Tangled in Moonlight: Unshifted novel Chapter 479

Chapter 479: Ava: Against the Door (II)

My whole body’s strung tight, tension curling deep with every grind of his hips, every touch of his fingers.

But it doesn’t change what I feel.

Even breathless and desperate for more, I can’t give him what he’s asking for.

"I can’t," I whisper, the words pulled out of me over the top of soft moans. "I won’t."

He doesn’t stop, but he shifts. Slows. Half-control, half-warning.

"You think I don’t understand?" His voice drops low. "You think I don’t know what it’s like to carry that weight? To want to protect what’s yours, even if it means bleeding for it?"

I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to focus—on his words, not the ache building in my core, and the desperate need to grind against him. "Then you should understand why I have to go."

"What I understand," he says, punctuating each word with a deep, deliberate thrust, "is that you’re my mate. My priority. My fucking heart walking around outside my chest."

God. Every word he speaks cuts sharper than his teeth ever could.

The bond between us tugs hard—tight enough it feels like it might snap. Not just lust. Not dominance. Just... love, so big it makes my ribs hurt.

"And you’re mine," I breathe. "Which is why I can’t just stand here while you walk into danger."

His grip tightens around my wrists for a second—then releases. I catch myself with a hand against the door, breath shallow, legs shaking. The second he let go, my core muscles gave up the fight, and so did my thighs.

Are thighs part of your core?

Note to self: Train more. Stamina for long walks through deep snow isn’t the same as holding myself up during moments like this.

He steadies me. His big hands are firm on my hips, anchoring me as he pulls out slow and deliberate, the sudden emptiness making me whimper.

"Lucas—"

He doesn’t answer. Just turns me, lifting me like I weigh nothing and pinning me back against the door. His gaze crashes into mine, gold and furious and full of everything he’s still trying to say.

Damn it, he’s getting to me.

"Look at me," he says. It’s a command, but I’m already looking.

I see it all.

The fear under his fury. The way he’s breaking in quiet pieces I can’t always see. How hard it is for him to love me like this—knowing it means he could lose everything.

"The night you were bleeding out, the night I rescued you," he says, voice scraped down and weary, "I thought I’d already lost you."

"I remember," I whisper. My throat burns. I reach up and trace the edge of his jaw, rough beneath my fingers. He hasn’t shaved today. "I know."

I’ll never forget how beautiful the moon was that night.

He leans in, resting his forehead against mine. His breath is ragged.

"I can’t go through that again, Ava. I can’t fucking do it. I’d burn this place down. I’d raze the whole world just to stop that from happening again."

This isn’t about pride. It never was.

"But I can help," I say softly, but firm. "I’m not some fragile girl hoping she makes it out alive anymore. I’ve trained. I’ve learned. I’m ready."

His hands slide lower, grip tightening under my thighs as he lifts me again. "No," he agrees, lining us up. "You’re not fragile anymore."

He sinks back inside me—slow, measured, deep—and my head falls back with a gasp. The angle this way is brutal. Intimate. Every inch of him hits just right. My skin tingles. Shivers.

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