Chapter 15 - Fern
I’m a terrible person.
The thought circles through my head for the hundredth time as I pace my small living room.
Outside, the sun has long since set, and the cottage is dark except for the single lamp I switched on an hour ago.
The coffee cups from earlier are still sitting on the table.
I should wash them. I should do something productive instead of wearing a path in the carpet.
But I can’t stop replaying the look on Connor’s face when I told him to leave me alone.
He was trying to help. Some rational part of my brain knows that. He came back to warn me about the scent outside my window, and I threw it in his face like he was the enemy. Like he was Robbie.
The comparison isn’t fair. I know it isn’t fair. Connor has never hit me or threatened me or made me feel small and worthless. He’s pushy and overprotective and infuriating, but he’s not cruel. Not the way Robbie was cruel.
So why did I treat him like he was?
Because it’s easier, a voice whispers in the back of my mind. It’s easier to push him away than to admit you might actually want him close.
I shake my head and make myself stop pacing. This is ridiculous. I’m a grown woman with a doctorate in psychology. I should be able to untangle my own emotional responses without spiraling into a guilt-fueled meltdown.
A crash from the kitchen makes me jump.
I freeze in the middle of the living room and strain my ears. The sound was loud. Glass breaking, maybe, or something heavy hitting the floor. My heart hammers against my ribs as I stare at the darkened doorway that leads to the back of the cottage.
It’s probably nothing. A dish I left too close to the edge of the counter. The wind knocking something over through an open window.
Except I didn’t leave any dishes out. And all my windows are closed.
I grab my phone from the coffee table and hold it like a weapon as I creep toward the kitchen. Every horror movie I’ve ever seen flashes through my mind. The stupid girl who investigates the strange noise instead of running. The victim who walks right into the killer’s trap.
But this is Silvercreek. This is pack territory. Nothing bad is supposed to happen here.
I reach the kitchen doorway and fumble for the light switch. The overhead fixture flickers on, and I look around the room with my heart in my throat.
The window above the sink is broken. Shards of glass litter the counter and the floor below, and cold night air rushes through the jagged opening. One of my kitchen chairs is knocked over, and the back door stands slightly ajar.
Someone was here. Someone broke in.
My hands shake so badly I almost drop my phone. I back out of the kitchen and press myself against the hallway wall as I try to remember how to breathe.
Call the police. That’s what a normal person would do. Call 911 and wait for help to arrive.
But this isn’t a normal town, and I have no idea if the local cops know anything about werewolves or stalker ex-boyfriends or mating bonds gone wrong.
I stare at my phone and scroll through my contacts until I find his name.
Connor.
I don’t want to call him. After everything I said tonight, the last thing I want is to prove him right. To admit that I can’t handle this on my own.
But Robbie was here, in my kitchen. I just know it in my gut. He was close enough to touch my things, to breathe my air, and to watch me through the window while I paced and cursed myself for being cruel.
I press the call button before I can talk myself out of it.
He answers on the first ring. “Fern?”
“Someone broke into my cottage.” The words tumble out in a rush. “The kitchen window is smashed, and the back door is open, and I think—I think he was inside while I was—”
“I’m on my way. Don’t move. Don’t touch anything. I’ll be there in two minutes.”
The line goes dead.
I stand in the hallway, count my breaths, and try not to think about what would have happened if I’d been in the kitchen when the window broke. If I’d walked in on Robbie instead of finding an empty room and scattered glass.
True to his word, Connor arrives in under two minutes. I hear his footsteps on the porch, and then the front door swings open, and he’s there. His dark hair is disheveled like he ran the whole way, and his blue eyes are wild as they scan my face.
“Are you hurt?”
I shake my head. “No. I was in the living room when I heard the crash. By the time I got to the kitchen, whoever it was had already gone.”
He moves past me without another word and disappears into the kitchen. I hear him opening cabinets and checking the pantry and the small mudroom off the back entrance. A few minutes later, he reappears in the hallway.
“He’s gone. The whole cottage is clear.” He pulls out his phone and quickly types something. “I’m having Dylan and a few others sweep the area. If he’s still nearby, they’ll find him.”
“And if he’s not?”
“Then we’ll track him. His scent is all over your kitchen.”
I wrap my arms around myself and try to stop the trembling that’s taken over my entire body. “I should have left. When my car was fixed, I should have just driven away and never looked back.”
“That wouldn’t have stopped him from following you.”
“Maybe not, but at least I wouldn’t have dragged your pack into my mess.”
Connor steps closer, and I fight the instinct to retreat. “You didn’t drag anyone anywhere. The lottery chose you. The bond chose you. Whatever’s happening with your ex, we’ll deal with it together.”
Together. The word sounds nice in theory, but I’ve heard promises like that before.
“I need you to leave,” I declare, shaking my head.
“Fern—”
“Please. I appreciate you coming over. I do. But I can’t think straight when you’re standing this close to me, and I need to think.”
He holds my eyes for a long moment. Then he nods and steps back.
“Lock up behind me. I’ll have someone watching the cottage all night. If anything else happens, you call me immediately.”
“I will.”
He moves toward the front door, and part of me wants to call him back. To ask him to stay, to let him wrap his arms around me and make me feel safe the way he did earlier.
But I don’t. Because no matter how good it feels to be held by him, I can’t forget what he is. A werewolf. A supernatural creature with strength and instincts I don’t fully understand.
He’s dangerous. Maybe even more dangerous than Robbie.
At least with Robbie, I knew what I was dealing with.
When the door closes, and I’m alone again, I flip the deadbolt and slide the chain into place.
Then I check every window in the cottage and make sure they’re all latched tight.
The broken one in the kitchen will need to be boarded up, but that can wait until morning.
For now, I decide to just pin a sheet over it.
I’m too exhausted to deal with it tonight.
I crawl into bed without bothering to change out of my clothes. I pull the blankets up to my chin, stare at the ceiling, and try to quiet my racing mind.
Sleep doesn’t come easily. Every creak of the old cottage makes me tense. Every rustle of wind against the windows sends my heart rate spiking. But eventually, exhaustion wins out, and I drift into an uneasy darkness.
The dream starts the same way it has since I arrived in Silvercreek.
Connor’s hands on my body. His mouth hot against my neck.
We’re in his cabin this time, somewhere I’ve never actually been, but my subconscious has filled in the details with dark wood walls and a fire crackling in the stone hearth.
The bed beneath me is soft, and the sheets smell like him.
Pine and cedar and something wild underneath.
“Tell me what you want,” he mumbles against my skin.
“You.” The word slips out before I can stop it. “I want you.”
He smiles against my throat and trails his lips lower. His hands slide up my thighs to push my dress higher, and I arch into his touch like my body knows exactly what it needs, even if my brain is screaming at me to stop.
“Say it again.”
“I want you, Connor. Please.”
He rewards me with his mouth between my legs, and I whimper at the first stroke of his tongue. He licks and sucks and devours me like he’s been starving for this, and I fist my hands in his hair, pull him closer, and beg him not to stop.
The pleasure builds fast and hot. He slides two fingers inside me and curls them just right, and I shatter with his name on my lips. Before I can catch my breath, he’s crawling up my body and positioning himself at my entrance.
“Look at me,” he demands.
I open my eyes and find his face inches from mine. Those blue eyes burn into me, and I see everything there. Hunger and possession and something that looks almost like love.
“You’re mine,” he growls. “Say it.”
“I’m yours.”
He drives into me with one smooth thrust, and I wrap my legs around his waist and pull him deeper.
He sets a punishing pace, and every stroke hits something inside me that makes me see stars.
The bed creaks beneath us, and the fire crackles, and the only sounds in the room are our panting and the slap of skin against skin.
“Come for me,” he orders. “Come on my cock like a good girl.”
The words send me over the edge. I clench around him and scream his name, and he follows me with a groan that vibrates through my entire body. He collapses on top of me, and we lie there tangled together, breathing hard, hearts pounding in unison.
“Mine,” he whispers against my hair. “Always mine.”
I jolt awake with a gasp.
The bedroom is dark and quiet. No fire, no Connor, no evidence of what just happened except the wetness between my thighs and the lingering pulse of arousal still thrumming through my veins.
“Damn it.” I press the heels of my hands against my eyes. “Damn it, damn it, damn it.”
This has to stop. I can’t keep dreaming about a man who forced me into a supernatural marriage. I can’t keep wanting someone who treats me like property instead of a person.
But even as I list all the reasons I should hate him, my body remembers the feel of his hands on my skin. The way he looked at me in the dream, like I was the most precious thing in the world. The way he said mine, like it was a vow instead of a claim.
How the hell did I let him get under my skin like this?
I roll over and bury my face in the pillow as I try to will myself back to sleep. But every time I close my eyes, I see Connor’s face. Every time I breathe, I smell his scent on my sheets even though he’s never been in this bed.
The bond. It has to be the bond messing with my head. Making me want things I shouldn’t want. Feel things I shouldn’t feel.
Because the alternative is admitting that some part of me actually wants to be his.
And I’m not ready to face the possibility that might be the truth.