Chapter 7
LUCY
“Okay,” I say to the universe. “Point made. You can quit anytime.”
I’ve been flat on my back for two hours in a tank top and shorts, quilt kicked off the end of the bed, window shut, and the rest of me is running as if I fell asleep against a woodstove.
Every time I close my eyes, I view a slideshow.
Grayson in that hallway, pressing me backward against the wall, asking whether I feel it too, and me not pulling away. Roman at the woodpile with his shirt off and water running down his chest. Wolf finding me in the ferns like a raccoon in a trash can, flirting with me, driving me wild.
I flip the pillow, but the cool side barely does anything, and my bite mark is throbbing again.
I lift my hand into the wash of moonlight coming through the window, pale in all that blue, the bandage a reminder of the trouble that started all of this. “I’d like it on the record that at no point did I sign up for this.”
Scent matches happen. It’s not that common, so when it does occur, it’s a big deal.
And right now, I crave Roman, which makes me long for the other two men as well. The sensation is already pouring his feelings into me like a busted faucet, which is the whole reason I’m awake at two in the morning.
I sit up and push my legs over the side of the bed. I’m on my feet and pacing from the door to the window.
To complete the bond, I have to bite Roman back. Otherwise, if we leave it open, it goes bad for both of us. Hurts like a bitch, and then one of us doesn’t come out of it. It leads to death, and that terrifies me.
I’ve heard of it happening. I rub the goose bumps out of my arms even as the heat within me is unbearable. Crossing the room, I shove the window open and lean out into it with my elbows on the sill. The cold finds me like a bucket of water, and I love it.
An owl calls twice, way out, and gets an answer from farther off.
The property lights burn all night, just how Grandma always had it when I was growing up.
The lamp over the front steps, two along the path, one on the pole down by the guest cabins.
She’ll tell you it’s for guests, and it is, but it’s also so that anyone who comes up that road at midnight can see there are people home.
But mostly it’s so you can look before you go out and see what’s already standing there.
Past the lamps, the forest is pitch black. You could put your arm in up to the elbow and lose the limb.
Right then, at the edge of the woods where the last of the light gives way to shadow, something moves.
I freeze on the spot, my pulse suddenly racing faster.
Then a figure steps out from between two towering pines, strong shoulders emerging first, then the familiar outline of a man I know far better than I should after only one day.
It’s Roman.
My heart slams against my ribs at seeing him. What’s he doing out there?
He’s looking toward the lodge, at my window. Does this mean he couldn’t sleep either? Somehow, that thought unsettles me more than finding him outside in the first place.
Because I’m standing here for exactly the same reason.
He suddenly lowers his gaze, as though finally deciding this is a mistake, and turns toward the trees.
“Roman, wait,” I call out so abruptly that I surprise myself.
He stops, turns back, but says nothing.
“I’m coming down,” I say. I don’t give him a chance to answer, as I’m already on the move.
Jeans hauled on over my sleep shorts, hopping on one leg. Hoodie over the tank top. Sneakers, laces flapping. Down the stairs with my hand skimming the rail, into the great room, where the fire has gone out.
No sign of Ethan.
I put my hand flat on the front door and think, very clearly, this is a mistake. I open it anyway.
Cold air brings his scent right into my nostrils and through me like a shot of liquor on an empty stomach. Every hair on my arms stands while my mouth waters. Low in my belly, that ache uncoils, stretching out.
I hold on to the doorframe with a death grip.
“You shouldn’t have come down.” His voice is rough, ragged around the edges, as though he hasn’t spoken in hours.
He stands a few feet back from the bottom step, hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans.
The porch light illuminates the hard planes of his face, the tight set of his jaw, the tension running through his shoulders. He’s keeping his distance.
A faint breeze whispers between us, carrying his familiar scent, and it awakens something within me. Need crashes through me so suddenly that my knuckles turn white around the doorknob. It isn’t just attraction. It’s hunger, and beneath it runs a longing deep enough for my chest to ache.
Loneliness.
Restraint.
Desperation.
I suck in a sharp breath because none of those feelings are mine. Bonded partners can sense each other’s emotions, and these are Roman’s.
My stomach drops because us being bound together is fucking real, even if I didn’t want to believe it before.
“Why are you standing outside my window at two in the morning?” My voice comes out quieter than I’d intended. “There’s a version of tonight where I call the sheriff.”
One corner of his mouth curls upward. “There’s a version where you should, because I’m unsure if I can walk away.”
The admission steals my breath.
He glances toward the dark tree line behind him before looking in my direction again. “Keep telling myself to return to the cabin.” His jaw flexes.
My heart twists, and not because of his words but because I feel the truth of them, that relentless pull, the frustration, and the battle he’s been fighting with himself all night.
And somehow it’s echoing inside me as though it’s my own.
“How’s that going?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
A shadow of a smile appears. “You’re looking at it.”
I take one careful step down, then another. “Why are you really here, Roman?” I need to hear him say it, because if I’m the only one carrying this impossible thing inside me, then I’ve finally lost my mind… and I’d rather know now.
His jaw clenches, and for a long moment, he just stares at me as though deciding whether telling me the truth is kinder than letting me think he’s crazy.
“Because I can’t stay away.” His hand drags slowly over the back of his neck before dropping again.
“I tried.” His laugh is short and humorless.
“God knows I tried.” His eyes find mine again, impossibly steady despite everything else about him appearing wound up too tight.
“I just can’t sleep.” His voice lowers. “Knowing you’re fifty yards away and every instinct I’ve got keeps dragging me back to you. ”
The air catches in my lungs.
“And then…” His gaze drops for the briefest second to my mouth before lifting. “Then I started feeling you.”
My heartbeat stutters.
“Your fear.” His brow furrows. “Your confusion.” His expression softens.
My knees nearly give way because I wasn’t imagining it. He’s just as tangled in this as I am, carrying the same relentless pull and impossible craving. It takes every ounce of willpower not to step off the last stair and press myself against the warmth of him.
God… what is happening to us?
“Shit, Lucy…” The words scrape out of him.
I laugh. It’s quiet and a little unhinged, but what else am I supposed to do? “I do have a complaint,” I say.
“Yeah?” He shifts his weight onto one leg, the movement rolling through his broad shoulders.
“Whoever designed this whole scent-match system deserves to be punched.” I gesture helplessly between us. “One bite. Half a second. And suddenly I can’t think straight every time you’re within breathing distance.”
His chuckle is low and entirely unfair, and the sound sends a buzz down my spine.
“Part of me…” He closes his eyes for a heartbeat before opening them again. “Part of me is happier than I’ve ever been.” His gaze holds mine.
And I can’t look away.
“The rest of me is terrified of what this means for you.”
“Oh.” I’ve lost my words.
“I’ve wanted a mate my whole life. Ask Grayson. He’ll tell you I’m insufferable about it.” He grins. “So there’s a piece of me that got exactly what I’ve been asking for. But I also damn hate that part, because you didn’t get asked. I did that to you, and I can’t take it back.”
He stands there, probably saying the hardest truth he’s ever had to admit about himself, then waits to see what I do with it.
“For what it’s worth,” I answer, “I’m not exactly hating it either. Which is easily the most alarming thing I’ve admitted tonight.”
He smiles, and I’m not sure I’ll ever get tired of it. “That so?”
I nod once, refusing to elaborate, and my pulse stumbles. The frightening fact is that every inch of me wants exactly the same thing. The pull between us is tightening with every heartbeat until it takes all my concentration not to give in and cross the few feet separating us.
Something hardens behind his gaze. He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a small carving, turning it over once in his hand before holding it toward me. It’s a small carved bird that is simply adorable. “This was plan B.”
I frown more out of confusion.
“Plan A was leaving it on the step and walking away.”
Despite every sensible thought telling me not to, I step off the last stair.
I reach for the carving, and as my fingers brush his palm, desire tears through me so suddenly my breath catches.
It spreads through me until every nerve feels painfully alive.
For one reckless, terrifying heartbeat, I don’t care about the carving at all.
I just want his hand against mine again.
A muscle jumps in his jaw before he slowly draws a long breath, and I know he felt it too.
I force my gaze down to the bird, small enough to rest in the middle of my palm, its wings tucked close against its body.
“This is gorgeous.”
He shrugs. “It’s a wren. Couldn’t get it out of my head when I thought of you.”
I close my fingers around it. The wood is warm from his pocket, and that detail does more damage to me than anything he’s said so far.