Page 26 of Beckett's Fate

Stop it, she scolded herself, tearing her gaze away.

But her traitorous eyes refused to listen, drawn back to him as he reached for the hem of his shirt.

Oh, for God’s sake.

Beck stripped off his shirt in one smooth motion, revealing a chest that was all muscle and sinew, his bronzed skin catching the faint light filtering through the trees. Irene swallowed hard, her throat suddenly dry as he unfastened his belt, his movements unhurried, deliberate.

You’re in danger, she reminded herself fiercely. This is not the time to ogle the sheriff.

But even as she chastised herself, her gaze lingered, following the subtle ripple of muscle as he stepped out of his jeans. His body was a study in strength, every line and curve carved with precision. He had strong, muscled thighs and the cock that stirred between them was impressive.

Stop staring. Just stop.

As if sensing her attention, Beck’s head turned slightly in her direction. For one breathless moment, their eyes met. His gaze was intense, searching, but she thought she detected a faint grin as his cock began to become engorged.

Irene tore her eyes away, heat creeping up her neck as she ducked back behind the boulder.

Focus, she commanded herself. The hunters were still out there, their movements growing more deliberate. And now Beck was here, too, complicating everything.

She risked another glance just in time to see the mist swirl around him, his powerful form shifting seamlessly into that of a massive black wolf. The sight stole her breath. Even in his wolf form, Beck was a force to be reckoned with—towering, commanding, and utterly lethal.

The black wolf raised his head, scanning the trail as his ears swiveled toward the approaching hunter. His growl was low, almost imperceptible, but it sent a shiver down Irene’s spine.

For a fleeting moment, she felt a pang of guilt. Beck was risking himself for her, stepping into danger without hesitation.And yet, she couldn’t shake the frustration bubbling beneath the surface. She didn’t need saving. She didn’t need him.

So why couldn’t she look away? Or better yet, run?

The hunter drew closer still, and Irene forced herself to focus. Beck was here now, and that changed everything. Together, they had a chance—if she could keep her head clear and her heart from racing every time his eyes met hers.

The charge in the air crackled as the hunter entered the clearing, his rifle gleaming faintly in the fading light. Beck’s wolf seemed to bristle, his growl deepening as he prepared to strike.

Irene crouched lower, her body coiled and ready, her gaze darting between the hunter and the black wolf who had claimed her attention—and her thoughts.

This was it. The storm was coming, and there was no turning back. Her fingers itched to shift, to let her wolf take over and fight her way out of this, but something held her back.

That something emerged from the trees, silent and lethal. His growl was low, a warning that rumbled through the clearing like a distant storm.

The hunter froze, his head whipping around to locate the source of the sound. His rifle lifted instinctively, but he was too slow.

In a blur of motion, Beck launched himself forward, his powerful body slamming into the man and knocking the weapon from his grasp. The hunter hit the ground with a grunt, his hand scrabbling for the knife at his belt, but Beck was faster.

Irene watched, her heart pounding as the black wolf made short work of his opponent, Teeth bared, Beck sank his jaws into the man’s throat, ripping out his windpipe with lethal accuracy.

But the commotion hadn’t gone unnoticed. The faint sound of voices reached her ears.

“Beck,” she whispered urgently, her pulse racing.

The black wolf turned toward her, his sharp eyes locking onto hers for a brief moment before his gaze shifted to the sound of the approaching hunters. He growled again, his powerful form tense and ready.

Without thinking, Irene darted from her hiding spot, snatching up Beck’s discarded clothes. He turned toward her, his massive frame radiating both power and protectiveness.

“Come on,” she urged, her voice low but steady.

Beck trotted toward her, his movements fluid despite the tension in the air. As he reached her, he lowered himself slightly, his sharp eyes meeting hers in a silent command.

“Are you serious?” she hissed, glancing at the approaching shadows in the trees.

He growled softly, a sound that left no room for argument.