Cilian's hand didn't just stay on Ren's waist; it moved, his palm flattening against the center of Ren's stomach, pressing just enough to feel the tension there.
"Dizzy," Cilian repeated, the word sounding like a delicious secret. "Nauseous. Irritable. One might say you're showing symptoms of a very successful 'union,' darling. Or is it just that your body is already begging for me again? I can smell the change in you, Ren. It's sweet. Cloying. Like the flowers are blooming early this year."
Ren's breath hitched. He knew exactly what Cilian was implying—the scent of an approaching heat. It was a biological flare, a signal to the Alpha that the nest was ready.
If this heat hits now, while we're on this island, there would be no escape for me.
"It's just the heat from the weather," Ren lied, his voice sharp with desperation. "The sun is too hot. I haven't eaten enough. It's not… It's not what you think."
