34. Chapter 34
Chapter 34
Delilah
A s soon as I get the door open and we’ve crossed the threshold, Cedric kisses me.
His hands slide into my hair and I cling onto his back, my mind momentarily emptying of every worry that has been nagging at me.
“I missed you,” I breathe when we briefly detach.
“Already?” he asks quietly.
It feels like he’s referring to the near future, rather than as of this morning, but I’m choosing not to think about that, either. Not right now. He kisses me again, deeper, liquid heat pooling in my belly at the languid scrape of his tongue against mine.
When he presses me closer to him, my bag slips off my shoulder, falling to the floor with a muffled thud, and though I’m faintly aware some of its contents might have slipped out, I can’t bring myself to care. I have been punishing myself for years, second-guessing and doubting, but being close to Cedric makes me want to tune all that noise out for good.
Is this what love feels like?
Now, that thought is nearly as terrifying as the prospect of Turning in Cedric’s presence, possibly just as destructive. And that’s a sobering thought. With a frown, I push lightly on Cedric’s chest, since I have an inkling he was an inch away from picking me up and ravaging me on the nearest surface.
“I need a shower,” I say with a deprecating laugh.
“Mmh, I don’t know about that. You always smell incredible to me,” he says, eyes raking all over me. “Like irises and something sweeter… marzipan, perhaps.”
I laugh, surprised and delighted. “I am around flowers all day and I bake a lot, so your logic is perfectly sound.”
“Odd, given I seem to have been throwing away all traces of logic when it comes to you,” he says, giving me a long look.
I swallow, smiling feebly. “Is that a good thing?”
“I’m not sure,” he says, sounding dangerously close to bashful.
I nod, crouching to collect the spilled contents of my bag, Cedric immediately following to help. I cradle my three tubes of chapstick and small wallet just as I see Cedric’s hand in my peripheral vision, picking up something that looks a lot like–
Oh no. OH, NO.
It’s in this moment that not only do I reevaluate every choice I’ve made since I was born, but also, turning into a wolf and running like the wind for everyone to see doesn’t seem like such a bad thing right now.
“I’ve been meaning to ask you about these,” Cedric says, his tone disturbingly even, though hell could freeze over before I gathered the courage to look him in the eye.
And he made me come in a public place mere hours ago.
I was thinking about telling him the truth; I wasn’t thinking about doing it now . Not like this! What am I even going to say? Oh, yeah, those are the handcuffs my best friend usually clasps to a chain when the full moon comes up. You know, so I don’t eat anyone. Did I mention I can turn into a werewolf? Ha! That’s a funny story.
And what does he mean, that he’s been meaning to ask? When did he ever–
The boat. The cardigan. The bag. Overlapping images of those moments start playing in my head like a supremely embarrassing documentary of my impossible life.
Stupid. What is wrong with me, carrying handcuffs around like one does spare change?
“Delilah,” he says as my cheeks heat up and my heart threatens to leap out of my chest like a toad on a sugar rush. He places a finger under my chin. “Look at me.”
Begrudgingly, I do, and his eyes seem darker than they were a minute ago.
“I wish I had a good explanation,” I say with a grimace.
Something passes on his face, though I can’t quite grasp what it means.
“Do you enjoy using these?”
My jaw unhinges, and if this were a comic, there would be tiny tendrils of smoke sizzling from my head.
“I’m not judging you,” he says when my brain is incapable of computing a reply. “I’m curious. ”
“You mean… in bed?” I whisper, as if afraid someone might overhear. As if I haven’t had much more sinful thoughts about this man.
He nods as his eyes roam across my face, then lower. In this position, my cleavage is all but exposed to him. I should be worrying about coming up with some believable excuse, but I’m resigned by now. When he looks at me like this, my brain goes in overdrive. I don’t want to lie anymore, but this is too soon, too scary. I know I don’t have much time left to explain, but right now is simply not happening. And so, in a brief burst of clarity, I tell him a different truth.
“I haven’t used them like that. Not, uh, yet.”
The corner of Cedric’s mouth twitches, though there’s nothing mocking about it.
“You,” he starts, his hand leaving my chin to cradle my jaw, “are full of surprises.”
I smile feebly, though some part of me aches at the fact that this has already become a little game of ours. “Is ‘full of surprises’ code for ‘weirdo’ in this case?”
“Never,” he says, so serious he might as well be making a vow.
“For the record, I didn’t mean to keep them in the bag. I guess I was lost in thought, and I genuinely throw everything in there,” I hurry to add, groping for a tiny broken lightbulb I know for a fact I’d thrown in the bag with the intention of trashing.
“Stop,” he says, the softest command. “What did I say?”
I have the urge to make a dispassionate joke, but his gaze is far too piercing, his voice far too sure.
“That I don’t need to be afraid to take up space.”
Cedric leans in, kissing my lips once. “That’s right. ”
“I don’t know if that applies to being into bondage,” I mumble.
He shoots me a look before quickly gathering the rest of my belongings, including my fuzzy pink key chain. He places everything back into the bag gently, as I am helpless to do anything but observe his graceful movements. He gets up then, offering his hands to help me stand, which I take gratefully.
“How about you go start that shower and I’ll attempt to cook something edible? That is, if you trust me with your utensils,” he says, long fingers reaching to roll up the sleeves of his light blue shirt.
“I thought you’d offer to join me,” I say, the words out of my mouth of their own volition. Cedric’s expression sharpens, and I wonder if I’ve gone too far. If there is a limit at all.
“Is that what you want?”
Yes , every cell in my human body shouts, and I’m pretty sure my wolf DNA, the part of me that wants to tear him apart in the most incredible ways, thoroughly agrees.
“I’ve already used my sex in a cubicle card for the day,” I laugh, then frown at my own terrible joke.
Cedric makes a pensive sound low in his throat, and though it probably means nothing, it reverberates through my bones. Yeah, that shower will have to be cold.
“Do you have more of these cards? Do they apply to every type of surface, or room?” Cedric asks somberly, though there’s a twinkle in his eyes as he crosses broad arms over his chest.
“Well played,” I say as I don’t even try to suppress a smile. He steps closer, then leans in, his breath tickling my cheek.
“Perhaps we can put them to good use later,” he says quietly before turning toward the kitchen, Blaine trotting after him .
Cedric
I might not be the fanciest cook, but I’ve always made both Marcus and I get by. The true problem is Delilah’s pantry seems not to be stocked on anything that can’t be turned into a dessert or a sandwich, and I doubt I can impress her with those. The freezer is teeming with frozen pizza dough and a tiny pint of ice cream, while the fridge houses eggs, a carton of milk, and a few kinds of fruit. When’s the last time Delilah went grocery shopping? I grab my phone from my pocket, wondering whether there might be a shop in this town that delivers groceries… and then promptly remember Fern Port barely shows up on the internet at all. It doesn’t help that said phone appears to have depleted its battery at the speed of light. I’m about to ask Delilah the whereabouts of a charger when something catches my attention. Secured by a strawberry-shaped magnet on the fridge is the calendar I’d noticed the first time I came here. I look at the scribbles, which seem to have doubled since last time, and catch myself smiling at the clusters of doodled hearts taking up space across the last couple of weeks, hoping I had a part in those.
The day after Delilah’s birthday is circled in black, next to the rough rendition of a moon. Now that I know her better, I suppose she has shown a love for the celestial.
“I don’t presume you know where I can find a charger?” I ask her dog, whose honey-gold fur seems to be shedding by the second as he pads around and sniffs the kitchen floor.
Probably not. I walk toward the bathroom, knocking lightly on the door.
“Delilah? Is there a charger I can use somewhere? ”
She doesn’t reply, though a pop song I’m unfamiliar with blares from the room, the singer’s voice mingling with the steam passing beneath the door.
“Delilah?” I try again, louder, and she’s still not answering. Call it a lifetime of being paranoid over Marcus being discovered or mere caution, I decide to call her one more time, and step inside should there still be no reply.
“Delilah, I’m coming in, is that alright?”
No answer.
“Bloody hell,” I mutter beneath my breath. I heave a breath of relief as soon as the handle gives way beneath my hand–I prefer not to have to bust her door down.
Which I would have absolutely done.
When I step in, my vision zeroes on Delilah’s form through the steam. In different circumstances, I’d just be glad she hasn’t fainted. However, she is sitting on the edge of the bathtub, a measly towel covering her body.
And there’s a long, angry red cut on her leg.