Gentle, Perth. She needs gentle.
“We don’t need music, but can I tell you a story?” I ask, needing to distract myself, to show Noah that she’s not alone, that I understand a little where she’s coming from.
“Of course.” She blushes. “I’d love to hear something about you.”
“I haven’t been in your shoes, dealing with what you’re dealing with. But I do know a little something about how it feels to have your head and your heart go to war.”
Her fingers squeeze mine as I search for my next words. “I have good memories of my parents’ den from when I was younger, birthdays and all that. That surprises a lot of people because they were from feuding packs, but they made it work.”
Noah’s eyebrows shoot up but she doesn’t voice the questions I know she must have. Instead, her gaze roams gently over my face as if she knows there’s a twist coming. There is.
“It was all good until my mom’s brother, who refused to accept their bond, challenged my dads.”
“What happened?” she asks, voice almost a whisper as we glide around the room.
“My uncle was killed. Mom never recovered. My fathers left their territory and moved here, hoping a change of scenery would help, but nothing they did or said pulled her from her grief. Nothing I did or said made a difference either. After that fight, she was just…not herself. One day I woke up and she was gone. She left.”
I find my throat oddly tight as I recount a story that everyone in town fucking witnessed. But I realize I’ve never spoken the entire thing aloud until this moment. I’ve never had to, never wanted to, never needed to share my loneliness with someone else before.
“How old were you?” Noah asks, her blue-green eyes studying my face like she can see each thread of pain and stitch of loss that’s been embroidered into who I am.
“Fifteen,” I answer. “My dads struggled for a while and ultimately decided to go after her. I never saw any of them again.”
Noah jerks us to a stop and stares up at me, aghast. “They just left you behind and never came back?” The end of her question gets rougher, her tone a tiny bit angrier.
I shrug, the sharpness of that fact dulled enough by time that it doesn’t hurt quite as badly as it used to. In fact, her hint of outrage on my behalf almost soothes the small ache like a balm. “Honestly, looking back, they abandoned me long before they ever actually left,” I admit evenly. “Don’t worry, it fucked me up in all the ways you’d expect,” I joke, and she snorts out a laugh and shakes her head at my dark humor.
We stare at each other for a moment, the air swimming with both our vulnerable confessions, our pain and fears exposed for the other to see. And instead of judgment or discomfort, her face is full of sympathy. I imagine my expression is the same.
I move a tiny bit closer, the need to kiss her almost overwhelming, but she startles because the lights in the chandelier suddenly dim and then start to pulse and flicker like candle light even though they’re electric bulbs. Unexpectedly, a warm tingling sensation sneaks across my body, and I look down. Yellow sparks are fading all around me, and my jeans and T-shirt have been replaced with a black-on-black tux. My hair has been magically and stylistically slicked back, and my sneakers replaced with fancy-looking loafers, the kind I’d never choose myself.
I shake my head just as Noah gives a gasp of shock and pulls away. In a blink, her pink robe and lingerie melt into a flowy cherry-red dress that ties around her neck, hugging her torso like a second skin and then flowing from her waist down in long pleats to the ground. Her lips are painted the same ruby color, and her hair hangs smooth and straight down her back. She looks stunning, and it calls to my baser nature in an undeniable and staggering way that leaves me breathless.
“I don’t know if I’m more impressed or unnerved that they can do this,” she mumbles in awe as she pulls back from my grip to run her hands down the bodice of the silky scarlet gown.
The lingerie was pure torment. And now they’ve put her in a dress with a single tie to keep it up.
“It’s official, Astrid and Trista are sadists out to torture me.”
I feel my nerves light with heated desire and have to glance over at the beaded curtain-covered doorway to distract myself.
“Need to pull a Ruger and go for a run?” Noah mocks.
I look back, the cheeky glint in her eyes making me grin. “Nah, I don’t need to run. I like to live close to the edge. Edging is kinda my thing.”
I wink at her and Noah chokes on air, coughing for a second until she’s recovered enough to laugh.
“Dammit, Perth. You’re killing me.” She shakes her head, and her features soften as she looks at me, expression changing from amusement to wonder. “How’d you get to be so normal?”
My barked laugh bounces around the room, and Noah’s beautiful eyes glimmer with pleasure. “I hate to break it to you, but I turn into a wolf. I don’t know how normal that is.”
She giggles and swats playfully at my chest. “Fair point,” she admits, trailing off as fervor slowly seeps into her features. “But you’re just so happy…how?”
The longing in her voice almost cleaves me in two. I don’t want her to want for anything. So, I give her the only thing I can in this moment—the truth.
“It wasn’t me. It was them. When I met Ellery, Ruger, and Gannon, I struggled to accept them. On some broken level, I convinced myself that they couldn’t fully accept me. I mean, the people who were supposed to love me and care for me unconditionally didn’t, so how could these strangers?”
Her eyes tell me that she knows exactly where I’m coming from.
“I wish I could tell you that it was easy, that it all just clicked one day and we’ve lived happily ever after. It was hard. My insecurities fucked shit up for a long time. But my den, my brothers, they always showed up for me. No matter what happened or how I pushed them away, they didn’t budge. And slowly, the voice in my head that kept telling me they were going to leave, that I wasn’t enough, stopped sounding believable because their actions relentlessly proved it was a liar.”
Noah gives me a small smile, but sadness marks the edges of it. She looks away, her gaze buried in uncertainty and doubt, and pulls in a deep breath, using my scent to ground her without even realizing it.
I automatically step closer, scenting her in return. Wanting her. The perfume of fear that tainted her earlier is gone, but sadness still lingers the way that humidity thickens the air after a storm.
“Shall we?” I put my hand back out and she takes it. We resume our dance. She easily follows my steps now, though I don’t think she realizes it. Her self-consciousness is gone, and her body is doing what feels natural.