In an unexpected move, he snagged the hem of my shirt with a finger and lifted it high enough to see the slice across my stomach. I’d forgotten about that. His attention brought the pain back into focus. It hurt. He glanced at the cut and then dropped the hem, his eyes devouring me again. His hand stayed on my side, warm and comforting. He stepped close.
He still looked mad, and the lingering signs of his shift unnerved me. Yet, I kept pressure on the bite. I couldn’t afford a passed out werewolf. My hand continued to tremble, and he reached up to close his hand around mine. I wondered how much his bite hurt. Still staring at his neck, he surprised me when he leaned forward to rest his forehead against mine. My gaze flew to his, but he had closed his eyes. He breathed deeply, then released my hand. Gently, he wrapped his arms around me and pulled me to him. His mouth brushed my hair. The hug started out light but grew tighter until I squeaked involuntary in pain.
His arms loosened, and he pulled back enough that I could see his face. His anguish. His frustration.
“Don’t,” he started saying, but his voice broke and he had to stop. He swallowed hard and briefly closed his eyes. When he opened them again, his look made my heart turnover. Need. Desperate need flooded the hazel beauty of the eyes I’d come to know so well.
He leaned in, lifted a hand, and slid his fingers through my hair. His gaze followed the movement which started at my temple and ended with his fingers cupping the back of my head. Despite the pains, my stomach went crazy and my settling pulse leapt. Then, he did the same with his other hand. He held me gently, studying every inch of my face. He leaned in further, moving closer until his lips hovered over mine. My heartbeat tripled its already exhaustive efforts.
“Don’t ever try to tell me goodbye again,” he warned in a thick voice. “We’re not done yet.”
He closed the minute gap separating us, crushing his lips against mine. He set fire to my thoughts and burned away all my pain with his touch. I forgot to breathe. His fingers held me still as he tilted his head and demanded more, needing the affirmation that we were both still alive. The teasing patient man was gone. With his mouth, he claimed me in a way I’d thought he hadn’t wanted, a way he’d hidden from me. I lifted my hands to his shoulders holding him in return, not wanting this to stop. I kissed him back, finally sure fate knew what the heck it was doing.
The desperation began to fade, and I felt faint when he tore his lips from mine. He didn’t relinquish his hold though. As I gasped for air, he kept my senses spinning wildly with soft kisses to my cheek. My jaw. My neck. Tingles raced over me at the first touch of his lips on my neck. His lips softened and returned to skim my own with small little kisses that started a yearning in me. A yearning I well understood from previous lives.
Too soon he pulled back, leaving me shaking, and my breaths coming out in hot little clouds. Without his attention, the cold wrapped around me, and the pain crept back in. I wrapped an arm protectively over my middle. His pupils shrank while I watched, and a twinge of regret crept in with the change.
“I’m sorry,” he apologized gruffly, looking away. I reached out a hand to comfort him and whatever he felt sorry about. None of this was his fault. The burden of guilt laid solely on me. I shouldn’t have tried walking away.
“That won’t happen again,” he spoke slowly, his jaw muscles clenching. Then he looked at me with promise burning in his eyes. “Until you’re eighteen.”
My mouth popped open, and I made a choking sound while my brain tried to come up with the words to articulate my feelings.
“And don’t ever try hurting yourself again,” he growled.
Completely ignoring his reprimand, I half-yelled, half-gasped, “Are you kidding me?” as the shock of finally understanding his standoff attitude toward me wore off, and my brain started functioning again. “That’s the problem? We almost just died. We almost lost a chance for an ‘us’,” I flailed a hand back and forth between us, “and you’re worried about how old I am?”
“Bethi.”
“Don’t ‘Bethi’ me,” I hissed. “First stop, I’m molesting your butt, and you’re going to like it!” We both felt the pull, we both had feelings for each other, and I suffered dream after dream because the timing wasn’t right for him? What did he think a few months would do for us?
I picked my blade up from the ground before the literal meaning of what I’d just said sank in. Luke’s smirk didn’t help cool my temper. I stomped off—as much as I could with a gigantic cut decorating my stomach and aches in places I hadn’t known I possessed—in the direction I hoped led toward his bike. I slayed small saplings and maimed trees in my wrath. He trailed behind me, wisely remaining quiet.
“How did you find me?” I asked after I cooled down.
“Your scent.” After a moment of silence, he asked, “Why did you leave?”
I let out a slow breath. “That’s not important anymore. I won’t leave again.” Not even when he frustrated the heck out of me. Now that I knew his reasons, I’d stick to him like glue. “How long until we reach the Compound? This is only going to get worse.”