Chapter 13 - Elena
Over the course of the day, Elena started to feel somewhat optimistic about the whole situation. Ryder's presence was calming, even as terrifying and overwhelming as their circumstances were. He seemed to have momentarily dropped the arrogant jerk facade and showed his more compassionate side. In turn, she reined in her temper whenever it flared up and took more deep breaths. They were stuck here together in this tiny cabin for an unspecified period of time, so it seemed like they both recognized that making the best of it was better than fighting constantly. By the end of the first evening, it felt like he was starting to warm up to her. Or maybe that was wishful thinking.
Either way, that night, he offered to sleep on the couch to give her the bed. For a fraction of a second, she contemplated telling him they could share it, but her nerve failed her. The thought of being rejected by him again stung too much to risk it. Although their recent tryst had been somewhat overshadowed by subsequent events, now that the immediate chaos had calmed, it came back to her, vivid and bittersweet.
A part of her wanted to confront him about what a jerk he'd been that morning and insist on knowing why he acted that way. Every time the words rose in her throat, though, she swallowed them down and opted for a neutral topic instead. She couldn’t stand the humiliation if he told her again that what they shared meant absolutely nothing. Plus, it would probably make things worse and undo whatever tentative camaraderie was building between them.
Therefore, she accepted the offer graciously, and they went to sleep separately. No nightmarish visions tormented her this time while she slumbered, and she awoke late in the morning after a much-needed peaceful rest. Stepping out of the bedroom, she found a note taped to the outside of the door that told her Ryder had gone out to patrol the area and would be back in a few hours. It was awful to feel this useless in the face of such a dire situation. Maybe, if she had been at least a semi-competent witch, she could be actually helping in some capacity beyond providing vague prophetic warnings. But no. The universe had cursed her with unpredictable powers that never worked when she wanted them to and only ever seemed to make a mess.
After a quick breakfast of microwave-heated canned beans and leftover rice, she turned on the tap and stared intently at the water gushing out. Silently, she held out her hand and focused intently, willing it to swirl in a vortex around the drain. She muttered a quiet enchantment spell, hoping it would summon the liquid to lift off the floor and hover in the air. It did nothing. She sighed, took a deep breath, and tried again. There was a slight movement this time—oh, wait, no, it had just been a fly buzzing by that disturbed the flow. Her magic failed yet again.
Okay, so water had never been her best element anyway. Fine. She'd try something else. She sat down on the floor, concentrated on an exposed nail in the floorboard, and tried to will the wood around it to smooth out and cover it completely. The tiny metal spike glimmered back up at her as if it were taunting her, and the timber remained resolutely unchanging. Another failure. She closed her eyes, muttering to herself about how stupid and impossible these supposedly instinctual spells were, then tried again, attempting to levitate a scrap piece of paper on the table. This time, a tiny gust of air ever so slightly shoved it to the edge before falling still and lifeless. Damn it all to hell.
By the time Ryder returned in the early afternoon, all she had accomplished was pulling out almost every available object in the lodge to see how she could manipulate it. He found her hunched over an outdated magazine, staring at a page with a photo of a kitten on it, eyes narrowed in concentration.
“What are you doing?” he asked suspiciously. She flinched upright at the sound of his voice, gasping in surprise as her focus shattered.
“Oh, hi,” she sputtered sheepishly, smoothing out her hair and trying to look nonchalant. “Uh. Nothing. Just reading.”
Gods, how embarrassing. When they were younger, he had teased her relentlessly for her abject failure in the magical department, and she wasn't about to give him more fuel now. Ryder arched his eyebrows, glancing at the page in front of her. Apparently, she realized as she looked at the text properly for the first time that it was an article about cat care. Great. She hurriedly flipped the magazine shut and smiled up at him innocently.
“Thinking about getting a pet,” she fibbed casually. He snickered and shook his head, then went into the other room to get changed.
Nothing exciting had happened on his patrol today either, which was both a relief and a letdown. It was better to have no news than bad news, but when they knew the bad news was out there somewhere, waiting patiently in the shadows, just felt like delaying the inevitable.
They spent the rest of the day cooking, playing cards, and continuing their domestic cleaning frenzy to distract themselves. In the evening, he headed out for another scouting mission while Elena cooked dinner as best she could with their limited supplies. It would be too soon if she never saw a canned vegetable again after this.
It was baffling how mundane hiding out from dangerous predators could be. Most of the time was simply spent quietly going about their business, killing time with chores and small talk. They had their system going, and though it took a great deal of effort on both ends, they managed to coexist more or less peacefully. Sometimes, a little too peacefully.
Whenever their eyes met, she couldn't help but imagine what could be. When they sat on the couch drinking beer late at night, she'd watch his hands fiddle with whatever gadget he was fixing and wish they'd touch her. When he smiled at her with that lopsided, sardonic grin or his arm brushed hers as they moved around each other, all those years of longing welled back up.
Out in the world, when they didn't have to be around each other, she could mostly convince herself that she was over her silly crush. Here, in this cramped space with nowhere else to look and nobody else to pay attention to, the full force of her infatuation came flooding back. Even more overwhelming now, perhaps, because she'd had a taste of it. There was something decidedly cruel about having exactly what one wanted for one night and then being denied it forever.
Sometimes, she was sure she caught him looking, his gaze lingering on her lips or her thighs. Occasionally, she thought he might be on the verge of kissing her when they stood close to each other preparing food or washing the dishes. She would stare back and hope with everything in her that he'd cave in, but he pulled away every time, usually with a noticeable hint of strain in his expression.
Did he feel it, too? She thought he did, deep down, but then he'd make some stupid, sarcastic crack at her expense that sent her temper flaring up again and ruined the moment. They'd get into another argument, he'd rush off into the woods and leave her locked inside for an hour or two, then come back acting like nothing had happened. Then, they fell back into the usual rhythm of awkward, uneasy companionship they'd established in that strange limbo between friendship and something more. It was driving her mad. After nearly a week, she was ready to tear her hair out and scream in frustration.
Upon returning from that afternoon's patrol, he handed her a satchel containing various medicinal plants. Last night, she had decided that since her other attempts at magic were turning out to be abysmal failures, she ought to at least keep up her practical herbal remedies practice, even if that was also a bit useless. Since he still wasn't allowing her to go outside and get them herself, she had written up a detailed list of specific leaves and roots to gather from the surrounding woods, along with exacting descriptions of where to find them and what they looked like. He had rolled his eyes at the time, complaining that his job wasn't to fetch things for her. Now, he was standing there triumphantly, grinning widely as he held the bag out to her.
“Awh, look at you, being all sweet and helpful,” she cooed, batting her eyelashes for effect. “I knew you could be an adorable puppy if you wanted to.”
“Anything to keep you from whining more than you already do,” he shot back, laughing as he ran a hand through his thick blond hair. “I swear, I had to spend the entire day finding these herbs for you to make your weird potions with. And you're not even going to thank me?” He placed the back of his other hand dramatically over his heart and tilted his head upward, feigning offense.
There was something undeniably appealing about him—more so than usual—when he came back from a run. Sweaty, flushed, shirt clinging to his toned muscles, hair tousled, eyes glimmering bright and alert with exertion. Plus, he always seemed to be more relaxed afterward. More playful, lighter, with fewer walls and defenses, less guarded and distant. She found it hard to maintain any semblance of anger at him for more than thirty seconds under the power of such heart-melting charisma.
“Thank you. Good boy,” she teased, reaching out to pat him condescendingly on the head like a dog.
This elicited another burst of laughter from him, and he retaliated by ruffling her hair viciously with both hands. Gasping in indignation, she tried to bat him off, which prompted him to wrap one arm around her waist to hold her still while he continued to mess up her hairdo. She squirmed, flailing her arms helplessly against his iron grip, writhing fruitlessly in her attempt to escape. Their loud laughter carried throughout the cabin.
When he finally ceased his antics, she was left giggling happily in his arms, face reddened and disheveled. Looking up, she froze, finding him staring at her intensely, hazel eyes fixed on hers. The laughter died. For a moment, he was so close she could practically taste him. He swallowed, lips parting slightly, pupils dilated, nostrils flaring. Desire surged within her, and she parted her own lips, straining her neck upward slightly to—
—and then he released her suddenly and backed away, leaving her cold and alone in the middle of the room once more. Without a word or another glance at her, he strode off toward the bathroom and slammed the door shut. Elena blinked rapidly, trying to still her racing heartbeat and regain some composure. From somewhere deep within, anger bubbled toward the surface. That was enough. After a week of this nonsense and not even addressing what had happened between them before, she deserved answers.
Fuming, she marched forward and banged on the bathroom door, wincing at the volume of the noise but refusing to back down.
“Hey,” she yelled, “we need to talk.”
In response, she heard the water turn on in the shower. She tried the doorknob, which did not yield—it was locked. He ignored her entirely, seemingly determined to pretend she wasn't there. Well, then. Fine. She marched back to the kitchen and grabbed a beer from the pantry, glaring toward the bathroom. She opened it angrily and took a swig. They needed to sit down and figure out where they stood. Sooner or later, he was going to come back out here. Then, they'd have that conversation whether he wanted to or not.
Sure enough, fifteen minutes later, Ryder reappeared, wearing nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist as he dried his hair. By that point, Elena had worked herself up to a state of outrage and sat on the kitchen counter, tapping her feet loudly on the lower cabinets. She hopped down and stormed over to him, pulling herself up to her full height—still a good head shorter than him—and poking her index finger into his chest. He looked down at her in surprise.
“You're a coward. You know that?” she exclaimed furiously.
“What—”
“No, listen,” Elena interrupted. “All week, you've been giving me mixed signals. I don't understand anything anymore. You sleep with me, then you act like it didn't mean a thing, and now we're cooped up in here, and you keep looking at me like you want me, but every time you get close, you run away and start being a jerk again. Explain yourself!”
Ryder stared at her in shock, eyes wide and unblinking. “You're imagining things,” he replied flatly after a long pause. “Whatever weird delusion you've dreamed up in your head—”
“Oh, don't you dare,” she retorted. “I see the way you look at me. I know you feel it, too. And you definitely felt something that night.”
He sucked in a deep breath, closing his eyes briefly in frustration, then composed himself and leveled his gaze at her once more.
“You need to let this go,” came his reply, a low growl reverberating beneath the surface of his carefully neutral tone. “It shouldn't have happened. No matter what either of us feels, it can't happen again.”
“So, you do feel it,” she pressed, pushing herself up against him. “Just admit it. Stop running away all the time.” Her tone was pleading now, her anger giving way to the hopeless ache of longing and confusion inside. “Please?”
“Elena, I...” His voice trailed off, and his jaw tightened. In his eyes, she thought she saw the same mixture of desire and yearning that echoed in her own heart. It wasn't the first time she'd seen it, but never this close, and it never lasted long enough for her to be sure. This time, though, it was clear as day, written all over his features. She felt his body stiffen, muscles taut beneath her palms, his breathing rapid and uneven. “Elena, don't do this to me,” he whispered hoarsely.
That was all the answer she needed. Elena rose onto the tips of her toes, wrapping one hand behind his neck and pulling him down into a blazing kiss. For a moment, the tension in his body resisted her pull, and his lips remained frozen under hers as she pressed herself against his strong, toned torso. Her fingers clutched his wet hair, silently beckoning him to give in to the fire burning between them. There was no doubt in her mind now that he craved her just as deeply as she did him if only he would allow himself to surrender to the feeling.
He melted slowly, gradually, his resistance softening into liquid heat at the touch of her skin. His arms slipped around her waist, one large palm pressing into the small of her back and urging her closer. His other hand moved to caress the soft curve of her hip. Every stroke of his fingertips burned like a brand, setting her nerves alight from the top of her head to the tips of her toes.
She moaned softly, opening her mouth to him, their tongues darting in and out, exploring, teasing. His taste made her tremble. Like that night at the bar when they had first kissed, passion consumed her completely, drowning her in sweet intoxication. All other thoughts vanished. Only his lips, his scent, and his strong body filled her senses.
“Elena, we can't do this,” he growled in a low whisper, but his words lacked any conviction and died away once more as she silenced him with another fiery kiss. A soft rumble formed deep in the back of his throat, growing louder. He tightened his grip on her possessively and returned her fervor tenfold.
Soon, she was pressed up against the wall, the weight of his solid muscle trapping her firmly in place. His hands roamed every inch of her they could reach, exploring her curves and angles like he wanted to commit the whole map to memory. She slid her fingers down his chest and stomach reverently, urging him onward with feathery strokes as they moved along the edges of the towel wrapped around his hips. A primal snarl escaped his throat at her touch. He captured her wrists deftly in his firm grip, pinning them on either side of her head. She made a half-hearted attempt to wriggle free, to no avail.
With a smirk, he lowered his head and ran his tongue up along the length of her neck, nipping lightly at the delicate skin below her earlobe. It traced a path slowly downward to her collarbone, and she sighed softly in encouragement as he licked and sucked playfully at her skin. When he briefly glanced up at her, there was something in his eyes that she had never seen before. An almost frenzied hunger, a savage need, as though she were the air itself that sustained him.
His hips pressed against her, and she felt his hard and heavy length against her stomach. A soft whimper escaped her lips at the thought of feeling it inside her again. Instinctively, she stopped squirming against his grasp, letting him keep control completely while she surrendered to his embrace. One of his hands continued to hold her wrists captive above her head while the other explored freely, sliding underneath her T-shirt to cup her breast and pinch at the sensitive pink buds of her nipples. She gasped, arching her back toward him, offering more of herself to his touch. This was all she had ever wanted, and she gave herself completely to the raging heat building within her.
They stumbled backward into the bedroom without breaking their kiss, and he pushed her back onto the mattress, climbing on top of her with a predatory gleam in his eyes. His hands tugged at her pants impatiently, and she lifted her hips to assist him while his thumbs hooked under the elastic and yanked them down roughly. As soon as her legs were free, she pulled him back into another kiss and reached for the towel around his waist. This time, he let her pull it away, chuckling into the kiss as it fell to the floor, leaving him completely bare. His rigid shaft rubbed between her thighs, pulsing against her bare skin and throbbing with anticipation.
“I want you,” she murmured breathlessly in between kisses, her hand slipping down to wrap around its thickness and stroke up and down eagerly. “I need you. Please, Ryder.”
The words came out raspy and faint, barely audible, a half-spoken prayer escaping without conscious thought. But he heard. Ryder pulled back to gaze into her eyes with an inscrutable intensity. His dark brows knitted tightly together, mouth twitching upward ever so slightly on one side in an enigmatic half-smile. For a moment, she feared that he might change his mind again, pull himself together, and slip that mask of cold indifference back on.
Then, he exhaled, a ragged sigh carrying traces of pent-up frustration and raw desire, and buried his face in the crook of her neck as he pushed her shirt higher up. His teeth scraped against her shoulder as he bit down gently on her skin, marking her, claiming her as his own, and his voice rumbled against her pulse.
“Mine,” he growled.
That single syllable resonated through Elena, echoing deep in her very soul. It was followed moments later by the pleasurable pain of his cock sinking slowly into her core, stretching her fully to accommodate him. She cried out softly, digging her fingernails into his broad shoulders. His hands gripped her thighs and lifted them upward to better angle his thrusts. He plunged deeper with each pump of his hips until her world was filled only with the feeling of him inside her, their bodies moving together and their hearts racing in tandem. Beneath them, the old bed creaked and groaned, shuddering rhythmically as their movements intensified.
The scent of sex and sweat filled the air. Her breathing became ragged as waves of pleasure coursed through her. She raked her nails down his back, dragging them along his spine while she cried his name over and over like a chant. The animalistic hunger in his expression burned hotter with every passing moment as he drove into her, his muscles tensing and tightening with every motion. His hands slid under her buttocks, pushing her farther onto his shaft, burying it as deep as it would go. Elena was teetering on the edge of oblivion, the coil of tension within her nearly snapping.
All at once, it did. She fell forward into ecstasy, clinging onto him desperately as wave after wave crashed over her.
He caught her in his arms and rolled onto his side with her on top, still clinging to him as her orgasm shuddered through her. A loud groan burst from his throat. His grip around her tightened to the point of almost painful pressure as he bucked his hips upward sharply once, twice, three times more, then held still as a sudden flood of warmth spilled into her. His jaw clenched hard, teeth grinding together, and she felt his heart beating erratically beneath her fingertips.
In that brief moment of blissful union, there were no questions, no doubts. Everything was exactly as it should be.