Chapter 17
WHEN WALLS FALL
DANIEL
Thunder rolled across the mountains, low and threatening, and the lights flickered. Once. Twice. The wolf in me stirred, responding to the storm with an answering growl that rumbled up from somewhere deep in my bones.
Michael was in the kitchen. I could hear him moving around, the soft clink of ceramic, the whisper of bare feet on hardwood.
Could smell the coffee he'd brewed even though it was past midnight, rich and dark and cutting through the ozone-sharp scent of the storm.
He'd stayed after everyone else had gone home, after Evan and Nate had retreated upstairs with those knowing looks they thought I didn't notice.
Ever since the clearing, ever since I'd let myself be vulnerable in ways I hadn't been since Claire, I'd been terrified. Not of Michael. Of myself. Of how much I wanted this, wanted him, and how badly I could ruin it if I moved too fast.
My reflection stared back at me from the rain-slicked window, all hard angles and tired eyes and the weight of too many years pressing down on shoulders that had carried too much for too long. I'd told him I was going to try. To let go. To make room for something new.
But trying and doing were different things.
“You planning to stand there all night, or are you waiting for the house to float away?”
Michael's voice cut through the storm noise and my spiraling thoughts.
I turned to find him leaning against the kitchen doorframe, coffee mug cradled in both hands, wearing one of my flannels over his t-shirt.
He looked tired. He looked beautiful. He looked at me like he could see straight through every wall I was trying to rebuild.
“Thinking,” I said, and my voice came out rougher than I meant it to.
“About what?”
About how I told you I was ready to try and then spent three days running from you.
About how every time you walk into a room my wolf wants to press against you until our scents are so tangled no one could separate them.
About how I'm terrified that what happened at Claire's tree was too much too fast and now I don't know how to move forward.
“Territory lines,” I lied. “The northern boundary needs reinforcing before the next full moon.”
Michael's mouth curved, but it wasn't quite a smile. More like disappointment wrapped in understanding. “You're full of shit, Daniel.”
“Yeah,” I said, letting my arms drop. “I am.”
He pushed off the doorframe, set his mug on the hallway table with careful deliberation. Moved toward me like he had all the time in the world, like the storm wasn't raging and my heart wasn't trying to claw its way out of my chest.
When he stopped, close enough that I could count the silver threads in his eyes, he didn't touch me. Just looked at me with those storm-gray eyes that saw too damn much.
His jaw tightened. “You disappeared on me.”
“I didn't disappear. I've been—”
“Avoiding me.” The words came out flat. “Finding reasons to be somewhere else every time I walk into a room. Scheduling pack business at convenient times. Sending Evan to deliver messages you could have delivered yourself.”
Guilt twisted in my chest. “Michael—”
“I thought we had something at that tree.” His voice cracked, just slightly. “I thought you were finally letting me in. And then you slammed the door so hard I got whiplash.”
“I wasn't trying to—”
“Then what were you trying to do?” He stepped closer, and there was fire in his eyes now. Real anger, the kind I'd never seen from him directed at me. “Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you got scared and ran. Like everything you said about making room, about trying, was just words.”
“It wasn't just words.”
“Then prove it.” His hands came up, grabbed the front of my shirt. “Stop protecting me from yourself. Stop deciding what's best for me without asking what I want. Stop treating me like I'm going to break if you actually let yourself feel something.”
“I'm not—”
“You are.” He was close enough now that I could feel his breath on my face, could see the hurt underneath the anger.
“You're so busy protecting everyone else that you've forgotten how to let anyone protect you.
And I'm standing here, Daniel, telling you I want to be that person, and you keep pushing me away.”
“Because I don't trust myself.” The confession scraped out of me before I could stop it.
“Because I want you so much it scares me, and every time I get close I remember all the ways I've failed. Claire. The pack. My own damn son. I have a track record, Michael. Of fucking up the things that matter most.”
“So do I.” His grip on my shirt tightened. “You think I don't know how to fail? I couldn't save Anna. Couldn't protect my son from a world that wanted to eat him alive. I've made mistakes that keep me up at night, choices I'd give anything to take back.”
“That's different—”
“It's not different. It's human. It's being alive and caring about things and sometimes getting it wrong anyway.” His voice dropped, went rough with something that made my wolf sit up and pay attention.
“But you don't get to use your failures as an excuse to not try. Not with me. Not after everything.”
Thunder cracked overhead, close enough to rattle the windows.
“I don't know how to do this,” I admitted. “I don't know how to want you without fucking it up. Without letting all my fear poison something that could be good.”
“Then let me help you figure it out.” His hands slid up to my face, forcing me to look at him. “Stop trying to do everything alone. Stop carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders like that's the only way to prove you're strong.”
“Old habits.”
“Then make new ones.” His thumb brushed my cheekbone, and the tenderness in the gesture nearly broke me. “Start with this one: when you're scared, tell me. When you want to run, stay. When you don't know what to do, ask.”
“And if I still fuck it up?”
“Then we'll figure it out together. That's what this is, Daniel. That's what we could have, if you'd stop being so damn stubborn and let yourself have it.”
I was shaking. Realized it when I tried to speak and couldn't, when the words stuck in my throat and all I could do was stand there while Michael held my face and looked at me like I was worth wanting despite everything I'd done wrong.
“I'm sorry,” I managed. “For pulling away. For making you feel like I didn't want this.”
“Do you? Want this?”
“More than I've wanted anything in fifteen years.”
“Then stop running.” His voice was barely a whisper now. “Stop protecting me from yourself. Stop talking about all the reasons this is a bad idea and just—”
I kissed him.
Closed the distance and kissed him like I'd been holding my breath for months, like drowning and coming up for air at the same time. Not gentle, not even close. My hands cradled his face, stubble scraping my palms, and the kiss was hot and greedy and a little wild around the edges.
He made a sound against my mouth. Not quite a moan, not quite a gasp. Something in between that shot straight to my spine and made every nerve ending light up at once.
I lost myself in the taste of him. Coffee, rain, something sharp and grounding that made my wolf want to howl. His hands fisted in my shirt, pulling me closer, and I went willingly. Pressed him against the wall and kissed him until neither of us could breathe.
When we finally broke apart, gasping, his eyes were dark and his lips were swollen and he looked at me like I was everything he'd ever wanted.
“More of that.” he said roughly.
“I don't want to rush you—”
“Daniel.” His voice was patient in a way that said his patience was wearing thin. “I am a grown man who has been fantasizing about you. The only thing you're rushing is my ability to think straight.”
Something in my chest cracked open. Heat and want and something that felt terrifyingly like hope spilling through the cracks.
“Okay,” I said. “Okay.”
“Okay?” He raised an eyebrow. “That's what you've got? Months of buildup and you give me okay?”
“I'm processing.”
“Process faster.” He pulled me back down, kissed me with intent that made my knees weak. “Because I've been waiting long enough, and I'm done being patient.”
I laughed against his mouth, surprised and delighted and so full of want I could barely stand it. “You're bossy.”
“You like it.”
“I really do.”
The storm raged outside, rain hammering windows and thunder rolling through the mountains. But inside, wrapped around Michael with his hands in my hair and his body pressed against mine, I felt something I hadn't felt in years.
Peace.
And underneath that, building like a wave, was the absolute certainty that this was right. That he was right. That whatever came next, we'd face it together.
“Bedroom,” I said against his mouth. “Now.”
“Finally.” He grinned, and it was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen. “Lead the way, Alpha.”
I took his hand and led him upstairs, and the storm outside felt less like violence and more like celebration.
We barely made it to my room before I lost all sense of patience.
The second the door closed, I shoved Michael up against it, my mouth crashing into his with all the hunger I’d held back for months. Our teeth clacked, noses bumped, but I didn’t care—I wanted the taste of him, needed him to know exactly how much I’d been starving for this.
He gasped, but there was no hesitation—he grabbed my hips, yanked me in close, and kissed back just as rough, biting my lip and dragging his teeth along my jaw. I groaned, pinning his wrists above his head with one hand, using my body to cage him in, hips grinding hard against his.
I could feel him, thick and hot through his jeans, already hard for me, pressed tight against my own aching length. The friction sent sparks up my spine. I rolled my hips, letting our cocks rub together, groaning when he bucked up to meet me, desperate and needy.