Chapter 3 #2
“When my mother died, I was seventeen, and my grandmother, the great Tabia Dhahabu, couldn’t be bothered to take me in. Too busy with her pharmaceutical empire.” I tapped my fingers against the armrest.
His grip clenched on the steering wheel, but I wasn’t finished.
“Then you came along,” I said, my speech dropping to a ragged whisper. “The universe’s cruelest joke. A fated mate, the one bond that’s supposed to be unbreakable.”
My throat constricted, old wounds tearing open.
The memory of that day in Kenya, the initial joy, the crushing dismissal, crashed into me like a physical blow.
I could still feel the hollow cavity his departure had carved behind my ribs, a space that never quite healed, that ached during thunderstorms and lonely nights.
“And what did you do?” My voice broke. “You took one glance at me and disappeared, just like every other person I’ve ever cared about.”
The pattern had carved itself deeper with each abandonment.
My mother’s lab coat becoming more familiar than her embrace, the house silent except for the periodic slam of the front door as she left for work before dawn.
My grandmother’s assistant called after the funeral, her voice clinically polite as she explained Ms. Dhahabu was “too occupied with the merger” to take in her only grandchild.
Each departure etched the same message into my bones: examined and found wanting.
“And you…” My breath hitched with humiliation at the memory. “You were supposed to be different. The universe literally designed you to want me, and even that wasn’t enough.”
I swallowed hard against the burning in my throat, hating that, after all this time, the wound could still feel this fresh, this raw.
I’d built my entire identity around never needing anyone again, constructing barriers so high and thick no one could breach them.
Yet here he was, dismantling them brick by brick with nothing more than his presence and the bond that refused to die despite decades of neglect.
I leaned forward, my reflection appearing alongside his in the rearview. “While you were busy with your daily regrets, I was putting myself through three doctoral programs and creating treatments that could save lives. So forgive me if I don’t swoon over your explanation or your guilt.”
I sat back against the leather seat, the material creaking with my movement. “You tell me your sad story and expect me to do what? Fall into your arms? Thank you for finally explaining why you broke me?”
But even as the words left my mouth, I could feel the mate bond between us pulsing like a living thing.
My skin prickled with awareness, tiny electric currents dancing across my nerve endings.
Every inhale of his essence—sandalwood and citrus—sent a wave of heat cascading through my core, my body betraying me with primal recognition.
My heartbeat stuttered then accelerated, syncing with his rhythm without my permission. The invisible tether between us pulled taut, an almost physical ache that intensified with each mile, making my fingers tremble against my laptop.
I shifted against the leather seat, trying to create more distance, but it was useless. The air in the confined space felt charged, molecules vibrating with potential energy. My skin felt too tight, too sensitive.
“Your guilt isn’t my problem,” I continued, fighting to keep my words steady. “I stopped needing anyone the day my father left. I perfected self-reliance when my mother immersed herself in research instead of parenting. By the time you cast me aside, I was already an expert in not being wanted.”
When his focus found mine in the reflection again, I saw something that made my chest ache despite my wrath. Genuine remorse, bone-deep and raw.
“Do you know what I did after you left me in Kenya?” I asked, my voice barely audible over the engine.
“I spent three days in my tent, alternating between sobbing and raging until I had no tears left. Then I packed up my research, flew back to the States, and buried myself in work so deep that I wouldn’t have to feel anything ever again. ”
His breath caught audibly. “Rozi, I…”
“And the worst part?” I spoke over him, ignoring his attempt to interrupt. “For years afterward, I’d wake up in the middle of the night, thinking I’d caught your scent. I’d leap out of bed, convinced you’d finally come back for me.” My laugh was hollow, brittle. “Pathetic, isn’t it?”
“No,” he whispered, his tone rough with emotion. “It’s devastating.”
I blinked back the sting of tears. “Don’t flatter yourself. I got over it. I got over you.”
But the traitorous skip in my heartbeat betrayed my lie, and from the way his nostrils flared subtly, I knew he’d heard it too.
I crossed my arms over my chest, staring out the window at the passing landscape.
“I just wanted you to know why I turned away,” he said, his stare meeting mine briefly in the rearview.
Fury exploded through me with such violence, I nearly choked on it. Years of abandonment, of wondering what was wrong with me, of building walls and a career and a life, and he thought a five-minute car confession would fix it?
“So what exactly do you want from me now, Thornbern?” I demanded, my words vibrating with barely contained wrath. “Forgiveness? A second chance? What, did you think I’d weep with gratitude that the mighty wolf has deigned to explain himself after a quarter century of silence?”
My hands shook with the effort of not shredding the leather seats to ribbons.
The urge to shift, to let my animal form tear into him with fang and claw, nearly overwhelmed my human control.
I wanted to hurt him, physically, viscerally, wanted him to feel even a fraction of the pain that had hollowed me out and rebuilt me into someone harder, colder, someone who would never be vulnerable again.
“I want whatever you are willing to give me,” he replied huskily.
I laughed. The sound was so sharp it could have sliced through metal.
“Nothing. That’s what you’ll get from me.
” My tone dropped to a venomous whisper.
“You want to know what I fantasized about for years after Kenya? Running into you again. Seeing recognition dawn in your expression right before I walked away without a word, letting you feel what it’s like to be discarded like garbage. ”
I leaned forward, making sure he could see my face in the rearview, letting him see the raw, undiluted hatred I’d nursed like a precious child.
“But that would require you to actually care. And we both know you don’t have that capacity, don’t we?
” I paused. “But like you said, the Ridge is a small town, and we can’t avoid each other, especially when you’re a member of Quinn’s pack.
So let’s keep it professional when we cross each other’s path. ”
I had a job to do, save unmated males, and that was more important than this drama between us.
He is different, my animal half insisted, more vocal than she’d been in months.
Shut up, I snapped back internally.
“I’m determined to prove that I’m worthy of a second chance,” he replied, his stare finding mine in the mirror again.
“Wolf, I’m not interested in the bullshit you’re spouting,” I said. “So don’t fuck with me, or I’ll dig my claws into your ass.”
“I might enjoy a little claw-play with you,” he replied, his words dropping to a husky timbre that vibrated through the air between us.
Despite my fury, despite my absolute determination to hate him, my body betrayed me with humiliating eagerness.
My nipples tightened against the cotton of my bra, the sudden friction making me bite back a gasp.
Lust throbbed low in my belly, insistent and demanding, my core clenching with such intensity I had to press my thighs together to ease the ache.
I shifted against the leather seat, mortified by my reaction. His aroma intensified, as if his wolf could smell my arousal, which of course it could. The knowledge made my cheeks burn. I caught his stare in the rearview, pupils expanding as he inhaled deeply.
The SUV hit a pothole, jolting me forward. My laptop slid from my knees, and I lunged to catch it, slamming against the back of his seat in the process. My face ended up inches from his neck, his intoxicating essence flooding my senses like a drug.
“You okay back there?” he asked, his tone dropping to that dangerous register that made my core clench with unwanted heat.
“Fine,” I managed, but my words emerged breathy and foreign to my own ears. I couldn’t move, paralyzed by how desperately my body wanted to close those few inches between us, to press my lips against the strong column of his throat.
“Your heart’s racing,” he observed quietly.
“Because I nearly broke my thousand-dollar laptop,” I lied, finally forcing myself back into my seat. But the knowing look in his expression told me he wasn’t fooled. Shifters could smell arousal, and right now mine was probably filling the car like a fog.
He inhaled deeply, his chest expanding, and I watched his hands tense on the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white with the effort of restraint. “Maybe you should put on your seat belt,” he suggested, his speech strained. “For safety.”
Safety from accidents, yes. But also safety from what might happen if another bump in the road threw me against him again, if I ended up touching what my treacherous body so clearly wanted.
I looked away, biting the inside of my cheek until I tasted blood. Exactly how long had it been since I’d had sex? Seven months? My beast within stirred, stretching languidly beneath my skin.
No. Closer to a year, she corrected.
Shut it, I snapped back. No one asked you.
I’m just saying… she purred, flooding my mind with images so vivid I could almost feel them, his callused hands sliding up my inner thighs, leaving goose bumps in their wake.
His teeth grazing that sensitive spot where neck meets shoulder, the claiming bite that should have been mine decades ago.
His weight pressing me into cool sheets, muscles flexing beneath my desperate fingertips as he moved inside me, each thrust breaking me apart and remaking me into something new, something whole.
The fantasy erupted through my consciousness with such force I couldn’t contain the gasp that escaped my lips.
Brody’s attention flicked to the rearview again, darkening as our gazes locked. He shifted in his seat, adjusting his position, and I caught the distinct aroma of his arousal mingling with mine in the enclosed space. The combination created something new and intoxicating that made my head swim.
I contemplated my survival rate if I opened the car door and tucked and rolled at sixty miles per hour. It seemed preferable to sitting here drowning in pheromones and unwanted desire for the rest of our ride.