Chapter 7

Third-Person POV

Draven staggered from her chamber, his chest heaving. The corridor walls seemed to close in around him.

Fuck. What had he done? Kissing Maeve—claiming her like some feral beast—then fleeing like a coward. His fingers trembled as they raked through his hair. The image of Luther’s hands on her flashed again, igniting fresh rage even as shame flooded his system. He wanted to tear the man apart and protect her from himself in the same breath.

“She’s not yours,” he whispered, even as Ryker howled in protest within him. “She can’t be.”

His chamber door slammed behind him, and he tore the silken shirt from his body, the fabric ripping at the seams. Heat crawled across his skin, but beneath it, ice crystallized in his veins. He pressed his forehead against the cold stone wall, trapped between the inferno of desire and the frozen wasteland of duty.

His body burned where she’d touched him, each point of contact branded into his flesh like