Chapter 8 Lucian #2
Mira sat on the porch, no apology in sight, her eyes tracking the tree line. Percival was running late from his shift and Solomon still hadn’t come home. It was just the two of us.
I haven’t really been alone with her since the fire.
And since the week she forgot.
“You’re in my seat.”
“I don’t see your name on it.”
“It’s my cabin.”
“It’s your porch. The chair is communal property.”
I sat on the railing. Wood creaked beneath me and the last of the daylight caught the copper roots peeking through her dark hair. The dye was already fading. Another week and the disguise would be useless.
Good. I hated the disguise.
We settled into silence, and the silence eventually went back to a conversation about the investigation. I don’t really mind, as long as I get to talk with her.
“The bird,” she suddenly said.
The shift in topic caught me off guard. “What bird?”
“The raven that lands on your windowsill. It comes at weird hours and you talk to it.” She tilted her head, studying my face.
“It had a pouch with a wax seal tied to its leg last Tuesday. I saw it from the kitchen window.” A pause.
“Firefighters don’t get mail delivered by trained ravens, Lucian.
And firefighters don’t own hand-stitched leather furniture or books that look older than this country. ”
“The bird is a rescue,” I said. “Comes back sometimes. Old habits. And the furniture was inherited.”
“Inherited from who?” Her eyes narrowed. “Your parents must be loaded. Because nothing in this cabin matches a firefighter’s salary. Not even close.”
“Something of that nature.”
Her expression didn’t shift but her eyes did. I know she doesn’t believe me and has formed a theory in her head, answers to her questions. Whatever makes sense in her perspective.
Mira is elusive and untrusting. She’s also smart. Perhaps she’s getting to the truth.
And maybe I won’t hate that.
“I know you’re not going to tell me tonight,” she said quietly. “And I know you have your reasons.” She turned on the chair to face me. “But I’m done pretending I don’t notice.”
“Then don’t pretend.”
“I won’t.”
My wolf pressed inside my ribs, aching.
She was right there.
Five inches of space between my knee and her shoulder, and every instinct I possessed screamed to close the gap.
The fading light caught the curve of her bare knee where she’d pulled it to her chest, and I tracked the line of it. My grip tightened on the railing. She was close enough that her warmth bled across the distance, and my blood registered every inch she wasn’t touching.
“Whenever you’re ready to know,” I said, “you can just ask. The answers are yours.”
The words sat between us. An open door. A key she could pocket and use whenever she chose to turn it.
She searched my face. I let her look. Let her hunt for the lie, the deflection, the catch. She wouldn’t find one because I had nothing left to hide from this woman except the truth itself, and that belonged to her the moment she wanted it.
“Not tonight,” she said.
“If you say so,” I agreed.
Stars filled the sky and the temperature dropped. Somewhere inside the cabin, I heard Percy arrive at the front door.
When she finally stood to go inside, her hand brushed mine on the railing. Brief and unintentional. Every nerve in my body fired at once, and my hand tightened on the wood to keep from reaching for hers. Heat bloomed from the point of contact and raced up my forearm.
My wolf had been pushing my scent toward her for the last ten minutes. I hadn’t noticed until now. Her breathing had slowed and her posture had softened.
Scenting a mate wasn’t a choice. It was reflex, marrow-deep and involuntary.
But she didn’t know what I was. So I held the scent behind my teeth and let the cold air fill the space between us instead.
She paused in the doorway and didn’t turn around.
“Lucian.”
“...Yes?”
“Thank you. For letting me in today.” A pause. “And for not keeping me in the dark.”
The door closed behind her.
My hand stayed on the railing, warm where her fingers had grazed it. My wolf howled silently in my chest, and I let him.
***
Sleep didn’t come.
Past midnight, I lay in bed and stared at the ceiling while the bond pulsed beneath my skin. The pull eventually quieted, and my own memories filled the silence.
Mira finished rewrapping my bandages despite the slight tremor of her hands. The wound was healing faster than any human injury should and she’d noticed.
“You should be dead,” she said, smoothing the last strip of gauze.
“I’m difficult to kill.”
“Clearly.” Her hand lingered on my chest, palm flat over the bandage, feeling my heartbeat through the cotton. “Your pulse is elevated.”
“Is it?”
“Lucian.”
“Mira.”
She looked up at me. Those mismatched eyes, unguarded for once. Her tongue darted out to wet her lower lip and my gaze tracked the movement with the focus of a predator.
“This is a terrible idea,” she whispered.
“Probably.”
“You’re injured.”
“I’m aware.”
“You should leave.”
“I should.”
Neither of us moved.
Her fingers curled into the bandage. The pressure sent a dull ache radiating through my ribs and I didn’t care. Not when she was looking at me with that expression, the one she’d been fighting for days.
“One kiss,” she said.
“One kiss,” I repeated.
She leaned down. Her mouth found mine in the dark, soft lips pressing tentatively at first. I surged up to meet her, capturing her mouth fully, my tongue pushing past her lips to claim the wet heat inside. A groan rolled low in my throat as I sucked on her tongue, drawing it deeper.
My hand came up, fisting her hair at the nape of her neck, strands tangling around my fingers. I yanked her head back just enough to control the kiss, angling her so I could devour her properly.
The needy whine she made against my lips vibrated through my chest and shot straight to my cock, making it twitch and harden. I pulled her closer, my other hand gripping her shoulder as I thrust my tongue against hers.
She gasped into my mouth, and I swallowed the sound, biting down on her lower lip. Her teeth caught mine, the sting sending a jolt through me that blurred with the ache in my wound.
My hips jerked off and she climbed onto me without hesitation, swinging one knee over my thighs to straddle me fully. Her weight pressed down on my ribs, the bandage pulling tight, but I ignored it, focused only on the heat of her core settling against my erection.
“That’s going to hurt,” she breathed against my mouth, her lips brushing mine as she spoke, already swollen from our rough kissing.
“Do it anyway,” I growled.
She lowered herself fully, grinding her hips down onto mine, the friction pulling a groan from my chest. She froze for a split second, mismatched eyes widening as she felt me throb beneath her.
“Did I-”
“Don’t stop.”
My fingers dug into her hips hard enough to leave marks. I used my grip to rock her against me, forcing her to slide back and forth over my length, building heat that made sweat bead on my forehead.
With my other hand, I pulled her hair again, tilting her head back to expose the long line of her throat. I leaned up, my mouth latching onto the pulse point just below her jaw, teeth grazing the flesh before I sucked hard enough to bruise.
She whimpered, the sound wrecked, her nails raking down my bandaged chest. The scratches burned through the gauze, pain blooming alongside pleasure until every sensation fed into my hunger.
“Lucian.” My name spilled from her lips, breathless, and we’d barely started. She paused, catching the unnatural glow in my eyes, the predatory gleam that betrayed what I truly was. “Your eyes...”
“I know.” I captured her mouth again, kissing her fiercely, refusing to let her pull away.
“I should be terrified,” she murmured when I allowed her a breath.
“Are you?” I demanded, nipping at her earlobe.
She stared at me and slowly shook her head.
That was all the permission I needed. I flipped us over, my hand stayed tangled in her hair, holding her head still as I ground my hips into hers. She arched off with a moan escaping her.
“When I’m healed,” I rasped against her throat, “I’m going to take my time with you. Hours.”
I bit the spot where her neck met her shoulder, teeth sinking in just enough to draw a gasp of pleasure. Her whole body jolted beneath me, hips bucking to meet mine.
“That’s a promise, Mira,” I murmured, licking the mark I’d left before kissing her again, the taste of her filling my senses until nothing else existed.
The memory dissolved and I woke up in the cold sheets of an empty bed. The present crashing back with cruelty. She was one room away. Peaceful, probably dreaming of things she couldn’t understand, while I lay in the ruins of a week she’d never know she gave me.
I fucking hate this situation.
Dawn found me in the kitchen with my hand wrapped around a mug of black coffee. I’d been standing there for ten minutes, staring at nothing, trying to burn the taste of her out of my head.
The dream clung to me. Her body beneath mine, her teeth in my skin. The sound of my name in her throat, wrecked and wanting.
I took a long sip and let the bitterness scald my tongue. It didn’t help.
Footsteps approached from the hallway. Solomon appeared at the counter, took one look at my face, and paused.
“You look like a mess.”
“Tough sleep.”
He didn’t push. That was just how Solomon was. He just poured his own coffee and settled against the counter beside me.
We stood there in silence. Then laughter drifted down from the upstairs hallway.
My hand stilled on the mug.
Mira descended the stairs with Percy at her side, the two of them mid-argument. She wore a soft sweater she’d picked out herself, the neckline slipping off one shoulder to expose the curve of her shoulder blade.
Bare skin. The exact spot where I’d dragged my teeth in the memory that wouldn’t release me.
My grip tightened on the ceramic until it creaked.
“Blueberries?” Percy gestured expansively as they reached the landing. “I make a mean blueberry pancake. Life-changing, actually.”
“You burn toast too.” She swatted his arm when he tried to mess with her hair. “Forgive me if I’m skeptical.”
“Hey, my cooking skills have been steadily improving. Give me more credit.”
She laughed. Not the guarded almost-smiles since the fire, but an actual laugh. Warm and unguarded and directed at Percy while I stood white-knuckling a coffee mug, remembering how that laugh sounded against my throat.
Fucking hell.
Solomon moved before I could. He intercepted her at the kitchen doorway, a fresh mug already in his hand, and pressed it into her grip.
“The site’s been cleared,” he said. “Investigation closed out yesterday.”
Her attention shifted to him immediately. “My shop?”
“If you want to see it, I can take you. The foundation work is underway.”
Gratitude softened her expression. That look she gave him, open and trusting, carved my ribs raw. She used to look at me that way.
Mira murmured her thanks and turned toward her usual stool. The path brought her directly past me. Her arm brushed mine.
The contact was brief, accidental. It shouldn’t have mattered.
But her scent flooded my lungs. My whole body went rigid. The mug in my hand could have shattered and I wouldn’t have noticed.
She paused, tilting her face up.
“Good morning, Lucian.” A small smile played at the corner of her mouth. Tentative, testing.
I didn’t answer. My jaw was locked, every muscle wound tight with the effort of not reaching for her. Not fisting my hand in her hair or dragging her against me and kissing her until she remembered exactly what we were to each other.
The smile faltered slightly. She searched my face, trying to read what she couldn’t name.
Then she moved past me. Slid onto her stool. She lifted the mug to her lips and watched me over the rim while she drank.
Those mismatched eyes held mine. The faintest hint of challenge buried beneath the caution.
Percy was talking about batter. Solomon had moved toward the stove. The morning unfolded around us, mundane and ordinary.
I didn’t look away.
Neither did she.
One way or another, she was going to remember what we had.
And if the memories wouldn’t come back on their own, I’d give her new ones to replace them.