SEVEN
Gryff
It was probably a mistake to invite Honey to stay for dinner. Well, invite is a strong word for it given she muscled her way in with the steaming hot pie of my dreams. I have a massive soft spot for Sonia’s pie.
I lean forward over my plate, shoveling another forkful of delicious flaky pastry and savory meat into my mouth to try to erase the lingering rich scent of her, but it’s no good.
It rises above the scent of chicken and vegetables and melt-in-my-mouth, salty pastry like an aromatic reminder that in the space of a day she’s stamped herself onto my consciousness.
But she looked so sad when I told her I don’t like guests it nearly broke my heart.
I haven’t let myself care about a single soul save Bill and Sonia since I got home.
Caring for Honey should just be a natural extension of the gratitude I feel toward the only folks who give a damn about me in Mosswood.
I’m going to keep right on telling myself that’s the only reason it makes my heart dance a little in my chest to be the one who puts a smile on her face.
“Have you always lived alone?” she asks.
I swallow down the bitter memories of vibrant mess halls and nights spent bunking with my roommates at military college. Too raw still, even after all this time. “Since I was discharged.”
Her fork pauses part way to her plump pink lips, and I know she wants to ask me about it. I’m expecting it. Instead she takes the bite of pie, and I find myself almost disappointed.
Silence stretches on, broken only by the scrape of my fork against my plate as I scoop the last delicious morsels into my mouth.
This is awkward. I’m making it awkward because I can’t think of a damned thing to say to her.
I guess conversation is like firing a weapon.
You get rusty if you don’t practice, and I might as well be a new recruit.
Honey leans over the counter to refill her glass of water at the sink. As she does, she brushes against my side, and my whole body fills with warmth.
I take a sip of my own water and clear my throat. “What about you? I heard you’re living in the big city now? Do you have roommates?”
“No. I can’t really. It never works out.”
I snort. “I find that hard to believe. Pretty girl like you. Good cook. They must be lining up outside your door.”
She gives me a weak smile. “The ones who do aren’t really safe candidates.”
Shit. I’ve gone and put my foot in my mouth again, haven’t I? I tell myself I don’t want to ask her about it. I don’t need to know her secrets. I’m not her confidante.
It makes no difference because she takes another bite of pie and then continues. “Ever since puberty I’ve been like this. A problem.”
The words burst from me in a gruff snarl. “You’re not a problem.”
Her eyes widen. “Oh, but I thought you knew I was half succubus.”
I shake my head. “I know that, but you’re not the problem.”
Honey smiles sadly. “That’s sweet of you to say, but you’re only saying that because you’re immune.
I’ve seen how guys react to me even when they don’t want to.
Even my best friend’s boyfriend…” She trails off, and I recognize the acrid scent of her sadness from yesterday.
It coils in my nostrils, spoiling the lingering taste of Sonia’s pie.
I wish I could tell her I’m not immune. That I’d give just about anything to be able to hold her and run my tongue over the smooth skin at the base of her neck and hear her moan.
I refuse to believe any of these other assholes who reacted to her couldn’t have controlled themselves with a little more willpower.
But if I tell her that, I’m just another asshole drooling over her, aren’t I? I’m tangling myself up in knots trying to work out how to tackle this without being an asshole.
While I’m silently agonizing, Honey continues. “Women react too sometimes, although that’s rarer.”
Just proves what I thought. The problem isn’t her after all. There are plenty of female alphas out there who must react to her pheromones. “When did you first go into heat?”
She frowns, and I wonder if the question was too personal. “Ah, you mean the um… the luring guys in?”
That’s an odd way to describe it, as if it is only the guys who are affected and not her.
Before I can question her about it, she’s forging on.
“It’s happened ever since I hit puberty.
That’s why we left Mosswood until I could learn how to control it better.
I’m still not perfect. I make too many mistakes, but I’ve been better.
Until lately.” Her chin wobbles, and she looks away.
Fuck. I’ve made her cry. I push the plate of pie away, forcing down the stupid wish that I could pull her into my arms. “Have you got a lid? For the pie? You should get it into the fridge. You don’t want the chicken to spoil.
” It’s still gently steaming and is clearly in no danger of turning bad any time soon, but I am rapidly losing the battle with my wolf.
I can feel him pressing against my spine to be set free.
He would not hold himself back from touching her.
Not with her inside my den, sad and lonely and aching for a cuddle and a warm nest.
But that’s exactly why she can’t be here.
I can’t cuddle her and nest her, because if I do, there’s no way I’ll be able to stop myself from doing something stupid like biting and rutting her and I can’t claim a mate.
Especially not this pretty young girl with her too-wide eyes and her soft candy sweetness.
I grab my plate and scrape my scraps into the bin, then do the same with hers, though it’s clear she’s not finished. “Thanks for dinner.”
Honey straightens, brushing at the short floral sundress she must have changed into after our trip to the hardware store. “Oh. I guess I’ll go home then.”
“Yes. It’s getting late.” It’s eight fifteen.
“Right. Well thanks. It was nice not to have to eat alone.”
She picks up the pie dish, and a wave of guilt washes over me. I’m acting like a dick. I haven’t even tried to help her.
I press my eyes shut for a moment, letting a low purr rumble from my chest. It’s been so long since I’ve purred for an omega I’m rusty at that too, but after a few pathetic choked sounds it rumbles to life, and I open my eyes again to see her eyes glaze over a little and the crease drop from between her brows just like the other day.
I give her a moment to relax into it, wishing I could stroke her hair and hold her against my chest. She’s carrying so much pain and masks it so well.
But it’s there, hiding beneath the surface, ready to bubble over when she lets down her guard.
That’s all too familiar to me. If I was a better wolf I’d let her see a little part of my exposed undersides too.
Unfortunately there’s only so much vulnerability I can cope with in one day, and just letting her see me get rattled is about all I can handle. “Honey?”
“Mmm?”
“I’m sorry I’m such poor company. It’s not you.”
The hard line she pressed her lips into softens and she smiles. “You’re not bad company.”
I laugh. I am terrible company and know it. I’ve gone out of my way to be the worst company for the last ten years. “You’re not bad company,” I tell her gently. “I’m just a lost cause. But it was kind of you to try.”
She holds the pie dish out toward me, and I’m forced to take it from her or act like a total asswipe. As I do our hands brush, and the energy that explodes through me comes out of nowhere like an IED blast. I almost drop the damned thing.
What the hell? We’ve touched a few times, and it never felt like that before.
I want to drop the thing on the floor and hoist her in my arms until I can walk her back and place her on the kitchen counter. I want to tear that little sundress off her beautiful body and do bad, bad things to my neighbor’s daughter until she calls me Daddy again.
I—fuck.
I clamp down on those inappropriate thoughts and stuff them back into that dark recess in my mind where the faces of my dead friends live. Those companions should be enough to kill any desire I might be feeling in the moment. This bastard is strong, though. He won’t die.
She stiffens and pulls her hands away and I almost snatch them back. “Sorry. I should be more careful.” She looks away, hurrying to the door before I can catch my wits.
“Yeah,” I say woodenly. Every nerve ending is alight and overstimulated.
“Keep the pie.”
Pie? I glance down and notice the pie dish in my hands. “Thanks.”
She shuts the door behind her, and I stand in the kitchen holding the pie, staring at the spot she vacated for a full two minutes before I can make myself move.
When I finally do, I take my fork and devour the entire remaining pie, though more than half is left in the dish.
I just can’t seem to stop when every mouthful smells hauntingly of her and I’m left with a hunger I cannot slake.
I throw myself into bed an hour later with an ache in my belly and a matching ache in my chest. Why did I do such a stupid thing as letting this little ray of sunshine into my home?
Inside, my wolf is howling for me to march in next door, sling her over my shoulder, and bring her the fuck back. I turn toward the wall and stuff my pillow over my head to try to avoid thinking too hard about what that could mean.
And then, like the idiot I am, I get up and stand by the window watching, hoping I’ll be able to steal another glimpse at what I absolutely cannot have.