Her eyes study mine for a second, and when she takes a deep breath, I tense, expecting her to fortify her defenses and lock me out like she has before. Her tongue darts out to wet her lips, and then like a flower that just needed a little light to bloom, she opens up.
“I don’t know how many homes I lived in after my mom died.” Her intense gaze is fixed on mine, pleading for me to hear and understand what she’s saying.
I don’t breathe. I almost stop moving, but I force myself to continue because I don’t want to interrupt her finally letting me in.
“As I got older, they stopped trying to fit me into cozy little family units. It became group homes or larger centers for unwanted kids. Time after time, I’d think I found something, found where I belonged, only to have it yanked away. Even as an adult, when I could control where I lived, what I did, who I let into my life, I kept seeing over and over again that unconditional love and acceptance is a fucking myth. I’ve been chasing this thing my whole life, Perth, but I’ve had to accept that, for some people, it’s impossible to catch.”
God, I want to wrap her into my arms and never fucking let go. She’s wrong, so goddamned wrong that I want to put my teeth on her neck and nip at her for even thinking such a thing. Primal urges surge through me and I push them away, pushing her at the same time. I expertly spin her and then twirl her back into my arms, pulling her in tight.
She squeals in surprise, eyes darting up to mine shocked and playful, like she thinks I’m trying to silly away her sadness. But I’m not playing.
Tension grips me as I pull and push her, dominate her through this dance, show her that she’s wrong—show her what she’s capable of if she just gives in to her instincts.
Finally, I pull her close. Fitting her against me like we’re two pieces forged from the same steel, meant to fit together seamlessly and become stronger as a whole. Dropping my lips closer to her ear, I lower my voice, lacing it with certainty.
“They weren’t your people, Noah,” I tell her smoothly, and I watch goose bumps trail up the side of her neck as her scent deepens. “They couldn’t give you what you needed, what you deserved, because you were never meant to be theirs. You were always going to be ours.”
Her quiet gasp rings in my ears, and the scent of her arousal floods the room. Her body knows the truth of my claim, and I fucking press my advantage. I step in closer, wedging my thigh between hers as I lean down. “I know you don’t believe me yet. Talk is fucking cheap—we both know that—so let us prove it. Let us fight for you, claim you the way you deserve, because we will. We’re desperate to.” I pull her up against me tighter, until she’s straddling my thigh. When I release her, she slides back down slowly, panting.
Stunned.
Need courses through me like an unstoppable tidal wave, crashing over me, pushing my hands to touch her. I cup her face, my thumb brushing across the flushed apples of her cheeks.
“Let us show you that we can be your forever.” The whispered words skim both of our lips as I lean closer. Her breath catches and the flickering golden light from the chandelier glimmers in her eyes. We hover, our vulnerabilities perfuming the air as we trade breaths for a moment, inhaling one another’s scents, devouring each other with our eyes, neither of us daring to move closer or away.
It’s all I can do not to kiss her.
My wolf roars at me to pull her into my arms and let my body show her that she’s mine, that there’s no running from this, that everything is going to be okay, but I stop myself. Barely.
“Don’t let what’s in here”—I reach up and run a finger down her temple, her skin softer than satin—“overpower what you feel here,” I whisper as I drop my hand to the top of her chest and press my palm over her heart.
I can feel it hammering against my touch as though it wants to reach me as badly as I want to reach her. Her heart recognizes me, even if her head doesn’t yet.
I press us forward, leaving one hand over her heart while the other clasps her shoulder blade. My feet find the quick-quick-slow-slow cadence of the two-step again, and Noah matches my movements seamlessly.
A slow smile stretches across my face as I stare down at her. “You’ll be surprised what you can do if you just let go. Ten minutes ago you’d never danced like this before. Now look at you,” I point out. “Who we are, the power we possess, it’s no different. You can make everything harder on yourself by braining your way through this, or you can trust your instincts. You can do this, Noah. You were always meant to. If you let yourself, you’ll feel the truth of that, here,” I tell her, pressing softly against her chest once more before dropping my hand, releasing her, and taking a step back.
It’s hard. So fucking hard not to pull her back in and keep her right where I want her, where I need her. But one more second and I’m going to fucking shift. I’ve reached the brink of self-control.
Noah leans after me, her subconscious telling me that she hates the distance I just put between us. I hate it too, but it’s necessary. I’ve pushed her enough for now. She needs to decide what she wants and bridge the gap between us when she’s ready. And I’ll be right here waiting when she does.
20
NOAH
Perth, Karen, and I crowd into the hotel elevator, my arms weighed down by bags that Astrid and Trista insisted are essentials for my new life. I insisted that I have clothes and shoes that I’ll hopefully recover when we find my car, but the witches weren’t hearing it. Which is why Perth’s carrying a stack of boxes with shoes and boots, and Karen has several garment bags slung over her shoulder.
Meanwhile, I’m wearing a black long-sleeved thermal top and charcoal-colored jeans. It’s a Trista-inspired outfit completed by a pair of burgundy combat boots that Astrid contributed.
My hands tingle, and I try to convince myself that it’s from carrying the overstuffed bags, but it’s not. The memory of Perth’s touch still whispers across my senses. Our dance flickers through my head in an endless loop. And his words…I know I’ll be holding those words close for the rest of my life.
I’ve always been a loner, a wanderer. A free spirit. Maybe I didn’t start that way, but it’s how I’ve defined myself for years—it was my best line of defense against the constant rejection and moving. If you can’t beat ’em, make it your whole personality.
Or so I thought, until I tumbled into this world where instincts hold a mirror in front of your face and force you to take a long hard look at everything you’ve been avoiding.
What do they want?
Deep down, what do I want?
I close my eyes as the elevator starts to rise, leaning back against the wall, and just feel the steady thud of my pulse.
Emotion streaks through me like a meteor shower. The first flash of feelings are quick pulses, too quick for me to catch what they mean. They warm my chest and are gone a split-second later. But then more appear. Bright, golden slashes dash behind my eyelids, strobing with desire and leaving sparkling trails of hope lingering behind them.
Shit.