Chapter Fourteen
VANESSA
I KNOW HE’S out there.
My hands shake as I pull back my living room curtain and peek out the window. I can’t see him, but I know he’s somewhere out there.
I’m sure my decision to let Chev stay in Wrath sent the wrong message. He’s probably taken that as an invitation, which is less than ideal. Still, I can’t find it within myself to regret my decision. A small part of me is happy he’s here.
Our bond has been vibrating all night, the warmth spreading through my limbs and organs. It feels good, and it’s a welcome change from the burn I felt when I rejected him. I knew mate bonds were strong, but I had no idea they could cause physical pain.
I wish I knew more about them. I was taken from the nymph lands when I was a child, and I was never taught about bonds or mates—at least not in detail. I know minimal, and everything I’ve read online sounds horrible. I suppose I could ask Chev about it, but I fear he’d get too excited. Echo would be the next person I’d go to, but I’d rather die than explain to her how her brother makes me feel.
My hands still shake, and I wipe them on my pants before opening my front door. I’m met with crisp air and the sound of birds, but I ignore it all as I run toward my golf cart. I continually scan the woods for any sign of Chev. I imagine he’s too big to hide, but the woods are his specialty.
I know he’s out there, and I’d rather be aware of it than be ignorant.
My pulse races, and I set my things in my cart before straightening my spine and looking into the woods. I search them again, still not seeing anything beyond trees and dirt. Maybe he isn’t here.
“Chev?” My voice isn’t as loud as I want it to be, but shifters have good hearing. If he’s out there, he’ll hear.
I clasp my hands behind my back and rock on my heels, waiting. For a long moment, there’s nothing, just me and the morning air. After a second, though, there’s movement. Chev steps out from behind a tree, and he’s much closer than I thought he’d be.
How did I miss him? He’s twice as wide as the trunk.
His lips curl into a timid smile, but they fall when I don’t give one back. I’m too busy panicking, and I wipe my hands on my pants again before gesturing for him to come over. I don’t know why I’m doing this or what I want to say, but our bond doesn’t care. It urges me to invite him into my space and life, and I’m having difficulty denying it.
It’s annoying.
Chev greets me. “Vanessa.”
His voice is low, and I force myself to maintain eye contact as he approaches. He stands on the other side of my golf cart, and he plants his hands on the roof before bending to peer through it. I forget how large he is until he’s close. It’s unnerving.
“Chev,” I say.
His shirt is stretched tightly around his shoulders and arms, and it’s a wonder the seams haven’t ripped. It rides up at the waist, exposing a sharp V leading into his jeans. I refuse to lower my gaze any further.
Silence stretches between us, but Chev doesn’t seem to mind. He’s grinning at me.
“How’s your head?” I eventually ask.
Chev’s smile widens, and it takes everything in me not to move when he slowly rounds the vehicle separating us. What’s he doing? My throat is dry and scratchy, my nerves at an all-time high as he lowers himself into the driver’s seat and dips his head. He seems to sense that I’m too nervous to talk, and he doesn’t pressure me with conversation as he shows me the top of his head.
I know precisely where his injuries are thanks to Gray, and I hesitate before bringing my fingers to his scalp. Chev leans into my touch, loud noises emerging from his chest as I timidly move his hair around.
The skin is healed, and the few injuries Gray pointed to last night are gone. Chev has a handful of tiny bald spots from where the fence ripped out his hair, but they’re nearly impossible to notice if you aren’t looking.
“Does it hurt?” I can’t help but ask.
Chev shakes his head, causing his hair to slide through my fingers. It’s surprisingly soft, the wavy strands well cared for. Shifters are known for their healthy hair, skin, and nails. Our children will likely have beautiful hair, too.
I rip my hands off his head, shocked and disgusted with my train of thought.
I’ll never give Chev children. The only intimacy I’ve ever encountered has been through force, and the thought of willingly letting a man put his hands on me feels wrong. I’ll never want that.
“My mate mark darkened after our kiss yesterday,” Chev says.
My eyes, without my permission, travel to his thighs. I take sick pleasure knowing I’ve caused the damned marking to change. I’ve spent a long time staring at old photos of him, and I wonder what it looks like now. How dark has it gotten?
I refuse to ask. I should be avoiding Chev, not running my fingers through his hair and discussing his mate mark. This is the exact opposite of what I should be doing. Despite how good the bond feels when I give in, I can’t.
I’ll never be able to give Chev what he wants, and I’m doing this for him just as much as I’m doing it for myself.
“Do nymphs have mate marks?” Chev asks.
My fingers twitch, and I fight my instinct to reach up and touch my spot. I’m happy it lives on the back of my neck, where it can’t easily be seen.
“Yes, we do,” I say, purposefully being vague.
Chev frowns. I hate it when he does that, and I blow out a frustrated breath before spinning around. I’m all too aware I’m putting my back to him, leaving myself vulnerable, but I tell myself he isn’t going to hurt me as I bundle up my hair.
I can practically feel Chev’s excitement as I lift it, exposing the small mark on the back of my neck. The golf cart groans as Chev stands, and a second later, I feel his body heat warming me through my clothing. He’s so close that his breath tickles the tiny hairs on the back of my neck.
“I don’t see it,” he says.
I’m not excited to explain this.
“It looks like a birthmark,” I say. “It’s dormant, which is why it’s so small and light.”
That’s about all I know. Nymphs are secretive about our marks, and not many outside our kind have information about them. My mother was supposed to tell me about mine when I got older, but the opportunity was stolen from us by the Seekers. I’m one of the last of my kind, so I have nobody to ask now.
I believe the mark will turn dark pink and travel down the length of my spine. I have no idea how to make it do so, though.
Chev hums. “Dormant?”
“I’m not sure,” I admit. “That’s what my mother once told me. I don’t know much about it.”
A quiet, low noise begins to pour from Chev. I faintly remember hearing it before, and I clench my thighs together as it travels through me. Chev clears his throat and hits his chest a few times, but the noise doesn’t stop.
“Can I touch it?” he begs.
No.I should say no. I left the house fully intending to ignore Chev and pretend he doesn’t exist, and I’m failing miserably. I didn’t get ten feet from my front door before calling out his name, and now he’s pleading to touch my neck.
The low noises continue seeping from Chev. He’s probably waited his entire life for this. That thought alone has me giving a jerky nod and lowering my chin to my chest.
“Fine,” I say.
I can practically smell Chev’s excitement. He doesn’t move right away, and the wait is excruciating. It’s hard not to be consumed by him and the bond, and it becomes especially hard to resist it when he’s touching me.
“I’m going to do it now,” Chev warns.
I nod.
Just one touch and I’ll be on my way. I’m already running late, and letting Chev distract me is irresponsible. I shouldn’t have called out to him—that was my first mistake. Hearing about his head injury has me frazzled, and I wish Charlie had never told me about it.
Something soft touches my mark, and I collapse.
My knees buckle, and if it weren’t for Chev’s quick reflexes, I’d be crumpled on the ground. He wraps his arm around my waist and holds me against his chest, supporting my weight entirely. I clutch at his forearm, unable to focus on anything but his touch against my mark.
Now I understand why the adults were so private about them.
Chev pulls away as he evaluates my reaction, and he loosens the arm around my waist just enough that I know I’m free to pull away at any moment. I don’t move. It’s probably a mistake. He’s giving me an out, a chance to stop this, and I don’t take it.
He touches my mark again.
Pleasure radiates down my spine, and I bite back a moan as he brushes his thumb over the small spot. He might as well be touching between my thighs, every sensation on my neck mirrored on my most intimate bits.
It’s too good. Am I going to cum?
Chev licks my neck.
Yes.
He licks me again, his rough tongue rubbing hard against me. I reach for him with both hands, desperate to hold the arm wrapped around my waist. I squeeze him as the pleasure grows, a squeaky whine slipping from my lips as my orgasm approaches.
My sex pulsates around nothing, and when Chev begins moaning into my skin, I fall apart. My nails dig into his forearm as I cum, almost drawing blood. Chev holds me through it, and once I’ve fallen limp, he guides me into my golf cart.
That was by far the most intense orgasm I’ve ever had, and I can practically feel Chev’s pride as he crouches before me and pushes my tangled hair out of my face.
“Vanessa,” he whispers. “Are you okay?”
I swallow past the lump in my throat, unsure how I feel. The mere thought of letting somebody between my thighs is revolting, but I don’t have the same reservations about the back of my neck. That area has never been defiled, and even though I feel the pleasure in the parts of my body I struggle with, it’s different enough.
AmI okay?
There’s no crushing disappointment or suffocating fear. I wait for it, thinking it might be delayed, but nothing appears.
“I’m okay,” I eventually say.
Chev fucking beams, and despite knowing I shouldn’t, I find myself smiling back. This is a dangerous game, one that will most certainly end with me being hurt, but I can’t seem to stop. Chev is like a splinter I can’t get out, and I’m beginning to worry I don’t want to.
Charlie believes in him, and I take her endorsement to heart. Maybe Chev and I can come to some sort of agreement—one that will allow us to be platonic partners. I know he wants children, but if he’s willing to forego sex, I’d be willing to be medically inseminated with his seed.
My chest tightens at the mental of image of Chev holding a child—our child. I know he’d be a good father. All shifters are. He would be protective and caring, and our child would need for nothing.
“Can I drive you to work?” Chev asks.
I suck on my teeth, debating. He’s already here, and if I’m honest with myself, I don’t want to part ways yet. I worry about people at the facility seeing us, but it’s only a matter of time before we’re discovered. There’s no use prolonging the inevitable.
“You can’t come inside,” I say.
Chev hardly seems to take offense, his head quickly bobbing as I move over and make room for him to sit in the driver’s seat. I grab the things I set down earlier and clutch them to my chest as he turns on the golf cart and begins driving us down the long road to the facility.
I’m going to be late for my meeting with Charlie.
I have a feeling she’d be excited if I told her I got held up by Chev, but I won’t use him as an excuse. Telling her that would send the wrong message, and I’m not ready to face the questions I’m sure will follow.
My heart continues to pound, the aftereffects of my orgasm lingering. I turn and sneak a peek at Chev, wanting to see if he was affected by our touch. He was—still is. He’s hard, his length pressing against the fabric of his pants. It looks painful, but I’m not going to acknowledge it.
“Would it be okay if I drove you to work in the mornings?” Chev asks, drawing my attention. “I can meet you outside your home.”
I should say no.
“We’ll have to leave earlier than this,” I say instead. “Because you drive slow.”
He drives like an old man, his hands firmly planted on the wheel and his eyes continually darting around, like he’s expecting traffic to suddenly appear on this empty, dirt road. I don’t have the same reservations, and I get to work in half the amount of time.
“Deal,” Chev says. He shoots me a sideways smile. “I’m excited.”
I squeeze my eyes shut. Why didn’t I say no? We finally pull up to the back entrance of the facility, and I practically leap out of the golf cart and sprint toward the doors.
Chev laughs. “Goodbye, Vanessa!”
His voice is full of excitement despite the fact that I’m literally sprinting away from him. I lift my arm, giving an awkward wave, before pushing open the facility doors and hurrying inside.
Charlie’s already waiting for me in my office. It’s like she knows when I’m in desperate need of advice, and she clasps her hands in her lap as I throw myself into my chair and drop my head onto my desk. It smacks against the surface with a quiet thud, but my loud groan quickly drowns it out.
“I told him he can drive me to work in the mornings,” I admit. Charlie remains silent, and I let out another loud groan before continuing. “And I let him lick my mark, which turns out to be more pleasurable than it should be.” I let out a third loud groan. “And I think I’m excited to see him again.”
There’s a quiet shuffling as she shifts her position in her chair. I’m desperate for her to say something, anything.
She clears her throat. “You’ve had a busy morning.”
I laugh, even though I think this situation is anything but funny.
“How long has he been watching me?” I ask.
Charlie goes quiet before answering. “He came here about three weeks after you, and he watches you drive to and from work. Sometimes he sticks around while you cook dinner, but he returns to the manor before dark.”
I should be disgusted. I should be horrified and angry and putting a stop to it. I know I should. That’s the only reasonable response to something like this, but the emotion doesn’t come. It’s sick and twisted, and I hate myself for it.
It’s the damned bond. It’s warping my mind, and I have no control over it.
“I don’t want him doing that anymore,” I say.
Charlie nods. “I’ll see to it that he doesn’t.”
Good. Good. That’s good.
“Is there anything else you want to talk about?” Charlie asks.
Yes. No. I don’t know where to start.