Swiftcurrent Creek new york times bestseller

His nose burrowed into the velvet black of her fur—her subtle sway of her hips as she coaxed him further was proving to be his undoing, and as his teeth nibbled along her hip, Constantine was about to urge her away from his borders and somewhere secluded—when the sound of surprise stirred his gaze up sharply, falling upon his son, who was very blatantly studying them.

He groaned gently, something likely only the woman he was minutes from taking for his own could hear, and he pressed his face into her haunch, exhaling sharply and allowing his mind to come back from his temptation. “Fuuuuck,” he quietly hissed, and then the raven tilted her head back and promised him another time. Blueballed by his own son.

She slipped away, and the wraith didn’t even dare look after her with the longing and frustration he felt at being refused his release and escape. Clearing his throat, the man ambled toward his son, his eyes drifting down to study the tawny boy. “Son,” he greeted, forcing nonchalance into his tone, his mind whirling at how to cover this to avoid driving his family further apart. His eyes drifted to where the mysterious woman had disappeared. “Lone wolf. She had a thorn in her hip and needed help.”

It was a sorry excuse—but it was the best he came up with in the short time he had to allude guilt, even as it now weighed heavily on his shoulders. “C’mon. Let’s go track one of the herds.”