Chapter 7 #2
"Yeah," Rory said, his eyes darkening. "I know that feeling."
"That’s my favorite place," I whispered. "The edge of falling."
"Is that where we are?" he asked softly. "On the edge?"
"I think we fell off the edge a while ago, Rory."
He held my gaze. The air between us thickened, charged with static. The noise of the diner faded away.
"Hey! Thorne!"
The bubble popped.
I jumped. Rory didn't flinch, but his entire body went rigid. His eyes shifted from warm gold to cold, hard flint.
The two men from the bar were standing by our booth. They smelled like stale beer and chewing tobacco.
"Didn't know they let dogs eat at the table in here," the taller one sneered. He had a red face and a trucker hat pulled low.
Rory slowly wiped his mouth with a napkin. He didn't stand up. He didn't look at the man. He looked at his milkshake.
"Leave it, Miller," Rory said calmly. Not Jax Miller. A different Miller. Probably a cousin. The town was small.
"Got yourself a little chew toy?" The man looked at me, his eyes wet and leering. "Does she know what you are? Does she know you come from a line of psychos who eat their own kin?"
Rory’s hand clenched around his glass. The glass cracked. A spiderweb fracture appeared, milk leaking onto his hand.
"Walk away," Rory said. His voice was a low growl, vibrating with a menace that made the hairs on my arms stand up.
"Or what?" The man leaned in, putting his hands on our table. "You gonna snap? You gonna show the little lady the beast?"
I saw Rory’s jaw tick. I saw the vein in his temple throb. I saw the gold in his eyes brighten, beginning to glow. He was losing control. The Wolf was rising to the challenge.
I didn't think. I reacted.
I reached out and grabbed the man’s wrist—the one resting near my fries. I squeezed. Hard. My grip strength wasn't shifter-level, but thanks to Rory, my deadlift was up fifty pounds.
The man looked down at me, startled.
"He asked you to walk away," I said. My voice was calm, cold, and clipped. It was my father’s voice. The voice of authority. "I suggest you do it before you embarrass yourself further."
"Excuse me, sweetheart?" The man sneered, trying to pull his hand back. I held on.
"I’m not your sweetheart," I said, staring him dead in the eye. "And he isn't the dog in this situation. You're the one barking at a table where you weren't invited. It’s pathetic."
The diner went silent.
Rory looked at me. His eyes were wide with shock.
The man ripped his hand from my grip. His face turned an ugly shade of purple. "You little—"
Rory stood up.
He unfolded from the booth like a dark storm cloud. He towered over the man, blocking the light, blocking the air. He didn't say a word. He just stepped forward, placing himself between me and the threat.
He let out a sound. It wasn't a word. It was a sub-vocal rumble, deep in his chest. A warning. Predator.
The man took a step back. His lizard brain recognized the danger even if his drunk brain didn't.
"Whatever," the man muttered, backing away. "Freaks."
He turned and stumbled out of the diner, his friend trailing behind him.
Rory stood there for a second, his chest heaving, his fists clenched.
"Rory," I said softly.
He turned to me. The gold in his eyes was blazing. He looked terrifying. He looked beautiful.
"You defended me," he rasped. He sounded confused. "No one... no one defends the monster."
"I told you," I said, standing up and placing my hand on his chest, right over his pounding heart. "You aren't the monster. You're mine."
He stared at me.
Then he grabbed my hand. "We're leaving. Now."
He threw a wad of cash on the table—way more than the bill—and dragged me out of the diner.
We didn't make it back to campus.
Rory drove like a maniac for five miles, then pulled the truck onto a dark, snow-covered service road near the frozen lake. He killed the engine. The headlights cut out, plunging us into darkness.
Before I could ask what we were doing, he was unbuckling his seatbelt. He hauled me across the center console.
I went willingly, scrambling over the gear shift until I was straddling his lap, my back against the steering wheel.
He crushed his mouth to mine.
This wasn't the tentative, explorative kiss in the kitchen. This was hunger. This was gratitude. This was possession.
"Zoe," he groaned against my mouth, his hands gripping my hips so hard I knew there would be bruises tomorrow. I welcomed them. "You... god, you were perfect. You stood up to him."
"I hate bullies," I gasped, threading my fingers into his hair, pulling him closer.
"You claimed me," he muttered, biting my lower lip. "You said 'You're mine'. Say it again."
"You're mine, Rory."
He growled—a real, animalistic sound that vibrated through his chest and into mine.
His hands slid down to my ass, squeezing, lifting me so I was pressed harder against his erection. Even through the layers of denim—his jeans and mine—I could feel how hard he was. He was massive.
"I want to ruin you," he whispered, his lips trailing hot, wet kisses down my neck. "I want to tear these jeans off you and breed you right here in this truck."
The word sent a jolt of shock and desire straight to my core. Breed.
"Rory..."
"I can't," he panted, burying his face in the crook of my neck, inhaling my scent. "I can't do it. Not yet. The Wolf... he’s too close. If I enter you now, I’ll knot. I’ll lock you to me. And I don't have a condom."
He was shaking. His entire body was vibrating with the effort of holding back.
I held him. I wrapped my arms around his broad shoulders and just held on, stroking the back of his neck.
"It’s okay," I whispered into his ear. "I’m not going anywhere. We have time."
"Do we?" He pulled back, his forehead resting against mine. His eyes were glowing in the dark. "Your dad... the season... the curse. It feels like the clock is ticking."
"Let it tick," I said fiercely. "We're here now."
He kissed me again—softer this time, but deep and drugged. He moved his hips against mine, a slow, grinding rhythm that was pure torture.
"Rub against me," he commanded softly. "Just friction. Take what you need."
I did. I ground down on him, chasing the friction, chasing the heat. He groaned, his head falling back against the seat, his hands kneading my thighs.
We stayed like that for a long time, hidden in the dark, fogging up the windows with our breath, stealing pleasure in the space between the edge and the fall.
When we finally drove back to the dorms, disheveled and swollen-lipped, he walked me to my door.
He didn't come in. He knew if he came in, he wouldn't leave.
"Goodnight, Zoe," he said, leaning against the doorframe.
"Goodnight, Rory."
I went inside and locked the door.
I leaned against it, touching my lips.
I was in trouble. Big, catastrophic trouble.
I wasn't just falling for Rory Thorne. I was already gone.
And the scary part? I didn't care if I landed. I just wanted to fall.