Chapter Twelve
Mateo
One Kiss Too Deep
Her lips part under mine, and I’m gone.
I planned for gentle. A kiss that would whisper, I’m here, you’re safe, trust me. But the second her mouth opens, every shred of control I’ve spent two hundred years cultivating shreds into dust.
She tastes sweet, like heat and midnight air, like something forbidden and necessary all at once. My hand fists in her hair, tilting her head back so I can plunder deeper. She gasps, and that sound—fuck—that sound nearly undoes me.
Her fingers twist into my shirt and pull me closer. My chest collides with hers, her heartbeat hammering against me, fast and frantic. My palm skims the line of her throat, pressing over the frantic flutter of her pulse. My fangs ache with the need to pierce, to drink, to claim.
I shouldn’t. I can’t. But gods, I want to.
I want her spread out beneath me, trembling from more than just my kiss.
I want to mark her with my mouth, brand her with my body.
I want to hear her whisper my name in that desperate, broken way that promises she belongs only to me.
I want to kiss every inch of her soft skin and leave little marks in my wake.
Instead, I drag my mouth from her lips and press my forehead against hers, my breathing ragged. “If I don’t stop now, little one,” I rasp, “I won’t stop at all.”
Her lips are swollen, her cheeks flushed, her pupils wide and dark. She looks like temptation made flesh. “Mateo...”
That one word almost ruins me. My cock is a lead pipe behind my zipper, precum already slipping out. For a moment, I almost give in and claim her on the fucking cold floor before I come to my senses.
“Later,” I whisper, brushing my thumb across her lower lip one last time. “When you’re ready. Not a single second before.”
I force myself to pull back. My body protests like I’ve cut away something vital, but she deserves more than the weight of my hunger pressing down on her. She deserves choice.
I stand and hold out my hand. “Come. It’s time you met the rest of the coven.”
Her hand slides into mine, warm, small, but steady. The bond hums like a live current between us, the only thing keeping me from going back to my knees in front of her and begging her to let me take what I want.
We walk the hall in silence as I lead her to meet my coven mates, her breathing steady in the background.
The common room glows with firelight and murmured voices when we enter.
My brothers are scattered in their usual places.
Kyson in his chair, posture a coiled warning.
Scarlet perched on the arm beside him, legs crossed, flame-haired and sharp-eyed.
Rowan is sprawled on a couch, the book he was reading tossed aside the moment we enter.
Riggs is leaning against the far wall, quiet and unreadable.
Aziel—our Maker—is sitting at the long table like carved stone, gaze unreadable but assessing.
The moment Harlow and I step through the doorway, silence falls. Every head turns, and I feel her fingers tense in mine.
Scarlet breaks it first, her smile slow and wicked. “So this is the girl who’s been haunting your moods.”
Kyson growls under his breath. “Scarlet.” He clearly hasn’t moved on from what happened today.
“What?” she shoots back, grinning. “It’s true. He’s been pacing like a caged animal for weeks. I was starting to think he needed a sedative.”
Harlow blinks, startled, then lets out a nervous laugh. The sound cuts through the tension in the room like sunlight.
Rowan pushes himself up on his elbows, grin wide and shameless. “Welcome to the madhouse, lass. Don’t mind Kyson. He thinks brooding is a personality trait.”
Kyson snarls again, but Scarlet pats his arm like he’s a well-trained dog.
Harlow glances at me, eyes flickering with uncertainty. I squeeze her hand. “You’ve met Scarlet and Kyson,” I murmur.
Scarlet leans forward, her expression softening. “It’s nice to meet you formally, Harlow. Especially without all the earlier drama. Don’t worry, we don’t bite.” Her smile sharpens. “Well, most of us don’t.”
Kyson’s eyes narrow, sharp and assessing, but he says nothing.
Rowan swings his feet off the couch and strolls over, bowing low and absurdly dramatic. “Rowan, at your service. Resident genius. Occasional drunk. Always handsome.”
Harlow laughs again, this time easier, and my chest eases a fraction. Before I can usher her further, a heavy thud echoes from the hall.
Harlow startles, body tensing against mine, just as a blur of spotted fur barrels through the doorway.
Elfde.
The leopard prances in like she owns the place, a limp rabbit clamped in her jaws. Blood drips from her whiskers as she drops the kill at Kyson’s feet with smug pride. Harlow makes a strangled noise and nearly leaps into my arms. Her nails bite into my skin as she clings to my arm.
I rub my thumb over her knuckles. “That’s Elfde,” I tell her. “Our watchcat.”
Her eyes are wide. “That is not a cat.”
Scarlet laughs. “Don’t worry. She only bites when she’s told to.”
Elfde saunters over, her tail flicking. She sniffs at Harlow with her head low. Harlow freezes, and for a single moment, the whole room is tense, waiting to see what will happen. Then Elfde nudges Harlow’s hand with her massive head and chuffs, and the whole room exhales as one.
Harlow lets out a shaky laugh. “She’s ... beautiful.”
Scarlet grins. “See? She likes you.”
Harlow dares to stroke behind her ear, and Elfde purrs at the affection, the sound like rolling thunder, before she settles at her feet. The room relaxes with her.
Riggs finally moves. He steps forward, broad and steady, his presence like a calm tide against the noise of everyone else. His eyes meet Harlow’s, kind but searching. “Harlow, right? I’m Riggs.”
She nods, her voice soft. “Hi.”
He smiles, genuine and unhurried. “Welcome to our chaos. Can I get you something? Water? Wine? Something stronger?”
“Water,” she says, relief slipping into her tone.
He inclines his head. “Coming right up.”
She watches him go, and for the first time since she walked into this room, I see her shoulders loosen. I wonder what she sees when she looks at him? Does she sense his calm, or does he disarm her as easily as everyone else he meets?
Rowan leans closer, stage-whispering, “Careful. Riggs is the nice one. That’s how he gets you.”
Scarlet snorts, and Kyson glares. Harlow’s laugh bursts free, bright and unguarded, and everyone smiles. I look down at her, her fingers still curled in mine, her lips still swollen from my kiss, her eyes softer than when the night began, and I know.
She isn’t surviving this. She’s living it. She’ll stay. Not because I’ll force her. Not because I tell her she must. But because she wants to.