Chapter 8 Guy
Guy
The drive back to the resort was silent.
The car was just as cramped for me as ever, but I barely noticed it.
My entire attention was on Fable in the passenger seat.
He was staring at me, nearly vibrating with tension.
My beaver was wary, trying to understand the shift in events.
We’d been having fun, and now suddenly, Fable seemed angry about something.
Was it because I’d suggested we go back?
Once I pulled into the parking spot, I tried to round the hood to open the door for Fable, but he beat me to it, slamming it behind him.
He stomped past me, swaying, heading in a zigzag down the path toward our cabin.
“Fable,” I called after him, but he didn’t slow his stride.
Good thing my legs were longer than his. I caught up to him easily.
“Fable, please wait. Tell me what’s wrong.”
He wouldn’t even look at me, his eyes focused on the ground ahead, and I told myself it was because he needed to watch his step on the icy path, not because I’d done something wrong. “You feel it too, don’t you?” he asked tightly. “There’s something here between us, isn’t there?”
“Yes!” I said fervently. To call it “something” was the understatement of the year. A fated bond between mates was everything. But how was I supposed to explain that to a human?
“But I kissed you, and you rejected me.”
“I would never!” That word was like a stab in the chest. Rejecting fate’s gift was impossible for a shifter to fathom. “Is that why you’re mad at me? Because I wouldn’t grope you on the dancefloor in front of your friends?”
“Pfft!” he snorted. “They’re not my friends. They never were. You already know me better than they ever did.” His voice had turned pleading, and it twisted me up inside. Every instinct I had said to fix this, to do anything it took to please my mate.
He shoved open the door to the cabin and kicked off his shoes, whipping off the toque I’d insisted he wear, making his hair wild. His cheeks were rosy from the cold, the alcohol, or just the fire burning through his veins.
As soon as I closed the door, he rounded on me, eyes flashing.
I’d been prepared for a fight, but instead, he launched himself at me, climbing my body until his legs were notched around my hips.
I barely caught him in time, his lips sealing to mine in a searing, sloppy kiss.
I couldn’t help myself, I moaned into his mouth, the heady feeling overwhelming me and making my head spin.
He smelled so good, his hands deliciously warm as he pulled up my shirt, searching for skin.
My thoughts hinged on one word alone: mate.
My gums ached as my teeth threatened to elongate, begging me to mark him and complete the bond between us.
I spun us around and pressed Fable against the door, grinding our cocks together. He whimpered when I brought my hands to his ass, massaging through the slick-damp fabric.
But he tasted of rum punch. That was the only thing that could wipe my senses clear. As much as I wanted Fable, it needed to wait until he was sober.
Groaning, I pulled away, resting my forehead on his and panting to catch my breath. Fuck, I could taste his unique scent on my tongue, and I took a deep breath just to hold him in my lungs. “Fable, you’re drunk,” I said, shaking my head to clear it.
“I’m not,” he said in denial, but the slur in his voice didn’t help his cause.
“Okay, I’ll admit I’m a little tipsy, but my thoughts are totally clear.
And if I was drunk, would I be this hard?
” He emphasized his point with a roll of his hips.
“Besides, you had just as much to drink as I did, and you’re apparently sober enough to drive!
” I wished I could explain that alcohol didn’t affect shifters in the same way as humans.
The scent of his slick was overpowering, and my cock flexed in reply.
Gods, I wanted nothing more than to bury myself deep inside him, to bite him and claim him as mine forever.
I blinked hard. I needed space, fresh air, before my instincts took control.
My throat was tight as I set him down on his feet and took a step back.
My breath shuddered past my lips. “Let’s just…
sleep on this, okay? If you still want me in the morning, then we’ll talk. ”
“What? Morning? But I need you now,” he whined, before his eyes grew glassy. “Don’t you want me?”
My body shook with not just desire but the engrained need to provide for my mate, to care for him no matter what he needed, even if that need was sexual. If I didn’t leave right this second, I would give in, and this was not something I wanted either of us to regret.
“I do, Fable, so much.” My resolve wavered, and I bit down on my cheek. “Tomorrow,” I said again on my way out the door, holding my breath just so I could escape his scent.
être fort, my beaver said, encouraging me to be strong, even as the mating pull tried to drag me back.
I was out the door and down those steps before I dared take another breath.
I barely noticed the cold air against my chest, still bare thanks to Fable’s deft fingers on my shirt buttons.
I fled deeper into the woods, my mate’s sobs echoing in my ears.
Fuck, he thought I was rejecting him. Didn’t he know this was the best for both of us?
When I reached the river, it was a relief.
I shed the rest of my clothes and let my beaver take over.
Quickly, my bare feet in the snow became leathery paws, fur replacing skin, and I retreated to the back of my mind where my decisions didn’t haunt me.
My beaver slipped into the water with barely a ripple, his wide tail steering us through the strong current, webbed back feet paddling.
He dove beneath the surface, and the forest’s nighttime sounds were muffled, offering temporary relief from the chaos of the world around us.
This was an important ritual, not just for my beast to stretch his legs, but also for me to organize my thoughts and feelings.
As difficult as it had been to do, I knew that I’d made the right decision.
I only hoped that Fable would see that. He no doubt felt a strong connection between us, but without fully understanding our fated relationship, he’d been understandably confused.
I would find a way to explain… without scaring the shit out of him.
By the time my beaver waddled out of the water and gave me back my skin, the moon was already on its descent. The stars above twinkled like fairy lights, the only Christmas decorations I needed.
Rather than attempting to get dressed while still wet, I pulled on my boxer briefs and then picked the rest of my clothes up in a bundle and padded through the snow barefoot, back to the cabin.
The night was still, though I passed by a pair of wolf shifters out for an evening run and nodded in greeting.
The cabin’s lights were off when I got back, and I slipped through the door as quietly as I could.
The air still scented of my mate’s arousal, but it was bearable now that it had faded.
Fable was curled up in the fetal position on top of the covers, dressed in his pajamas, and I swore I saw dried tears on his cheeks.
My heart just about broke, and I rubbed the ache in my chest. I needed to make this right.
I walked softly across the cabin and paused by the bedside. “Fable?” I whispered, but he didn’t stir. Gritting my teeth, I grabbed the quilt from the end of the bed and pulled it up, tucking Fable into bed. “I’m so sorry, mon coeur. Please forgive me.”
After lighting a fire in case he got cold, I slipped into bed beside him, leaving space since he probably didn’t want me to touch him, even though my fingers itched with the need to reach for him. The gap between us felt like kilometers instead of mere inches.
Fable was my mate, I knew this as fact, but I had to wonder. What kind of future did we have? We lived in different countries, not to mention that we were entirely different species. There were so many barriers standing between us. Maybe fate got it wrong this time…
Non, imbécile. My beaver rolled his eyes so hard, I could feel it inside my brain.
I deserved my beast’s attitude, because he was right.
Fate didn’t make mistakes, but that didn’t mean Fable had to play by the same rules as I did.
He could go back to his life, if he so chose.
He could walk away and never look back, never even think of that rough Canadian he’d met on holiday ever again.
But as a shifter, he was my one and only. My soul would only ever want his.
I reached out and brushed a single fingertip across his cheek, and he murmured in his sleep, leaning toward me. Even if we never stood a snowball’s chance in hell, I had to try. He was worth it—we were worth it. He didn’t know it yet, but together, we would be magic.