by Rebecca Main
“What?”
“Why must you defy me at every turn? Humiliate me in front of my family?” he asks, his voice deadly calm as a storm brews behind his green eyes.
“You’re the one who lied to your family—”
“I merely stretched the truth. We have agreed to see each other. Was it so wrong of me to impart on them the same hope I have? That you will one day see that it is I, who is your match and not this boyfriend of yours? That we will be together?”
“You didn’t even tell your mother about my boyfriend! How could there possibly be any hope for a romantic relationship between us, when I’m with someone else. Who, I might add, I may just end up marrying.” The words spill out in anger and frustration, and a delightful smugness rises in me as his shoulders sag ever so slightly.
Xander takes a deep breath. “You’ll see him tomorrow, then? In the afternoon?”
I swallow, glance at my lap, and wipe the imaginary crumbs from it. “Yes. We’ll spend—wait, how could you possibly have heard? I was in the other room. I was being quiet.”
Xander leans back into his chair and takes a small sip from his tumbler. “Yes, well, I am a lycan. We are entitled to certain, heightened senses, above the average person. Haven’t you spoken with your grandmother about this yet?”
“We’ve spoken a bit,” I tell him, briefly looking away. “She’s just been busy. So, you could really hear me?”
“We could all hear you,” he informs me, eyes pinning me in place.
“Anything else I should be aware of? Weird shedding habits? Glowing eyes in the dark?”
“There’s a wolf inside me,” Xander tells me seriously. “All that he is capable of, so am I. I’m stronger and faster than any man you’ll ever meet. Doubly so, as I’m an alpha. My senses are tenfold. I can smell your emotions.” He pauses, taking in my astonishment and explains further. “Your emotions don’t produce a smell on their own, but your body’s natural reaction to your emotions does. It produces a recognizable scent from your sweat glands. My sense of smell is sensitive enough to pick up the differences. Fear and shame are similar. They’re both bitter and harsh on the nose. Your anger is always so mixed with your increased heartbeat and flush of your skin that it’s easy enough to recognize. Your arousal,” he pauses, letting his next words sink it, “is by far the easiest thing to scent on you.”
“Oh, and what do I smell like now?” I ask tartly, fighting down the blush of my cheeks. Xander sends me a lopsided grin.
“Angry and annoyed. A touch surprised. Your heart is racing as we speak. Perhaps you're a bit afraid as well.” I shake my head and his eyes narrow, “Maybe you should be. I am hunting you, after all.”
I swallow. My heart skips a beat and begins again with a stutter as his declaration sinks in. His eyes smolder back at me like a forest fire, and his voice, pitched low and refined, continues. “Everything you do, down to the smallest tick of your expression I catalog and analyze. Everything you say, I remember. All of it, Zoelle. There’s a reason I said I wasn’t concerned about your little boyfriend.” He takes a long drag from his glass, a hiss slipping past his lips as the alcohol scorches its path downward. “He’s no match for me. I'll have you at my side, Zoelle. It’s only a matter of time.”
I stare dumbfounded, unable to compose a response, split as I am between outrage and bewilderment. Among other things. “Um.”
“Come, they’ll be waiting for us.” He stands in one fluid motion, hand held out for me to take. I gulp, not liking one bit how I am watched beneath hooded lids. Nor the cunning gleam that slips past them. I stand on my own, scraping the chair backward in my haste. Xander politely ignores my blunder, even as I refuse his outstretched hand and walk toward the door. His hand finds the hollow of my lower back, guiding me to the drawing room.
“We came to an agreement you and I, or have you forgotten?” He breathes against my temple, hand gliding across my back to hook around my hip. I swallow delicately and take a deep breath, willing my heartbeat to stay the course with its steady pace. My soulmark trembles against my flesh acknowledging the nearness of its match.
“I’m well aware of our agreement,” I tell him smoothly, congratulating myself on my composed delivery. I remove his hold on my hip and lace my fingers with his. Handholding. Stupid agreement. His hand is rough and warm. The product of manual labor. Or other things, I think unwittingly, imagining what manual labor his hands might do on my body. I try to wipe the image from my mind as quickly as I can, too aware suddenly of the way my body reacts to my reckless thoughts. Strong hands to pin me down. Or grab my hips. Or keep my legs spread wide open for him to—
I gasp, both ashamed and aroused to be thinking such things. My eyes dart nervously toward Xander’s face, praying that he’s holding his breath. I certainly am now. Irina’s laughter rings down the hallway, and I pick up my pace, locking eyes on what must be the drawing room door, but Xander resists. A throaty groan drags from his mouth as he looks down at me, and then I am pressed between a Picasso and Degas. Xander’s hips belay my escape. They fit themselves snugly against my lower stomach as his hand reaches up to cup my neck. The other to lean against the wall. When his head dives in, I let out a whimper that’s covered by his heavy inhalation. His head rests on my shoulder, nose and lips fitted against the side of my neck.
“I would give anything to know what you’re thinking. To know if the pull between us, is as strong for you as it is for me. I want that more than anything,” he tells me roughly, drawing in my scent once more. “Tell me,” he pleads.
A thousand lies run through my head until I land on one, readying my reply as my hands fly to his chest, pushing him back with little success. He growls, the feeling vibrating through me and raising the hair on my skin.
“We had an agreement.” His fingers splay, daring to brush into the hair curled there. “Don’t be afraid,” he murmurs, nuzzling further until his lips are ghosting over my skin far too frequently. I shiver in response, my traitorous heart racing a mile a minute as I endure his attentions.
The soulmark flares to life inches above my breast, pulsing eagerly at his intimate touch and bringing with it a feeling of intense satisfaction. One that I have never known before. Not even with… my eyes widen, and I push once more against his chest, my body suddenly weak and helpless to his embrace.
“Ben,” I breathe.
His hot breath, which drifts past my clavicle, stops sharply.
A wave of self-hatred courses through me as a sudden warmth gathers between my legs at the sensation. I grit myself against the unexpected lust that pours through me when his breath lingers over the soulmark. I have a boyfriend. One I care deeply for, and this—this is wrong. These feelings are wrong, and so are my actions.
I take a deep breath, my thoughts coming back into focus. It’s only a chemical reaction, I tell myself over and over. Any man could leave me feeling this way. Hugh Jackman, Idris Elba, hell, even Ben if he was to be this… assertive. Xander stiffens, taking a few deep breaths before he pulls back, hands moving to hold my shoulders to keep me in place. His face torn between frustration and remorse.
“Damn your, Ben,” he spits. “Why stop? I can smell your arousal. I can feel you come alive at my touch. Even your mark recognizes my touch. It's acknowledging the connection between us, as is mine.” I stare steadfastly at the wall behind him, refusing to answer. “Deny it all you want, Baudelaire, but you want this. You want what I can give you, at least at a fundamental level. So, tell me why?” He inhales sharply, his features contorting into a severe scowl, “Ashamed of your feelings? Or is it me you’re ashamed of?”
“We had a deal,” I tell him weakly. “And I wouldn’t read so far into my reactions if I were you. I was thinking of Ben, and if you remember, you’re only supposed to sniff me. Not grope me.” I glare pointedly down at the hand that has found its way under my breast and hips that still press tightly against me. Along with something else. “This wasn’t part of the deal. This isn’t what friends d
o.” He releases me at my reasoning, shoving his hands into his pockets. Xander levels a scowl at the floor.
“You’re right. I over stepped my boundaries,” he concedes with a sudden sag of his shoulders. “Please, accept my apology.” The air feels trapped in my lungs as he raises his softened gaze my way.
“Your family is waiting for us,” I tell him faintly instead of accepting his apology. A part of me is unwilling to allow him forgiveness. He nods as if understanding. It’s obvious he wishes nothing more than to anchor a hand to me, guide my body into the room to stay by his side, but his earlier transgression restrains him. I’m thankful. We spend the rest of our time, what little there is, making stilted small talk. It’s awful. I can’t shake the knot of tension in my stomach. I can’t shake the way Xander’s presence leaves me unsettled and my overwhelming guilt at my reaction.
Though we barely touch the rest of the night, he makes sure to stay nearby, leaving but an inch between us. I hate the attention. Hate the way it makes me feel and this awful, dreadful night. When the time comes, I leave with clumsy haste.
+++
The next day with Ben is a welcome distraction and comfort. Though thoughts of last night linger in my mind, I keep the details of dinner to a minimum. There’s no reason to drag Ben into all this supernatural nonsense. We eat lunch and explore the town. I show him all the places I’ve applied, but have yet to hear from. We walk the river’s path. It’s perfect.
There’s no pressure with Ben. Everything we do is comfortable and without stress. It reaffirms what I already know that he makes me feel safe. He is safe. There’s not an aggressive or wild bone in his all-American-boy body. It makes me appreciate him more, and as a result, I’m far more affectionate with him throughout the day. I can see how pleased it makes him, and he takes advantage of my fair mood, towing the line of what affection is appropriate to display in public. By the time our long day comes to an end, I feel myself already missing him.
“Don’t go,” I whine, holding tightly onto his hand as we say goodnight and goodbye on the front porch. I admire our entwined fingers, cocoa against creamy ivory.
He smiles down at me benevolently before placing a lingering kiss on my forehead. His fingers wistfully trail over my jaw before they brush my dark curls behind my ear. “I wish I didn’t have too, but work is picking up speed. I don’t know when I’ll be able to come up and visit you again.”
“That’s okay,” I say with a sigh. “Next time I’ll just come down to you!”
He laughs, planting a kiss on my lips so sweet I curl myself into his body, wrapping my arms firmly around his neck until he responds in kind and deepens the kiss. I moan in response. His hand moves to my cheek, the cool metal of his numerous rings pressing against my flushed skin before his thumb brushes along my cheekbone. His tongue begs for entrance, running softly along my bottom lip. A warmth spreads out across my body, and I open my mouth shyly in reply, only to fall deeply into the rhythm of our kiss. He pulls back just slightly, hands cradling my face while he catches his breath.
“You are spectacular,” he whispers. His hazel eyes stare down at me with reverence.
I smile dumbly at him, releasing another moan as his lips mark a swift path down my neck to my shoulder. With a jolt, I am instantly reminded of my moment with Xander. Flashes of the dark-haired wolf assault me as Ben nibbles at my skin, laves it with his tongue. I hold back a groan, not wanting to remember but unable not too. Behind closed eyes, it is Xander lavishing such thorough care to my skin. Xander pressing his thigh between my legs. Xander’s fingers drawing artwork along my spine. I pull away with some effort, eyes opening to stare into Ben’s hazel eyes. He grins down at me, swooping in to deliver another kiss. I fight with myself not to present him with my cheek and smile anxiously at him instead.
“It’s getting late,” I manage to say, putting on a tired face. Ben leans in to kiss me once more, unable to hide his disappointment, but he seems resigned.
“You’re right. It’s a long drive back, and the night has been coming on earlier with autumn approaching. Let’s plan to Skype or FaceTime sometime soon, all right? Texting just isn’t the same as being able to see you and hear your voice.” I nod and offer him a chaste peck on the cheek.
“All right.”
“I love you,” he whispers, eyes closed and a soft smile haunting his lips. My throat tightens, the words trapped against the end of my tongue. I kiss him once more, more softly than before, and he leaves after giving me one last kiss and a sizable hug.
I’m inside the house a moment later, leaning my back against the doorframe as I hear the rumble of his truck start before driving off. I should have said something. Anything. But what? My head hits the doorframe as my eyes search the ceiling for an answer to my question. What? How does one tell their boyfriend they are supernaturally attached at the hip for the rest of their life to another person. The person not being them. So I didn’t tell him. I didn’t tell him Xander kissed me. My tongue refusing to budge as I valiantly tried to force the words up my throat. Instead, I fed him pleasant stories of making friends with Irina and meeting her family.
God, I’m pathetic.
Tires crunch to a stop in front of the house and derail my thought process. My heart skips a beat, Ben. Breath fills my lungs, expanding them to their fullest extent before I release the air in a whoosh.
I have to tell him about the kiss.
There is no other recourse. The thought leaves my stomach feeling sour, and it bubbles up my esophagus and throat. I press my ear more soundly to the door to hear the soft sound of feet making their way up the driveway. No doubt Ben forgot something, or he wants one last kiss for the road.
Despite it all, a fond smile curves my lips. Back in school, Ben would say goodbye, drive around the block, then come right back to my door for a kiss for the road. Which is different than a kiss goodbye, of course. It’s the sweetest thing. My eyes slip closed the same moment my smile falters. And now I’m about to tell him another man, my lycan soul mate, kissed me….
A knock at the door breaks my reverie and causes me to jump forward. With a hand over my thumping heart I compose myself and open the door. A grin is painted over my lips to greet Ben. Except it isn’t Ben. My breath releases in a shaky breath.
“What are you doing here?”
“May I come in?”
“No,” I reply scandalized, closing the door a fraction more than necessary. He smiles, but it does not meet his eyes in the right way.
“May I come in, please?”
“What are you, like, stalking me now?” I try my best to sound contemptuous, cutting, but my voice carries the slightest vibrato that betrays my slight fear. His smile grows more disarming.
“No, though the thought has crossed my mind. I do, however, have some of my men watching you. All to ensure your safety, I assure you.”
“Excuse me!”
He leans casually against the doorframe, eyes narrowing as they rake over me possessively. “Let me in, Zoelle. I’d rather the entire neighborhood not hear our conversation.”
My fingers itch to slam the door in his face. “It's Zoe, and for your information, I don’t want to talk. Or listen to whatever it is you have to say. I’m tired, and I’m going to bed.”
The specks of jade in his eye darken to evergreen. “You’re being awfully rude,” he purrs. “Invite me in. I won’t be made to stand outside. Come now, I’m waiting.” He pauses, lips twisting in a way that raises my defenses. His voice breathes authority. Clearly, Xander is unused to being denied, though I have certainly made a habit of it. I harden at his imperious tone, indignant anger rising as it so often does when he is around. Without another thought, I shove the door closed. Almost. His hand easily catches the door before it can close and forces his way inside in a single stride. The door closes softly behind him.
“This isn’t part of our deal,” I tell him, backing away toward the staircase. He scowls in return.
“I’m well aware of the det
ails of our deal,” he says, prowling forward.
“Then why won’t you stick to it!”
He swears, a fierce growl surging forth, “You know why.” And then his mouth descends on mine.
