Chapter 20
Just Friends
ELLIOT
She’s going to kill me.
At least, she will if she ever finds this photo.
I snap it as quickly as I can, not caring much for the angle. I’m only interested in the evidence of the phenomenon before me.
I am staring at the same soft, brown skin and rounded cheeks, and she smells like the same spiced honey I’ve grown so fond of, but the woman beside me cannot be Iris. She simply can’t be.
Iris was wearing pants when she fell asleep last night.
This woman is not.
Iris wouldn’t be caught dead cuddling a man, let alone me. And this woman is fisting my tail in one hand and has the other splayed across my chest, the mere sensation sending little jolts of electricity straight to my heart each time she moves.
So, this can’t be Iris. And if it’s not Iris, that would explain why I can’t stop touching her.
My hand has been absently stroking her head since I woke up. I’ve tried several times to keep to myself, but my fingers have developed a mind of their own in the night, and really, she looks like she needs it.
Her signature frown is plastered on her brow, and she doesn’t even look like she’s asleep. She looks like she’s clinging to rest, begging it to embrace her. But I’m not surprised she is so restless. She’s such a nervous thing, and trying all the time not to be. It must be exhausting.
It’s a shame she won’t let me kiss her. I think it might help.
Were I allowed to, I’d kiss her now. But knowing I can’t, I brush a thumb over her bottom lip as I had last night, just to feel the soft warmth of her mouth on my skin.
I snag my book from my bedside and open to where I left off, prepared to sit here for as long as she requires, but it isn’t long before I hear the signature thump of Dame’s footsteps heading in my direction.
I’m on my feet and at the door before he can even knock, and he has the gall to look startled when I open it.
“What?” I ask, confused by the shock on his face.
My eyes track back to see what he’s staring at, only to find them fixed on Iris’s long legs and left ass cheek, peeking out from under my shirt.
“Oh, shit,” I step out into the hall and shut the door.
“That’s new,” Dame says, an amused smirk on his face.
“Oh, you know what else is new?” I sniff the air. “That smell. It’s delicious. What is that? Lavender? Gardenias?” His eyes narrow. “Roses?”
He lets out a low growl, and I shake my head.
Dame’s no idiot. By now, he knows why I’ve claimed Iris, but he’s got a lot of nerve questioning my choices, especially when his have him looking more exhausted than I have ever seen before.
“Where have you been?” I ask. “You look like shit.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“You sure?”
He nods, and I leave the conversation for another day.
“The Inquisition has requested to speak with Iris,” he says, holding out a sheet of paper.
I take it, skimming over the template language.
I’m not surprised they’ve called her up. They’ve been going down the list of attendees all month. But I was hoping it would take them a while to get through all the night students. They always go for the low-hanging fruit first.
“Did they submit a request to the Crescent council?” I ask.
“No.”
Good, her presence isn’t compelled then.
“We’ll go,” I say. “No need to drag it out.”
“We?” Dame asks, rubbing at the back of his neck.
“Yeah, I’m not letting her do that alone. You know how they are. Plus, if we go without a council order, she won’t be compelled to answer any of their questions, and maybe they’ll ease up on the rest of the pack when the time comes.”
“That’s a good idea,” Dame mutters, rolling his shoulders. “Remind me why you can’t be alpha, again?”
“I’m not a people person, remember?”
He groans as I pat him on the back.
Truth is, half of these idiots would be dead by now if I were alpha. Deacon, especially. Maybe even Owen for making me sit through that shit show of a double date.
He pulls my keys from his pocket, dropping them in my open palm.
“But if you so much as scuffed my bike, I will kill you and take your place.”
He laughs, but there’s no humor in it.
“Don’t threaten me with a good time.”
I’m sure he means that, to some degree. But the simple fact that he hates it so much is exactly why it was always going to be him.
I lean my forehead against his out of habit, and he sighs in mild relief as his wolf recognizes mine.
“Get some sleep,” I say. “I’ll handle it. And take a shower. You actually stink.”
He tosses up a hand, grunting something unintelligible as he turns for his room.
Gods, he’s such an idiot. He’s going to get himself sanctioned over some girl.
Then again, wolves of a feather, or whatever they say.
Iris is still making her best attempt at sleeping when I enter the room, and I stand by the bed watching her chest rise and fall for a little while.
I’ve never pictured someone in my bed before.
It always seemed out of the question. Not impossible, but why would I burden some poor girl with my claim, knowing I have nothing but friendship to offer her?
I may be heartless, but I am not cruel. So I’ve never imagined a moment like this before.
But now that it’s in front of me, I’m glad it’s Iris.
If I could mate, I imagine my wolf would choose someone like her. Someone for whom it would heel. Who else but Iris is capable of that?
Not many women have the balls to threaten me. Even fewer have the bite to back it up.
I picture her commanding me to sit and stay; I picture her feeding from me for the rest of my days, however few they may be; and I picture her taking my knot and crying my name over and over. If only for a moment, I allow myself to dream of her.
But a moment is all it is, because no matter how badly I wish we could stay this way, I would never doom her to this loveless life with me. She deserves so much more than that.
I do my best to rouse her gently, but she wakes with a start.
She shoots up to a seated position, eyes scanning the room before settling on my face.
“Oh, gods. Elliot. You scared the shit out of me. What’re you—”
She stops, taking in the room once more, then frowns.
“You promised,” she pouts, pushing out her bottom lip.
“No, I didn’t,” I answer, failing to stifle the stupid grin on my face.
Her face is puffy with sleep, and she glares at me through the dark slits she calls eyes before rubbing her fists over her lids, trying to seem more awake.
“Elliot…” she scolds me, still swiping at her eyes.
“What? You were snoring. I didn’t want to wake you.”
“I do not snore,” she says.
No, she’s right, she doesn’t. She actually sleeps like a mouse. Probably the quietest I’ve ever seen her. I hated it.
“Who cares?” I say. “All you did was sleep.”
Sleep like she was trying to crawl inside my ribcage, but sleep all the same.
She looks like she’s about to accept this answer, but then notices her missing pants and returns to scowling at me.
“Where are my pants?” she snaps.
I point to the ball of faded red fabric on the floor. She’d tossed them out from under the covers sometime in the night, and frankly, it was so funny I never thought to pick them up.
“You did that,” I say, hands up. “Swear on my life.”
“On Dame’s life,” she corrects. “We both know you don’t care about yours.”
Touché.
“Yes, princess, I swear on Dame’s life.”
The scowl simmers to her usual frown, and I can’t resist pressing a kiss to her forehead as I pass her my pants.
If I’m not mistaken, the little wrinkle between her brows dissipates as my lips meet her skin, but knowing this is as far as I can go, I try not to think about that.
“Get dressed,” I tell her as I step into the bathroom. “You’ve been summoned for inquiry.”
* * *
I’m starting to wonder if Iris was born in a skirt and heels. It seems impractical, but it’s really the only thing that makes sense at this point. Otherwise, I cannot begin to understand why she endures it day in and day out, especially for something as dull as a trip to the Inquisition.
She’s selected her shortest skirt, the black one with the little silver buckles on the side, and she’s paired it with the platform boots that end somewhere mid-thigh. I’m not sure what I’ve done to deserve this treat, but I’m also not foolish enough to ask.
Instead, I urge her ahead of me, watching her thick hips switch as she climbs the steps to the Inquisition Office.
She only makes it a few feet before I’m pawing at her. I know I shouldn’t, especially not here, but spending a night with a woman like Iris in your bed and keeping your hands to yourself is harder than it sounds when you haven’t had sex in over a month.
To my surprise, she doesn’t shoo me off. She lets me have my fill of her before we reach the door, and I even catch a smile curling at the edges of her lips as she ducks under my outstretched arm. Though her mood quickly sours as we step into the lobby.
I don’t blame her; this place feels like standing in a concrete tube. No windows, no doors, just stone on all sides, with a single desk in the center and a ceiling that stretches all the way up to the fiftieth floor. But I don’t think it’s the building that’s making Iris uneasy.
With every step, another head turns, so I make sure to keep her tucked close under my arm. If they want something to look at, they’ll have to make do with me.
Mrs. Gibbons, the old goblin who works the front desk, is busily sorting her papers as we approach, but I don’t wait for a break in her work. We’ll be standing here for hours if I do.
“Iris Ashbourne,” I announce. Then, when Mrs. Gibbons still doesn’t look up from her filing, I add. “And Elliot Cross.”
At that, her eyes lift, and her fat, freckled face draws down in disappointment.
“Again?” she asks.
“Again,” I affirm.
She sucks her teeth as she shuffles through the many stacks of papers in search of a blank sheet. When she finds one, she scribbles a few words out before lighting it aflame, then mutters for us to take a seat and that someone will be with us shortly.