That had to be the first time someone had apologized when Ethan had hit them. It was bizarre, but the wolf reckoned that he had perhaps addled the little pooka’s brains a bit with the hit. “Oh dinner, nothing scares me,” he crooned out as he licked his palm clean. “I am fear.” He was the boogeyman, the nightmare, the monster in the closet and under the bed.
“But you don’t touch me.” He was Wolf, he was Alpha, he commanded, and touch came with invitation only. Which wasn’t an invitation Ethan was oft issuing. He reached up and gripped Rowan’s chin, nearly as tightly as his other hand gripped his wrist.
Then he leaned in in a sharp, quick motion, and dragged his tongue across Rowan’s face, lapping at the blood that ran freely.