Chapter 13 - Caelan
The water in the sink has gone cold, but I keep washing the same plate over and over because it gives my hands something to do.
Patrick left twenty minutes ago to haul water from the stream, and the cabin feels too quiet without him.
I’ve grown accustomed to his presence over these past ten days, to the sound of his breathing and the creak of the floorboards under his weight and the way he hums tunelessly when he thinks I’m not listening.
The silence he leaves behind makes me restless in ways I don’t want to admit.
I set the plate aside and reach for the next one before scrubbing at it despite it already being clean.
My mind keeps wandering to last night, to the moment he stepped back instead of kissing me, and the way he chose my consent over his own desire when every line of his body screamed that he wanted to close the distance between us.
I haven’t stopped thinking about it.
The mate bond pulls at me constantly now.
It’s like a persistent ache beneath my breastbone that grows stronger whenever he’s near.
I catch myself watching him when he’s not looking, studying the way his shoulders move when he chops wood or the concentration on his face when he skins rabbits for our meals.
I notice things I shouldn’t notice, like the exact shade of amber in his eyes or the scar on his forearm that he rubs when he’s lost in thought.
He’s been so careful with me. So controlled. He sleeps on the floor every night, even though I can see how uncomfortable it is; he never touches me unless absolutely necessary, and he keeps a respectful distance that should make me feel safe.
Instead, it makes me wonder what would happen if he stopped being careful.
I scrub the plate harder as warmth creeps up my neck.
I’m not sure I would be strong enough to resist if he actually tried something.
The curse suppressed these feelings for nineteen years, and now that it’s broken, everything hits me so much harder than I expected.
Every emotion feels magnified, every want feels desperate, and every time Patrick looks at me with those amber eyes, I feel like I’m standing at the edge of a cliff trying to convince myself not to jump.
Maybe that’s why I’m grateful for his restraint.
One of us needs to be sensible, and it’s clearly not going to be me.
If he pushed, if he so much as crooked his finger in my direction, I would go to him without a second thought.
I know this about myself now with a certainty that should frighten me more than it does.
The wanting has grown too large to contain, and the only thing keeping me from acting on it is his refusal to take advantage of my vulnerability.
Part of me wishes he would. Part of me wants him to make the decision for me so I don’t have to admit how badly I need him.
I’m reaching for another dish when the glass explodes across the kitchen floor.
A massive shape crashes through the window, and I drop the plate as shards scatter around my feet. A wolf lands in a crouch among the debris with yellow eyes already locked on me, and he’s bigger than Patrick, with dark hair and a cruel twist to his mouth that makes my stomach lurch.
I scream and scramble backward, slamming into the counter as he lunges toward me.
The sound is hardly out of my mouth before the cabin door splinters inward.
Patrick tears through the opening in a form I’ve never seen before, something caught between wolf and man with elongated claws extending from fingers that have thickened into paws.
A muzzle full of razor teeth juts from a face that’s still recognizably his, and coarse fur sprouts across muscles that bunch and flex as he throws himself at the intruder with a ferocity that steals my breath.
They collide midair, and both of them crash into the table hard enough to splinter one of the legs. I press myself against the wall as they fight, unable to look away despite the violence unfolding three feet from where I stand.
The scout is larger, but Patrick moves with a viciousness that makes something primal wake up in my chest. He dodges a swipe that would have opened his throat and drives his claws into the other wolf’s side, and blood spatters across the floor in dark arcs.
The scout howls and retaliates with a bite that catches Patrick’s shoulder and tears through flesh, and I hear myself scream as crimson blooms across his skin.
Patrick doesn’t slow down. He twists free of the bite with a snarl and brings both hands up under the scout’s jaw, where he sinks his claws deep into exposed flesh. The wolf makes a wet, gurgling sound that will haunt my nightmares for years to come.
Patrick wrenches his hands apart.
The body drops to the floor with a thud that seems impossibly quiet after so much violence.
My heart pounds in my throat, my temples, and behind my eyes. Patrick looms over the corpse with his chest heaving, still caught in that monstrous half-form with blood dripping from his claws, his shoulder, and the corner of his mouth where the scout’s claws grazed him.
He doesn’t speak. He just grabs the dead wolf by the ankle and drags him toward the ruined door, leaving a dark smear across the wooden planks.
I hear movement outside, something heavy being pulled across dirt and leaves, but I can’t make myself follow.
My legs refuse to cooperate, and all I can do is press my back against the wall and try to remember how breathing works.
Time loses meaning. Minutes pass, or maybe longer.
Patrick reappears in the doorway, fully human now with his torn shirt hanging open and blood drying on his skin. His amber eyes find mine immediately, and he crosses the room in three long strides before his hands cup my face and tilt it so he can examine me.
“Are you hurt? Did he touch you? Did he get close enough to—”
“I’m fine.” The words emerge shaky and thin. “He didn’t touch me. You stopped him before he could.”
“I heard you scream.” His thumbs stroke across my cheekbones, and I realize he’s trembling. This massive, deadly man who just killed with his bare hands is shaking as he holds my face like I’m something precious. “I was at the stream, and I heard you scream, and I thought—”
I wrap my fingers around his wrists and hold on. “You came. You heard me, and you came.”
“I will always come. Do you understand that? No matter what happens between us or how angry you are or how much distance you need, I will always come when you need me.”
I should be terrified. A man just died three feet from where I’m standing, and the one who killed him is covered in blood and still wild around the edges.
Every rational thought screams at me to push him away, to create distance, to protect myself from the overwhelming flood of feelings threatening to pull me under.
Instead, I kiss him.
I don’t think about consequences or weigh what it means or consider what comes after. I just rise onto my toes and press my mouth to his, and the moment our lips meet, something inside me finally stops fighting.
Patrick goes still for one heartbeat. Two. Then his hands slide from my face into my hair, and he kisses me back with a hunger that steals what remains of my breath.
This isn’t like our first night together, driven by curiosity and the thrill of the forbidden. This is need, pure and desperate, and I feel it echoing through every nerve in my body until I can’t think past the ache of wanting him.
He pulls back just far enough to speak my name against my lips. “Are you sure? After everything that’s happened—”
“Stop talking.” I fist my hands in his ruined shirt and yank him closer. “I don’t want to think right now. I just want to feel you.”
He growls low in his throat and lifts me off my feet. My legs wrap around his waist as he carries me to the counter, and he sets me on the edge before stepping between my thighs with the hard length of him pressing against my center through too many layers of fabric.
I tear at the remnants of his shirt, yanking it off his shoulders and down his arms until I can get my hands on bare skin.
Blood still streaks across his chest and shoulders, and the sight of it sends a dark thrill racing through me, because he shed this blood protecting me.
He killed for me. Whatever else stands between us, that truth is simple and absolute.
Patrick pulls my dress over my head, leaving me in nothing but my bra and underwear.
His eyes travel down my body with a hunger that makes me feel powerful instead of exposed.
I’ve always carried uncertainty about my curves, about the softness of my stomach and the fullness of my thighs, but the way he looks at me now dissolves every doubt I’ve ever had about whether I’m desirable.
“You’re so fucking beautiful.” He traces his fingers along my collarbone, down between my breasts, and across the swell of my stomach. “I’ve been losing my mind trying not to touch you.”
“Then touch me.” I reach behind my back and unhook my bra, letting it fall away so nothing separates his hands from my skin. “I’m done pretending I don’t want this.”
He cups my breasts in his palms, and the rough calluses drag across sensitive flesh as he kneads and strokes.
His thumbs brush over my nipples, and I arch into the contact with a gasp.
He leans down and takes one peak into his mouth, sucking hard enough to make me cry out as my fingers dig into his hair to hold him exactly where I need him.
“More.” The word comes out breathless and needy. “I need more of you.”
Patrick releases my nipple and sinks to his knees in front of me.
He hooks his fingers in my underwear and drags it down my legs before tossing it aside without looking where it lands, and then he spreads my thighs wider and stares at my center with naked hunger written across every line of his face.
“I’ve been dreaming about this.” He presses a kiss to the inside of my knee that makes me shiver. “About tasting you.” Another kiss lands higher on my thigh, closer to where I’m aching for him. “About making you come on my tongue until you forget why you were ever angry with me.”
“Patrick—”
He licks a long stripe through my folds, and whatever I meant to say dies in my throat.
I fall back onto my elbows because holding myself upright becomes impossible as he works his mouth against me with a thoroughness that leaves no part of me unexplored.
His tongue circles my clit before dipping lower and pushing inside me, and I moan.
He devours me like I’m the first real sustenance he’s had in days, and he intends to savor every taste.
His tongue and lips work together until I’m writhing on the counter with my thighs shaking on either side of his head.
He slides two fingers inside me while his mouth focuses on my clit, curling them to stroke against the spot that makes stars burst behind my eyes.
“Oh, God.” I fist one hand in his hair while the other holds on to the edge of the table. “Right there. Don’t stop.”
He adds a third finger and increases his pace, fucking me with his hand while his tongue drives me higher with every stroke. I’m so close I can taste it, hovering on the edge of something enormous, and every movement of his fingers pushes me closer to the point where I’ll shatter.
“Come for me.” His voice vibrates against my flesh in a way that sends shockwaves through my entire body. “I want to feel you fall apart.”
I shatter with a scream that tears from somewhere deep in my chest. My inner walls clench around his fingers as the orgasm crashes through me, and he works me through every spasm with his mouth and hands until I’m shuddering and gasping on the counter.
My body trembles with the aftershocks, and I can barely catch my breath before he’s rising to his feet with hunger still burning in his amber eyes.
Patrick unfastens his belt and shoves his jeans down, and his cock springs free, hard and thick and leaking at the tip in a way that makes my mouth water despite the orgasm still pulsing through me.
I reach for him and wrap my fingers around his length, stroking from base to tip, and the groan he releases makes me clench around nothing.
“I need you inside me.” I pull him closer by his cock, guiding him to my entrance with a boldness the curse would never have allowed.
He notches himself at my opening and pauses with just the head nudging against me. Our eyes meet, and the emotion I see there takes my breath away more than any physical sensation could, because he’s looking at me like I’m everything he’s ever wanted, and he can’t quite believe I’m real.
“Tell me this is real. Tell me you’re not going to regret this tomorrow.”
I wrap my legs around his waist and pull him forward with my heels digging into the small of his back. “You’re real. This is real. Now stop making me wait.”
He pushes inside me in one long thrust, and I bite down on his shoulder to muffle my scream of relief.