Chapter 17
Locke
I’m sitting on the front steps for no reason.
That’s the lie I’m telling myself. The truth is I’ve been out here for twenty minutes watching the path like she’s going to appear on it. Like the impatient stalker I am who knows she’s gonna be done shopping soon only because the stores are about to close and I want to be the first one she sees.
The others are inside. I told them I needed air.
No one believed me. No one said anything either.
I see them before I hear them. Two figures coming up the path—Zoe’s dark hair, easy stride. And next to her—
My chest locks.
Nova.
Something soft. Warm. Vanilla layered over something else, something I’ve already memorized without meaning to. Her. It cuts through the evening air like it’s the only thing that exists.
I breathe in again. Deeper. Testing.
Still there. Still her.
She’s too far away to smell. That’s the thing. She’s at least thirty feet out, maybe more, and there’s no wind, and I shouldn’t be able to—
But I can.
Mine.
The word hits before I can stop it.
There’s no logic or reason. Just truth, declared by something deeper than my brain. Something that doesn’t give a fuck about what’s possible.
My hands curl into fists on my knees. Something in my chest is pulling, tightening, like a rope being wound around a drum. I can feel my pulse in my throat, in my temples, behind my eyes.
Mine.
She’s closer now. Carrying bags, hair down, catching the late afternoon light, and—
I forget what I was thinking.
Something’s different. Her face. Her mouth. Soft pink and I can’t stop looking at it, can’t make myself look anywhere else, and she’s wearing the same clothes she left in but she doesn’t look the same. She looks like someone finally showed her what I’ve been seeing this whole time.
I can’t breathe.
Zoe sees me first.
Her stride doesn’t falter but something shifts in her face—a knowing look that turns into a smirk. Her eyes move from my face to my fists to my face again, and I watch her decide not to say anything.
Smart.
They stop at the bottom of the steps. Zoe leans in close to Nova, says something I can’t hear. Nova’s brow furrows, confused. Then Zoe’s stepping back, already turning toward her own place.
She catches my eye as she goes. Mouths breathe at me like I’m a disaster she’s enjoying.
Then she’s gone, and Nova is standing at the bottom of the steps looking up at me, and every single thought in my head whites out.
She’s close now. Close enough that the scent isn’t a question anymore—it’s an assault. Vanilla and warmth and her, flooding my lungs, soaking into my bloodstream. I can feel it in my teeth. In my fucking bones.
“Hey,” she says.
Her voice is uncertain. Her shoulders are creeping up toward her ears. She’s watching my face, trying to read it, and I realize I must look—
I don’t know what I look like. I don’t know what’s showing. But whatever it is, it’s making her shrink.
“Is everything okay?” she asks. “You look—”
She stops. Swallows.
“Sorry.” She’s already turning away, already retreating. “I’m probably reading this wrong. I’ll just—”
No.
No.
“Nova.”
Her name comes out wrecked. Scraped raw. She freezes mid-turn.
I’m on my feet. I don’t remember standing. I’m down one step, then another, and she’s watching me come toward her like she can’t decide if she should run.
Good instincts. She should run.
I stop close enough to touch. Close enough to see her pupils blow wide, her lips part, the quick rise of her chest as her breathing goes shallow.
“You’re not reading it wrong,” I say. My voice doesn’t sound like mine. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
She looks like she wants to say something but no sound comes out.
I should stop. I should give her space, let her process, be the steady one. That’s who I am. That’s who I’ve always been.
But my hand is already moving.
I watch it like it belongs to someone else—rising, reaching, brushing her jaw with my knuckles. Her skin is so soft it makes my chest ache. Her eyes flutter closed and something inside me snaps.
Mine. Take her. Claim her. Make her understand she’s yours.
The thoughts come from somewhere deep and dark, somewhere I didn’t know existed. It’s a demand I can’t afford right now. Because that’s not what she deserves. My blood is running hot, too hot, and there’s a pressure building at the base of my skull that feels like—
I don’t know what, but whatever it is wants out.
I lean in.
Slow. Gentle. Don’t scare her.
I’m bargaining with myself. Negotiating with whatever is clawing at the inside of my ribs, trying to get out.
Just a taste. Just one. Then stop.
My lips brush hers.
The world ends.
She’s soft. So fucking soft. She tastes like lip gloss and something sweeter underneath, something that’s just her, and I want to drown in it. I want to consume her. I want to pin her against the railing and kiss her until she can’t remember anyone’s name but mine.
I don’t.
I keep it gentle. Soft. A question instead of a demand.
It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done.
She kisses me back—tentative, uncertain, like she’s not quite sure what to do. Like she’s following my lead because she doesn’t…
This is her first kiss.
The realization hits me like a punch to the gut. Her first. I’m her first. No one else has ever—
A sound escapes my throat. Something between a groan and a growl. My hand slides from her jaw into her hair, cupping the back of her head, and I have to physically stop myself from deepening the kiss. From taking more. From showing her exactly what I want to do to her.
Gentle. She’s not ready. She doesn’t know.
I’m shaking. Actually shaking. Every muscle in my body is locked tight, fighting the thing inside me that wants to devour her whole.
I pull back.
It takes everything I have.
Her eyes open slowly. Dazed. Her cheeks are flushed and her lips are swollen and she’s looking at me like I just rearranged the entire universe without warning her first.
The bags are on the ground. I don’t know when she dropped them.
My hand is still in her hair. I should let go. I know I should. But she hasn’t pulled away, hasn’t stiffened, hasn’t given me any sign that she wants me to stop touching her.
So I don’t.
“Locke,” she whispers.
I’m never getting that taste out of my mouth. I’m never going to stop wanting more. I’m going to spend the rest of my life chasing this exact moment, this exact feeling, this exact—
The door opens behind me.
We both freeze.
Kyron stands in the doorway. His eyes move from me to Nova to the dropped bags to her swollen lips. His expression doesn’t change, but something in his posture goes very still.
Nova bolts.
She grabs the bags—misses one, grabs it again—and pushes past Kyron into the house without a word. Her footsteps pound up the stairs. A door slams.
Silence.
Kyron steps out onto the porch. The door clicks shut behind him.
“Well,” he says. His voice is too casual. “You lucky son of a bitch.”
I don’t say anything. I’m still staring at the spot where she was standing.
“I really didn’t think you’d be the first.” He moves to stand beside me, arms crossed, looking out at the path like this is a normal conversation. “How was it?”
The question lands somewhere in my chest and twists.
“Better,” I say.
Kyron is quiet for a long moment.
“Better than what?”
“Better than anything I’ve ever imagined.”
He exhales. Slow. Controlled. When I glance at him, his jaw is tight.
“She ran,” he says.
I know. I felt it. The moment the door opened, she was gone—like a rabbit spooked by a predator.
“She’ll run from all of us,” I say. “At first.”
“And then?”
I look at him. “And then she won’t.”
Kyron holds my gaze. We’ve known this was coming. All of us wanting the same person, all of us having to figure out how to make that work. It’s not a problem yet. It will be.
“Next time,” he says, “at least warn a guy.”
Then he goes back inside.
I stay on the steps.
The sun is starting to set. The air is cooling. I can still taste her on my lips, still smell her perfume.
I was calm once.
I remember it.
Before she walked up those steps like she already belonged to me.