Chapter 287 The One Losing Control

    Third Person POV

    Aubrey’s head snapped up. “I refuse!”

    But Henry’s resolve was iron. He extended his hand, his meaning unmistakable. “This isn’t a request, Aubrey. We’re going.”

    She didn’t scream or il. She simply stared at his hand, her voice t as still water. “You’re sure you want to do this?”

    “Absolutely.” His answer was sharp, unwavering. “Running won’t solve anything. You have to face it.” That was his creed–where you fall, you rise again. What she feared, she must confront.

    In the next instant, his body swelled, bones cracking in rapid session. In the space of a breath, a towering wolf stood where he had been–a beast cloaked in silver–gray fur, eyes burning with violet light.

    The massive wolf lowered its head, hot breath ghosting across Aubrey’s face, a force of raw wilderness radiating from him. Then his broad, muscled shoulders nudged her gently but firmly. His message was clear: she could climb on herself–or be carried.

    Aubrey drew in the faintest breath. Slowly, stiffly, as if part of some grim rite, she reached for the dense fur at his neck and hauled herself onto his back.

    The wolf felt her settle and wasted no time. His paws struck the ground, and he shot forward like a streak of lightning, silent and unstoppable, leaving Charles’s voice and any chance of interference far behind.

    Wind howled at her ears.

    Aubrey leaned into the thick fur, fingers buried deep. Her face remained nk, though inside, E’s voice whispered softly. iOur /iimate /iis iright/ii. /iiIf /iiyou /iidon’t /iiface /iiit/ii, /iiif /iiyou /iikeep /iiburying /iiit /iiall/i, ione /iiday /iiit’ll /iicrush /iiyou/i.

    Aubrey pressed her lips together, answering nothing.

    Henry ran hard and fast. Within forty minutes, the old Miguel family estate loomed before them, the research institute standing tall, its walls steeped in shadow.

    He shifted back to human form. Side by side, they stood before the gates. From within drifted the faint, familiar sting of rosemary.

    Aubrey’s voice was quiet but sharp. “Tell me. If I go in again and lose my mind, will you still force me?”

    Silence. Long, heavy silence.

    Then Henry’s reply, sudden and firm. “I will.”

    The words startled her, but his tone held no doubt. “Because you won’t break. You’re stronger than that. You –“his violet eyes darkened, “you’re the one who drives ime /iinsane. How could dead walls defeat you?”

    Aubrey faltered, breath catching–then Henry crushed her words with his mouth.

    This time he didn’t hold back. He kissed her with bruising force, arms locking her tight, pouring days of desperation into it. He had wanted this in Charles’s apartment, had burned for it every second she was gone.

    Aubrey fought him. She pushed, she kicked. He pinned her legs. She shoved at his chest. He trapped her

    wrists above her head. Desperate, she bit but he seized her jaw, holding her open, forcing her to endure his kiss until she drowned in his storm.

    It was anger and hunger, violence and longing tangled together. A kiss that was half punishment, half plea- like it might be thest before the world ended.

    When it broke, Henry drew back, his breath ragged. His beautiful face was etched with bitterness, his lips twisted in self–mockery,

    “Do you feel it?” He pressed a hand to his chest. “I’m the one losing my mind.”