he wore. He smiled as her legs widened, and he rolled his hips against hers. Her hands dropped to his shoulders, then delved into his hair, her short nails scoring in a delicious, sensual massage against his scalp. He was as hard as granite, utterly consumed by the need to have this woman.
He trailed his hands down to cup her breasts, and she moaned, flexing her hips against his in response. His need to have her grew. He molded the soft flesh in his hands, taking his time to learn their weight, their shape, her nipples pressing into his palms like hard little studs. He was about to combust. She dragged her nails down his back, and he shuddered in ecstasy.
“Trinity.” That’s what the boy had called her. Trinity. He tasted the name on his lips. He liked it. He rubbed his erection against her, trying to alleviate the pressure, the ache, but her heat increased, as did his need for her. She stiffened beneath him.
“God, what am I doing?” she rasped.
“Getting to know me,” he said as he nuzzled her neck.
“No.”
“Are you sure? It damn well feels like it. Your hands are in my pants.”
Her hands clenched, her nails digging into his buttocks where they’d slid beneath the band of his trousers. Then she pulled them out as though they were burning. “Holy smoke,” she whispered.
He groaned. He was burning. A molten mess of burning need. For her. For Trinity. He couldn’t remember ever feeling this intense desire, this consuming drive to become part of another lycan. Not even with Cara.
He rose to his feet, grasping the tracker and dragging her up to stand. He held her close, peering into her eyes. They weren’t cold and steely anymore; they were dark and turbulent, full of stunned dismay and smoking-hot desire. His eyes narrowed. She’d made him burn, damn it.
Nobody made him burn. He took pride in his self-control, in his self-imposed punishment, and all it took was one tackle with this she-wolf and he was ready to forget everything, forget his plans, forget Jared, forget the rest of the pack that looked to him to avenge their alpha prime’s death. All for a roll with the enemy.
He nudged her in the direction Zane had taken with the boy. “Let’s go.”
* * *
Trin resisted, turning back to face him again. She stared at the muscled figure for a moment, her body humming. Holy smoke, indeed. Like his friend, this lycan wore only a pair of low-riding camouflage pants, the button undone, revealing a tantalizing patch of golden skin before the fabric covered a noticeable bulge that seemed to match in scale the rest of him. She’d thought the other lycan was big. Good grief. This lycan towered over her, his shoulders so broad and thickly roped with muscle. Smudges of dirt and blood covered him, his short white-blond hair a stark contrast against the tanned skin and dirt. His eyes, staring back at her so solemnly, were a beautiful green.
He was beautiful. She should have been grossed out by the gore and filth, but there was something so magnetic, so charismatic, that all she could see were those beautiful green eyes, that stunning chest. He wore a gold chain around his neck, a ring resting in the dip between his chest muscles. Perspiration slicked his skin, turning his pectoral muscles and deeply-ridged six-pack into a shiny playground begging for a woman’s fingers. Her fingers. Her gaze dipped. He had an old scar that slashed across his abdomen, yet it only added to the sexy, dangerous air about him. He was muscled and toned everywhere, no spare fat. She sucked in her breath. She’d seen some good-looking lycans, but she’d never had such a bone-deep, compelling reaction to anyone before. At least, not in her pack.
But he was Alpine, and he was here, in Woodland territory. She wasn’t quite sure of the details, but she wasn’t stupid. That howl to war had everything to do with the man in front of her. She released her breath, letting it out slowly, grabbing on to some measure of calm.
“Who are you?” She took a step back, trying to put some distance, some perspective, between them. Good grief, he was Alpine. She should be howling to the skies, calling her pack—not that any would be racing to rescue her, with her current standing within the group, but still, she should be raising an alarm, and doing her utmost to fight him. Although, he was such a massive unit, and she was just a tracker; she didn’t like the odds of facing him down. Jax. She had to get back to Jax, get him to the safety of their den, such as it was with Rafe in charge.
“Matthias Marshall,” he said, inclining his head.
Cold crept over her shoulders, despite the jacket and the heat generated from their physical tussle.
“You’re Alpine’s guardian prime,” she said, eyeing the woods. Of all the damn lycans to run into, this one had to be the worst. The calm she’d so carefully manufactured now fled. She knew of his reputation—hell, all of Woodland had been talking of nothing else since that communication came through yesterday. He’d sworn vengeance against Woodland Pack for their part in the murder of his alpha prime, Jared Gray. He’d successfully applied to enforce tribal law against Woodland, and so far he’d made their lives difficult. Uncomfortable. Borderline hell. She swallowed. And now he stood before her, all six feet three inches of vengeful, ruthless, sexy—no, damn it—relentless and pumped-up guardian.
“And you’re the infamous Woodland tracker,” he commented, folding his arms.
She swallowed again. He knew who she was. She didn’t really want him to know who she was. She lived a largely anonymous life within her pack, had gotten used to being ignored. He wasn’t ignoring her, though. He tilted his head to the side, eyeing her closely.
“I’m surprised they let you out unguarded,” he murmured.
She frowned. “Why wouldn’t they? I’m a tracker.” Her position within the pack implied a certain level of competency with looking after herself. Of course, when faced with this hulking guardian prime, she wasn’t sure if even Woodland’s first-tier guardians could match him. “Besides, we’re not expecting Alpine to trespass,” she said pointedly as she folded her arms, mimicking his stance. “You and your men need to leave.” With the current tensions between the packs, their presence would start a fight that would quickly escalate, considering her alpha prime’s easy-to-fire temper.
She lifted her chin. “It’s not safe for you here. Let the boy go, leave the area and I’ll allow you the opportunity to retreat.” Rafe would probably have her hide for letting them go, but her goal was to protect the rest of the pack. Having these lycans in Woodland territory—especially this guardian prime—would result in a fight, perhaps even a war, and she didn’t want her pack hurt. Judging by the size of this lycan, there would be many casualties.
Matthias arched an eyebrow. “You’ll allow me the opportunity to retreat?” His breathless chuckle was incredulous, then he stopped laughing. He unfolded his arms and strode toward her, stalking her as she tried to back away. She halted when her back bumped into a tree. “I’m not trespassing,” he grated as he came up close to her, bracing his hands against the trunk, enclosing her in a confined space within his arms. His broad chest pressed against hers, trapping her against the tree. This lycan had no concept of personal space. She lifted her gaze from the muscled shoulders, the defined biceps that cut off any avenue of escape. She took a deep breath, and was surprised by how pleasing his scent was, all mossy and pine, with a hint of something deeper, a musk that was all enticingly male. His expression was harsh as he glared down at her.
“My men and I came here under parley,”
