“Why are you taking your clothes off?”
The Wicked Wolf had placed me down on the soft grass somewhere deep in the woods, far beyond Hugo’s borders, and I was left staring at him, lips parted and my heart beating like it wanted to jump out of my chest.
He didn’t answer my gasp of a question, continuing to shrug off his clothes and unbuttoning his shirt with quick lithe fingers until I was looking at a muscular, ridged chest that glistened in the moonlight. It is dark where we are, shadows dancing all around us, but it’s as if the moon itself wanted to shine down on him, revealing the body of a man built like no other.
My throat constricts, unable to look away.
This man is a work of art, his body carefully carved from years of hard work and training and battle. There was nothing gent
