2. Kai
CHAPTER TWO
KAI
S hit. Fuck.
She shouldn’t have followed. She should not have followed me into the snow. What sort of person ignored all survival instinct to go chasing after an animal in a snowstorm?
A kind, caring, compassionate one. One who barely reached my chin, sported curves for fucking days, and was now tucked inside my jacket.
I inhaled her scent—cinnamon and blackberries and undeniably human—then tore my gaze away before she noticed my eyes on her. She needed to warm up, not an eye-fuck. Her lips were nearly blue and her shivers rolled one into the next.
My wolf snarled, urging me to help her. To save her. A noble fucking idea that lasted until the old barn came into view. She had a whole house filled with fancy furnishings, and I brought her here? To my den?
My prison.
Fuck.
I shouldn’t have gone out. I should have stayed tucked behind my walls, wolf safely in check. What sort of person deliberately threw himself at temptation and expected to behave?
A fucking idiot with an out-of-control beast under his skin, that’s who.
We reached the top of the rickety steps to the loft. I reached inside the door and fumbled with the light switch, cursing under my breath as it flickered to life. The naked bulb cast harsh shadows across the converted apartment, laying bare every imperfection.
I took in the disaster of my living space. Claw marks scored the walls, stuffing threatened to spill from a worn couch cushion. Clothes and papers littered more surfaces than not.
Fuck. I should steer her toward the pack house. Maddy would take care of her. Hell, so would Brielle, and Tara, too.
I’d put even money on Rafe and Orion scaring her back into the snow.
“Sorry for the mess,” I muttered and hurried inside, heat creeping up my neck. I flexed my hand and sank into the residual pain. “Wasn’t expecting to get snowed in with anyone tonight.”
A reminder to behave.
She followed me inside and immediately dragged her glasses off her face. She juggled her hands in the air for a moment before unzipping her coat and cleaning the lenses on her shirt. Cinnamon and blackberries and nerves flooded my nose.
Then she popped those cute-as-fuck cat eye frames back on her face and really looked at the hell I’d dragged her into.
I gathered up a pile of torn envelopes and the overdue guts they spilled on the wobbly end table. Then a shirt hung over the back of the couch. “My sister, Maddy, works with shelter animals. Sometimes things get... rowdy.”
Lie. Oh, Maddy volunteered at the shelter. Or did until Tara put her on bedrest pending Mini Mads’s arrival.
No, this chaos was all me. Every claw mark, all the chewed up furniture legs—my wolf’s doing. Fucker couldn’t make it through the night without stealing my skin, and I couldn’t make it through the day without losing my shit and disappearing into fur.
And now I’d dragged Claire into it. Only, I couldn’t exactly fess up to being the dog she’d tried to rescue.
I flexed my hand again, keenly aware of my wolf locked on her every movement.
Claire nodded. I watched, mesmerized by the snowflakes melting in her dyed silver and purple hair, as her eyes swept from the kitchenette in one corner to the unmade bed pushed against the opposite wall. The open floor plan left nowhere to hide—not the battered dresser with its lowest drawer pull ripped out, nor the desk covered in scattered papers and art supplies.
“I should get a fire going,” I muttered, dumping my armful of envelopes and clothes onto the nearest surface. At least it condensed several piles into one. “You’re freezing.”
I grabbed kindling and logs, stacking them in the wood-burning stove. The task should’ve been simple, but my hands shook. Her scent wrapped around me, drawing me in and drowning me.
The fire caught quickly. Thank fuck for small mercies.
Claire shed her coat and inched closer, rubbing her arms. The firelight danced across her skin, highlighting the curve of her cheek, the arch of her neck. I wanted to reach for her, see if her skin felt as soft as it looked.
I tore my gaze away. Had to focus on something, anything else.
Tea. I could make tea. Earl Grey. Two sugars, a splash of milk. I’d watched her order it countless times at the diner.
Creepy fuck.
I filled the kettle and set it to boil, trying to keep my hands steady. My wolf paced beneath my skin, urging me to close the distance between us. I gripped the counter, knuckles white.
“So, uh, Briar House,” I said, desperate to break the awkward silence. “That’s your place, right?”
She blinked, surprise flickering across her face. “You know about Briar House?”
I shrugged, trying for nonchalance. “Small town.”
“Right,” she said, a small smile tugging at her lips. “I sometimes forget how quickly news travels around here.”
“Especially when it’s interesting news,” I said, returning her smile. “An outsider moving in to open an artist retreat? That’s practically front-page material.”
My wolf had certainly noticed. The moment I caught her scent on the wind, I was hooked. Cinnamon and blackberries—my new obsession. Then I’d gotten my first look of her. Those curves, the tattoos, those lips turning up into that smile? Fucking perfection.
So, I made up excuses to hang around Tall Pines when she stopped by for breakfast, or to pick up groceries from the general store. I told myself I just wanted to make sure the new human in town wasn’t a threat, but I knew that was a load of bullshit.
Mate.
The word echoed through my mind and sent a shudder down my spine. Claire occupied my every thought, my every fantasy. Every time I closed my eyes, she was there, her lips parted in a silent moan as I buried myself in her.
And now she stood in my kitchen, warming herself by my fire. Close enough to touch. To taste.
To lose control and hurt.
I shouldn’t have gone out in the storm. I’d wanted to check on her, that was all. I even vowed to myself if anything looked wrong—like her power had failed—I’d send Rafe to play friendly neighbor. How the fuck was I supposed to guess she’d try to lure a damn wolf into her house?
She laughed, a rich sound that warmed me from the inside out. “I suppose it would be. It’s been... an adventure, to say the least.”
“Yeah?” I leaned against the counter, genuinely curious. “How so?”
“The opportunity came at the right time. I don’t think I was cut out for the city art scene. All the hustling and networking you need to do? Without sticking your foot in your mouth?” She chuckled, but the sound was strangled and filled with half-truths. “Not my idea of a good time.”
The kettle whistled, startling us both. I fumbled for mugs and tea bags, then poured steaming water over the bags. The scent of bergamot hit the air, but a thin thread of sadness yanked my focus back to Claire.
“So, when my grandfather passed and left me Briar House...” She shook her head, drew in a breath, then pasted on a smile to meet my eyes again. “It just felt like fate, you know? I had some friends join me in the fall for a trial run, enjoyed the hell out of it, and the first real retreat is quickly filling for April.”
“I’m sorry about your grandfather,” I said softly. The words were inadequate, but they were all I had to offer. My wolf whined, urging me to comfort her, to pull her close and chase away the pain.
I turned with mugs in hands and found she had wandered to the desk. My heart jumped into my throat as she gently tugged the corner of my sketchbook from beneath the clutter.
“Shit,” I muttered under my breath, crossing the room quickly.
Too late.
“Oh, wow,” Claire murmured, eyes fixed on the charcoal sketches on the first spread. Her fingers trailed lightly over the pages, as if afraid she’d smudge the work. “Did you draw these?”
I wanted to lunge forward, snatch it away before she could see. No one saw that sketchbook. Not the finished drawings, not the half-formed ideas, and definitely not the pieces I’d done since Claire’s arrival in Mill Creek.
“Here,” I said, a bit louder, offering her the mug of tea.
Our fingers brushed as she took it, sending a jolt through my system. I jerked back, flexing my hand. The residual ache grounded me, reminding me of the damage I could do. Of the damage I’d already done.
Clearing my throat, I gestured vaguely at the page. “It’s nothing. Just some sketches.”
“Just some sketches,” she repeated, shooting me a look of disbelief and a half-smile. She turned the page, and her smile broadened. “These are amazing. Wish I’d had you around while trying to make it in the city art circles.”
Heat crept up the back of my neck. Artistic pursuits hadn’t exactly been encouraged in my old pack. Pussy shit, my father had called it when I was fourteen, fifteen maybe. Maddy kept bugging me to draw her unicorns and preteen girl things after that. Probably the only reason I hadn’t quit.
Wonderful Mads. Looking out for me even then.
Claire flipped through more drawings. Landscapes, mostly. A few portraits of pack members. Nothing incriminating yet, thank fuck.
But something eased in my chest, letting my shoulders relax. I drank in the sight of her. The way her lips curved around the mug’s rim. How her fingers tapped against the ceramic, like she was itching to create.
“What about you?” she asked, eyes flicking to mine. “You’re not from around here originally, right?”
Shit. I flexed my hand again, focusing on the ache. “Nah. Moved here with my sister over the summer.”
To escape a psychotic alpha who wanted to kill me for fucking his betrothed. To save my sister from taking my place as his punching bag.
I swallowed hard. “Needed a change of scenery.”
Claire nodded, not pushing. “I get that. Sometimes you just need a fresh start away from the memories.”
If only she knew.
Maddy’s face flashed in my mind, her eyes filled with disappointment and fear as she explained her plan to save us both. She’d need me to escort her to her mail-order mate, then I was to disappear. I just... didn’t leave, and we all nearly paid with our lives when Bowen came to end us both.
Reckless.
I shouldn’t have gone near Briar House. Not the first time. Not ever. I’d only hurt her, like I hurt everyone else.
She turned another page and stopped on a particularly brutal sketch—a hand, fingers splayed and twisted, blood seeping from deep gashes across the palm.
“What’s this one about?” she asked softly, tracing the outline with a delicate finger.
Bowen shattered a few bones and snapped a few others. Delicate bones and swift shifter healing weren’t a perfect match. A curse, more like it. Tara had needed to reset my bones three times.
My wolf growled, pushing against my control. I gripped my mug tighter, willing myself to stay human. To stay sane.
“It’s, uh... it’s an old injury.” I flexed my hand. The cold made the residual pain worse. Thinking about it made it worse. “Healing was a pain in the ass.”
“This is incredible, Kai. The detail, the emotion...”
I watched, paralyzed, as Claire flipped deeper into the sketchbook. My muscles coiled tight, ready to snatch it away. But I couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.
She turned the page.
Claire paused, her fingers tracing the outline of a face. Her face. The first sketch I’d done of her, rough and unfinished. Just the curve of her cheek, the slope of her nose, the arch of an eyebrow.
Her eyebrows lifted, a small “oh” escaping her lips. Her eyes widened, darting to mine for a split second before returning to the page. I flexed my hand, focusing on the dull ache. Anything to ground myself as she delved deeper into my secret world.
Another page turn. This time, a more detailed sketch. Claire bent over a notebook at the diner counter, brow furrowed in concentration. I’d spent hours getting the way her hair fell across her cheek just right.
My wolf prowled restlessly, clawing at my insides. He wanted out. Wanted her. The urge to touch her, to claim her, overwhelmed me. I gripped the edge of the desk, knuckles white.
Claire’s fingers hesitated on the next page, her breath catching. I knew what she’d find. A series of quick sketches, filling the entire spread. Her hands. Her eyes. The line of her collarbone.
“How long have you been watching me?” Her voice was soft, but there was steel beneath it.
“Since you arrived,” I admitted. No point in lying now. “I couldn’t... I couldn’t look away.”
She flipped through faster now, her cheeks flushing. Page after page of her. Some from memory, others pure fantasy. Claire laughing. Claire deep in thought. Claire with autumn leaves in her hair.
Claire, bare-shouldered and looking behind her, eyes half-lidded with desire.
Fuck.
I should stop her. Explain. Apologize. But the words stuck in my throat, choking me.
Claire’s gaze finally lifted from the sketchbook, meeting mine. Her pulse thrummed visibly at her throat. Her pupils were blown wide, lips slightly parted.
I wanted to taste them. To claim them.
To claim her.
But I couldn’t. I was broken. Dangerous. The claw marks on the walls, the shredded furniture—all evidence of the monster lurking beneath my skin. I flexed my hand again, the twinge of pain a stark reminder.
I would hurt her. Just like I’d hurt everyone else.
“Why?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Reckless.
Words failed me. How could I explain the pull that I felt? That I was drawn to her from the moment I first caught her scent? That I’d been watching her, sketching her, dreaming of her because it was the closest I could allow myself?
I was a fucking disaster waiting to happen. A ticking time bomb of fur and fangs and barely contained desire.
A low growl rumbled in my chest. My skin felt too tight, my wolf pacing restlessly beneath the surface.
Claire’s breath hitched, and our eyes met. Held. The world narrowed to just us. Just this moment.
Her tongue darted out, wetting her lips. My gaze followed the movement, transfixed. When I dragged my eyes back to hers, they blazed with challenge.
She took a shaky breath, then spoke. Her voice was steady. Daring. “Would you sketch me, Kai?”
My wolf surged forward, nearly breaking free.
I swallowed hard. “Claire...”
It was a warning. A plea. I didn’t trust myself. Didn’t trust my control.
“You’re missing full-body drawings.”
She stepped closer. Close enough that I could feel the heat radiating off her body. Close enough that if I leaned forward just a bit, I could capture her lips with mine.
“You have my eyes. My hands. You’re missing the whole picture.”
She pressed the sketchbook to my chest and raised her eyes to mine. For a heartbeat, we held still, neither daring to breathe.
“Please?”
That word. Fuck me, that word. It broke me.
My fingers drifted down, trailing along the curve of her shoulder. Light, just brushing her frame. Her breath hitched.
“Take your hair down.”