Chapter 23 #2
I did as he suggested, taking a few minutes in the bathroom to splash water on my face, to study my reflection.
I looked tired. But also...hopeful? The woman staring back at me had color in her cheeks that hadn’t been there a month ago.
Had a light in her eyes that had nothing to do with magic.
This next weekend could be it—the weekend we ventured deep enough into the cave to get the knife.
To break the curse. Then I would show Axel I wasn’t going anywhere.
When I emerged, he was setting plates on the table. Beef stroganoff. My signature dish—the one I’d bragged about making.
“You made one of my favorites?”
“Asked you what your specialty was. You said stroganoff.” He pulled out my chair, waiting. “Wanted to see if I could do it justice.”
I sank into the seat, staring at the plate. Rich, creamy sauce. Perfectly cooked noodles. Tender chunks of beef and mushrooms. A bit of parsley garnished the top—from his greenhouse, of course. It smelled incredible.
“Axel, I...”
“Try it first. Then you can critique my efforts.”
I took a bite. Then another. The flavors were perfect—maybe even better than my own version, though I’d never admit that out loud.
“Well?” He was watching me intently, rare vulnerability flickering in his eyes.
“It’s terrible,” I deadpanned. “Worst thing I’ve ever tasted.”
His face fell for half a second before he caught my grin. “Wee brat,” he growled, but there was warmth in it. Relief.
We ate. We talked—really talked, for the first time in days.
About nothing important. About everything.
He told me about a deer he’d spotted on his pre-dawn run.
I told him about Sonny’s latest skateboard mishap.
He asked about the physics of refraction, claiming he’d been thinking about it since my lecture.
I tried to explain and ended up drawing diagrams on a napkin while he nodded along, looking genuinely interested.
The candles burned lower. The wine bottle emptied. And somewhere along the way, the tension that had been choking us since Monday began to unwind.
After dinner, we moved to the couch. He’d started a fire in the fireplace, the flames casting dancing shadows across the walls. I curled into the cushions with my wine glass, and he settled beside me—close, but not quite touching.
“This was really nice,” I admitted. “Thank you.”
“You deserved something nice. After the week you’ve had.”
“We’ve had,” I corrected. “You’ve been dealing with all of this too.”
He made a noncommittal sound, staring into the fire.
The warmth of the wine, the crackling flames, the soft glow of the room, the autumn vibes—it all combined into something that felt dangerously close to romantic. The kind of intimate we’d been avoiding.
I set my glass on the coffee table and shifted closer, tucking myself against his side. He went rigid for a moment, then relaxed, his arm coming around my shoulders almost reflexively.
“Is this okay?” I asked, knowing he’d made the first move and now it was my turn.
“Aye.” The word was rough. “More than.”
We sat like that for a while, watching the fire. His thumb traced absent patterns on my shoulder. And damn, it felt so good. To have his touch back.
My hand rested on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath my palm.
Slowly, carefully, I tilted my face up.
He was already looking down at me. The firelight caught in his eyes—one whole, one damaged, both burning with something that made my breath catch.
I stretched up and pressed my lips to his.
He responded instantly with a growl, like he was relieved. Like he’d been waiting days for this to happen. His hand slid into my hair, angling my head to deepen the kiss. It was soft at first. Tender. The kind of kiss that felt like an apology and a promise all at once.
Then it changed.
His grip tightened as his tongue swept against mine. He tasted like wine and a unique brand of something that belonged only to him. I wanted more—needed more.
A low groan vibrated through his chest as I shifted, swinging my leg over to straddle his lap. The position pressed us together in all the right places, and I could feel him—hard, straining against his jeans. Pressing up perfectly between my thighs.
God, I wanted him inside me. I knew he was big. I could feel it.
“Becca,” he growled against my mouth.
“I know.” I kissed him again, rolling my hips. “I want—“
“I know what you want.”
His hands found my waist, gripping hard enough to bruise. He kissed down my jaw, my throat, teeth grazing the sensitive spot below my ear. I gasped, grinding against him, desperate for friction. Each movement sent sparks dancing up my spine. Fireworks crackling behind my closed eyelids.
“Axel, please—“
Before I knew what was happening, he’d flipped us.
I was on my back on the couch, his weight pressing me into the cushions, his mouth hot on my collarbone.
He yanked my top up and over my head, tossing it aside.
His lips closed around one nipple through my lacy bra and I arched into him with a moan.
“Want to taste you again,” he rasped, already kissing down my stomach. “Haven’t been able to get the memory of you off my tongue.”
I reached for his shirt and he paused then shucked it off, revealing all those gorgeous muscles I wanted to lick. I sat up, hungry for him. His mouth met mine again in a furious kiss, all teeth and tongue. It was messy and desperate. Then my fingers went to his waistband. To the button there.
He caught my wrists in one hand, pinning them above my head. “No.”
The single word sent a shock through me. “What?”
“No, little witch.”
“Axel.” I tugged against his grip. “Let me touch you.”
He released my wrists, but his expression had shuttered. He sat back on his heels, putting distance between us.
“Axel, what the hell?”
“I can’t.”
“Can’t what? Let me reciprocate?” I pushed up onto my elbows, frustration and hurt and confusion all tangling together.
“You said no penetration. Back at the cave. I accepted that. But this?” I gestured between us.
“You’ve had your mouth on me more times than I can count.
That wasn’t off limits. So why is me touching you suddenly a problem? ”
His jaw clenched. “It’s not that simple.”
“Then explain it to me! Because from where I’m sitting, it feels like you’re making up rules as you go.”
“I’m not—“ He ran a hand through his hair, looking pained. “If you touch me, I won’t be able to stop.”
“Stop what?”
“Stop myself from crossing the line I drew.”
I stared at him, the pieces clicking together slowly. “You think if I touch you, you’ll lose control. That we’ll have sex—penetrative sex.”
His silence was confirmation enough.
“And then what? I’ll get attached?” A bitter laugh escaped me. “Axel, I hate to break it to you, but that ship has sailed. You think what we’ve been doing doesn’t count? You think I can just walk away from this—from you—because we haven’t technically had sex?”
Something flickered in his expression. Pain, maybe. Or fear.
“You said you didn’t want me chained to you,” I continued, sitting up fully. “That I’d want my real life back once I broke the curse. That’s what this is about, isn’t it? You think drawing some arbitrary line will make it easier for me to leave when this is over.”
“Rebecca—“
“It won’t.” My voice cracked, but I pushed through. “I’m already in this. I’m already—“ I stopped myself before I said something I couldn’t take back. Something that sounded a lot like love. Because I couldn’t be. Could I?
I let out a long breath, trying to calm my racing heart. “Your logic doesn’t hold up. If you wanted to protect me from getting attached, you should have kept your distance. Not cooked me dinner every night. Not decorated your whole cabin for me. Not looked at me like…like...”
I trailed off, shaking my head.
“It’s not entirely about attachment.” His voice was rough, strained. “It’s about what happens if I lose control. If I claim you.”
“What does that mean? Claiming?”
He shook his head, jaw tight. “I can’t explain.”
“Can’t, or won’t?”
Silence. The fire crackled and popped.
“Is this some wolf thing I don’t know about?”
His throat bobbed, but he said nothing. Whatever claiming meant, he wasn’t going to tell me. Not tonight.
“Axel, things aren’t adding up. You’re okay with everything except the one thing that would make this feel...equal. Like I have any say in this. Like I’m not just some—“ I bit off the words, frustrated tears pricking at my eyes.
“You have say,” he said quietly. “You can walk away. Any time. That’s the whole point.”
“And if I don’t want to walk away?”
His eyes met mine, and I saw it there—the war raging behind them. Want and fear and something deeper, something he was guarding so fiercely it was tearing him apart. Something he didn’t trust me with enough to tell me. Which hurt. Really fucking hurt.
“Please, Rebecca.” The plea was raw. Broken. It softened some of my pain. “Just...trust me. I’m trying to protect you.”
“From what? From yourself?”
He didn’t answer. Which was answer enough. Because I knew how he felt about what was happening to him.