Her fingers didn’t find rough bark. They didn’t find a vine. Instead, her palm pressed against something else. Something warm. Something firm. Something covered in coarse, thick fur.
Time stopped. The texture registered in her brain a split second before the realization did. It wasn’t a tree. It was a living, breathing chest. The heat radiating from it was immense.
[readalso]
The silverback froze. A human had touched him. In the wild, touch is a language of dominance or affection, and he hadn’t invited either. His muscles coiled tight under his skin, ready to react.
[readalso]
Tiara’s blood ran cold. She slowly, agonizingly slowly, turned her head. She didn’t want to look, but she had to know what death looked like. As she pivoted, the smell hit her—musk, earth, and wild animal.