Chapter 19 #2
He looks handsome in the firelight—dark features illuminated by the flames, piercings glinting in the light. A myriad of emotions sweep through me as I stare at him.
Sadness. Joy. Relief. Desire.
That last one startles me.
Not because it is foreign, but because it typically comes with a warning. A gentle touch or a teasing glance, and with Elliot, heated words. But all he’s done is speak his truth, and yet there is an unmistakable hunger for something new, churning in my stomach.
I don’t act on it.
I know better than to trust such feelings.
So rather than climbing into his lap and letting it consume me, I avert my gaze and study the fire as we wait for the rest of the crowd to take their seats.
It doesn’t take them long. They’re an obedient bunch. One whistle from Elliot and the grove falls into a hushed quiet where we sit until a girl I don’t know by name stands, clears her throat, and, without direction, begins to vocalize a high-pitched tune.
Her voice creeps through the grove, like the whistle of morning wind, and a chill runs down my back when several others stand to join her.
They match her pitch in perfect harmony, and they continue, wolves standing to sing one by one until the majority of the pack is no longer seated.
“Oh my gods,” I whisper.
Kitty turns to me, a smile nearly splitting her face in half.
“Isn’t it amazing?” she whispers.
I nod. It’s beautiful, although I’m still not sure what it is.
“What are they doing?” I ask as the wolves continue to rise.
Elliot is the one who answers me.
“Harmonizing,” he says. “It’s how we stregnthen our pack bonds. Try it.”
“Me?”
He nods, chuckling at me.
“Yes, you.”
“No, no,” I say. “I don’t think anyone wants to hear me sing.”
I’m no good at singing. Never have been. That’s much more Elsie’s speed. But Elliot doesn’t seem to care. With a toothy grin, he strokes a finger under my chin, lifting my face into the light.
“I do,” he says.
For a second time tonight, a flush finds its way to my cheeks. Thankfully, the warm glow of the fire will not give me away.
“No, really. I can’t.”
Elliot shrugs, though he is grinning wide.
“Alright, princess, suit yourself.”
He stands without warning, tilts his head toward the sky, and joins the chorus with a perfect vibrato, and before Kitty rises from her seat, she leans in to whisper, “He wants you to sing so he can feel it.”
“Feel what?” I ask, still watching him.
There’s a beautiful tone coming from deep in his throat, and I can almost feel it vibrating through my limbs as he sings louder.
“Your energy,” Kitty says. “He’ll feel it through the pack bonds.”
She stands without further explanation, and I watch as the wolves continue to rise, each of them adding their own vocalization to the mix.
Somehow, as the song continues and the tones blend, the pack develops a seamless harmony.
It swells over the treetops and out into the night sky, and I’m not sure what it is, maybe the music worming its way into my heart, or Elliot attempting to do the same, but after a while, something moves me to my feet.
I play it safe and mimic the tones Elliot makes, and for a moment, I can feel the electricity of pack magic running through me as the voices fade in and out.
I don’t know how long they sing for, I’m too wrapped in their song to notice time ticking by, but slowly the voices stop, and people take their seats, until eventually the grove is quiet once more and the fire is nothing but embers.
The pack goes back to their chatting, and someone busts out a case of brew, passing them around the circle. I take one in hopes it might quiet the newfound fire in my stomach, but it only proves to make matters worse as my body loosens and my limbs grow warm.
“You ready?” Elliot says, tipping the last few drops of the bottle back.
I watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows, only managing to respond once he’s finished.
“Yeah.”
He carries me on his back this time, and I decide I like this mode of transportation as he continues up the many flights of stairs to his room.
I hop down as his door swings shut behind us, and watch Elliot kick off his boots before collapsing onto the bed.
“What are you doing?” I ask, standing awkwardly in the middle of the room.
“Getting Comfortable,” he says.
“I can see that. I meant, why? Aren’t you taking me home?”
“Dame took the bike to—” He pauses, then clears his throat, and ultimately decides not to finish that sentence.
“He should be back in a couple hours,” he says, leaning back against the pillows, arms folded behind his head.
“It’s fine, I’ll just walk.”
He sits up, canines bared as he sneers at me.
“Like hells, you are.”
Ugh. He’s such a man sometimes. Well, actually, all the time.
“Elliot, how do you think I got around before you and your stupid bike?”
“The bike’s not stupid,” he declares, pointing a finger at me. “And I don’t know. I don’t care either. My girlfriend is not walking home at night by herself. There’re freaks out there.”
I laugh, and some of the pressure I feel creeping into my chest dissipates.
“Mmhmm. There’re freaks in here, too.”
Elliot wiggles his brows, the little smirk stretching across his lips.
I almost fold at the sight of it.
My affection for his teeth is quickly becoming second to my affection for his lips. But I know what he’s doing, and I will not be persuaded.
I used to think Elliot was just funny, or that he had some kind of nervous tic that prevented him from holding in a joke whenever he saw the opportunity, but now I know better.
Now I realize that his carefully curated humor is not actually meant for him. It’s for everyone else. To ease them out of their worries, their fears. To make them forget just how lethal he is.
In different hands, that realization would be worriesome all on its own, but tonight he’s using it to remind me that I’m safe here with him, and it only makes the newfound feeling in my stomach grow.
Even more reason to go home.
“I’m tired,” I say, trying to find any excuse.
Elliot is prepared. He offers me a half smile as he snatches up the book on his nightstand and opens to a dog-eared page.
“Go to sleep then. I’ll wake you up when he gets back.”
He doesn’t look up from his book as he speaks. Another deliberate decision to show me that he is unconcerned with my presence.
“Where am I supposed to sleep exactly?”
Elliot groans, and I know I’m pushing my limit when he calls me by my clan name.
“Ashbourne, I think we’re allowed to sleep in the same bed. You’re wearing my socks for fuck’s sake.”
I look down at my feet and the dingy socks with the pinprick hole on top.
“Right,” I mutter. “Socks.”
I would laugh at that if I thought he was joking. But I’m pretty sure that my standing here wearing Elliot’s faded sweatpants and scratchy socks is the most intimate act either of us has ever performed.
I’ve never slept beside someone before, not unless Elsie counts. Come to think of it, I’ve never been in another man’s bed before. I keep my interactions with my food to what is strictly necessary, and there’s never been a need to climb into bed with one. There still isn’t.
But this isn’t just any man’s bed, it’s Elliot’s. And he’s looking at me with that stupid, lazy grin and those gorgeous green eyes. So, even though I don’t need to stay, I’m still considering it.
“Fine,” I huff after a long while of us staring at each other. “But I want that side.”
I point to the place where Elliot is sprawled out, and his brows lift.
“You want my side?” he asks.
“Yes.”
“Oh, sure, baby. No problem. I just need one thing from you.” He levels a stern glare in my direction. “Say the bike’s not stupid.”
“The bike is stupid,” I say, stifling a laugh by biting my lip.
Elliot’s eyes widen, and his mouth drops open in horror as he spreads his limbs across the bed, taking up as much space as he can.
“Oh, no. There’s no more room. So sorry, maybe try the floor.”
I pick up the skirt I left folded on his desk and throw it at him, giggling like a fool.
“Fine, fine…” I concede. “The bike’s not that stupid.”
His eyes narrow, and he holds up my skirt with the tip of his finger.
“You’re lucky you’re so fucking cute.”
He slides off the bed and sweeps the blankets back before rummaging through a drawer and holding out another of his giant t-shirts. This one has the word ‘Hellhounds’ written across the back in a bold gothic print. Another shirt he acquired at a concert last year.
I discard my top and pull the t-shirt over my head while Elliot takes a moment to fold my things and set my shoes beside his. He swaps his own pants for a pair of old gym shorts and forgoes a shirt altogether.
He is careful to make plain that this is not a big deal as he climbs back into bed.
His gaze does not lift from his book as I crawl beneath the covers, and he doesn’t move an inch as my head hits the pillow.
I lay beside him, watching as he flips through the pages, wholly ignoring me. Or, at least, pretending to.
“What’d you do to Argent?” I ask after a few moments of prolonged silence.
He smirks.
“I handled it.”
“Okaaay, but what does that mean?”
“It means that it’s been handled,” he repeats, and my teeth grind as he continues to read.
“Why are you being an ass?” I say.
Elliot sighs, and he shuts the book, holding his place with his finger as he glares at me.
“Because the less you know, the better,” he says plainly. “And I thought you were tired?”
I am. But I’m also very conscious of Elliot’s bare chest five inches from my face, and for some reason, it’s making it hard to close my eyes.
“I am,” I say. “I’m just—”
My excuses are interrupted by the soft buzzing of my phone, and I sit up as we both turn to face the noise.
“Don’t—”
But it’s too late, Elliot’s already halfway across the room on the second ring, snatching up my phone and barking into the speaker.
“I’m going to rip you to pieces when I find you,” he growls.
He pries at his choker as he waits for an answer that will never come, and after a few seconds of silence, he drops the phone back in my bag.
“What happened?” I ask.
“He hung up,” he says, shrugging his wide shoulders.
The muscles in his back are tight as he drops down on the edge of the bed, and I feel guilty as he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees.
With his back turned, I can see the little crescent-shaped birthmark between his shoulder blades. It’s lighter than the rest of him, made to stand out, and I surprise myself as I reach out a hand and brush my fingers over the little patch of skin.
Elliot groans, shoulders slumping with a deep exhale.
“I’m so sorry, Iris,” he says, voice rough with the effort of keeping his anger at bay.
“Don’t be. We’re going to figure it out. It’s alright.”
“No, it’s not alright,” He twists to face me. “Don’t you understand? You’re what he wants.”
“Me?”
“The photos? The phone calls? That performance from Tara?” He pauses, fingers curling into tight fists. “Do you really think you misplaced your copy of Manhurst?” he asks. “You would never lose that book. You love that book. He took it from you, Iris.”
Elliot sighs, dragging a hand down his face.
“I just don’t want you to have to deal with this. You don’t deserve this,” he says. “You’re already…”
He stops himself, but I know what he was going to say.
I’m already broken.
“And that picture with Tara…I just feel like I’m making it worse,” he says, hanging his head.
His locs shroud his face, and I move closer as my guilt threatens to eat me alive.
“Elliot…You could never make it worse. You’re the only thing making it better.”
There’s a sad look in his eye as he lifts his head. The soft green hue is somehow darker, warmer against his deep skin. But he doesn’t speak as he looks at me.
There are few people I can sit in silence with for longer than a few seconds. I can count them all on one hand. But I always suspected Elliot was one of them, if he ever stopped talking long enough for me to find out. It turns out I was right.
We sit there in silence, watching one another. And even though he’s staring, I don’t mind, because for once in my life, it feels like someone actually sees me.
His gaze roams my face, and when that no longer suffices, his fingers trail over my brows, down my cheek, and under my jaw before returning to my mouth, where he strokes my lips with the soft pad of his thumb.
“When are you going to let me kiss you?” he asks, breaking the soft silence.
I laugh a little.
Not on purpose, and not because I think it’s funny, but because I would’ve let him kiss me ages ago if I thought he meant it. But I’m still not sure he does.
“Careful, Cross. Your mystique is wearing off.”
His pierced brow lifts.
“My what?”
“You know, that veil of mystery you have clinging to you.” I wiggle my fingers in front of his face. “I can almost see through it now.”
“Ohhh, you mean like the giant ‘fuck-off’ you have written on your forehead? Yeah, now that you mention it, it’s looking a little faded. You might need to re-up.”
He presses a finger between my eyes, nudging my head back, and we laugh a little, both of us trying to keep the mask from slipping, and doing a terrible job.
“Shut up,” I snap back.
He chuckles, pinning me down on the bed.
“Go to sleep, Ashbourne.”
I hug the pillow beneath my head, rolling on my side to get comfortable.
“You’ll wake me up when Dame gets back?” I ask, with a deep yawn.
“Yes, Iris.”
“You promise?”
His hand rests on my back as he returns to his reading, but I barely catch his answer as my eyes slide shut.
“Nope.”