Chapter 10 Percival #2
I crossed to my bed and sat down on the edge, giving her space. She needed it, I could tell. Needed room to breathe, to think, to decide whether she was going to keep running or finally stand still long enough to have a real conversation.
“What do you want to know?”
For a long moment, she didn’t move or speak. Just stood there with tension in every line of her body, fighting some internal battle I could only guess at.
Then she sighed. The sound was exhausted, defeated. She’d been carrying this for too long and couldn’t hold it anymore.
She turned to face me.
“The memories,” she said quietly. Her arms wrapped around herself, hugging her own body. The nightgown left her arms bare, and I could see the goosebumps rising on her skin. “I remember the lantern dance. The wounded wolf. And in my journal, I think I wrote about you three.”
“It’s the week you forgot.”
“I know.” She rubbed her hands up and down her arms, self-soothing. “But it’s so confusing. The fragments don’t connect. I wanted to find out for myself what happened. What I felt. Whether any of it was real or if I’m just losing my mind.”
Her voice trailed off, frustration creasing her brow. She looked so small standing there in her thin nightgown, arms wrapped around herself, admitting fears she probably hadn’t said out loud to anyone.
“Because you’re still afraid to fully trust us,” I said softly.
Her eyes met mine. The fear there was raw. Honest and real in a way that made my heart ache.
Mira nodded.
I wanted to cross the room. To pull her into my arms and hold her until the fear went away. But that wasn’t what she needed right now. She needed honesty. Someone to meet her where she was instead of where we wanted her to be.
“It’s okay.” I kept my voice gentle. “We get it.”
She blinked. Surprised, maybe, that I wasn’t pushing. That I wasn’t making excuses or deflecting.
“But you can still try asking,” I added. “Up to you if you want to believe it or not.”
She looked away. Her gaze traveled around the room, restless, landing on nothing in particular. Taking in the mess of clothes on my chair, the stack of books on my nightstand, the general chaos that followed me everywhere.
Until her eyes stopped on the turnout jacket hanging near my closet.
“Valdris,” she read aloud. Her head tilted, curiosity replacing some of the fear. “You guys use the same surname?”
She crossed the room and took the jacket off the hanger, examining it.
My jacket. The one I wore on calls, the one that smelled of smoke, sweat, and me.
I leaned back on my arms, watching her. “Yeah. The town knows us as brothers although it was actually just Lucian’s surname.”
“You’re not actual brothers?”
“Not by blood.”
“Figures.” She looked up at me, those mismatched eyes searching my face. “You don’t look alike.”
“You wound me. I thought I had Solomon’s cheekbones.”
A ghost of a smile crossed her lips.
Then she did something that made my brain short-circuit completely.
She put on the jacket.
My jacket. My clothes. On her body.
The sleeves hung past her fingertips and the hem fell to her thighs, swallowing her whole, and my wolf was howling inside my skull.
I gripped the bedsheets to keep myself from crossing the room and doing something incredibly stupid.
She pushed her hair behind her ears and crossed her arms over her chest, completely unaware of what she was doing to me. Or maybe not completely unaware. There was a glimmer in her eyes.
Craving. Curiosity.
“Can I ask about your tattoos?” She suddenly asked.
“Sure.” My voice came out rougher than intended. A bit teasing as I slowly smirk. “You can even get a closer look.”
A mischievous smile tugged at her mouth. Knowing of my hint, matching what I was thinking. Mira walked toward me and my heart rate kicked up with every inch of distance she closed.
She stopped in front of me. Close enough to touch.
I sat up properly, looking up at her. Waiting, letting her decide.
“I haven’t seen those letters before,” she said, her eyes tracing the ink that covered my arms and chest. “It’s a different language. Is it ancient?”
I reached out and took her hand. Her skin was soft, warm, and her pulse jumped beneath my fingers. I brought her palm to my chest and pressed it flat against the symbols that decorated my ribs.
“This?” I dragged her hand slowly across the ink, letting her feel every line. “It is an ancient language. Not from here. You wouldn’t know it. Most people won’t.”
Her fingers moved on their own now, tracing the patterns with a curiosity that was doing very specific things to my body. The towel was getting uncomfortable, straining against the effect she had on me.
“What does it mean?” Her voice had gone breathy. Intimate in a way that made my blood heat.
I let her explore. Let her map the patterns while I watched her face, memorizing every microexpression.
“Some symbols from battles,” I said. “Some names of comrades. And some names of our... pack.”
Her eyes lifted to mine. “Pack?”
“Family.”
We stared at each other. The space between us had gone electric. I could hear her heartbeat, fast and unsteady. Could smell the shift in her scent, sweetness deepening into want.
“I know it’s not the time,” I heard myself say, “but you look so fucking hot wearing my jacket right now, Mira.”
Her breath caught. A flush spread across her cheeks, but she didn’t step back. Didn’t break eye contact. If anything, she leaned closer, drawn in by the same gravity that had been pulling us together since the moment we met. The first time, and the second time.
“You like what you’re seeing, Percival?”
My full name in her mouth. It hit me low in the gut, want twisting into a feeling that bordered on pain.
“Yes,” I managed. “Very much.”
I tipped my head up slowly. Testing. Giving her every chance to pull away.
She didn’t.
Her hands slid up my chest and clasped behind my neck. Fingers threading through my damp hair, nails scraping lightly against my scalp. She leaned down, and I met her halfway.
The first press of her lips against mine was soft, tentative. A question neither of us had the courage to ask out loud.
I answered it by fisting my hand in her hair and pulling her closer.
Mira gasped against my mouth, and I swallowed the sound, deepening the kiss. My tongue swept across her lower lip and she opened for me, letting me taste her. The noise that came out of my throat was barely human.
She tasted of sweet heat and need, her tongue tangling with mine as I took control, dominating the kiss with slow, deliberate strokes that made her whimper into me.
“Good girl,” I murmured against her lips, my voice rough. “Just open up for me.”
Her hands were everywhere. Raking through my hair, dragging down my shoulders, tracing the muscles of my back with an urgency that matched my own. I pulled her onto my lap and she came willingly, her thighs bracketing my hips, the thin satin of her nightgown riding up.
The friction made us both groan.
I kissed down her jaw to her neck. Found the spot where her pulse fluttered and dragged my teeth across it. She arched into me, nails biting into my shoulders, and a sound escaped her lips that went straight to my cock.
“Percival.”
My name. Wrecked, desperate. Falling from her lips.
A growl rumbled through my chest, barely human, and my hands gripped her hips tighter. She was still on my lap, thighs bracketing mine, and I had no intention of changing that.
“Say it again,” I demanded. My voice sounded different. Too low, too rough. The wolf bleeding through.
“Percival.” Softer this time. A whisper.
I kissed her with everything I had.
This time there was nothing tentative about it.
She kissed me with hunger, all the walls she’d been building finally crumbling between us.
Her legs tightened around my waist and she rolled her hips, grinding down against the ridge of my cock.
The sound I made was closer to a snarl than anything human.
The towel slipped further. I didn’t care.
My fingers curled into the fabric of the jacket, holding her in place as she ground down again, chasing friction. Her pussy pressed hot and wet through her nightgown against my throbbing cock, the heat of her soaking into me, making me growl low in my chest.
I was hard, aching, straining against the thin fabric still between us.
She knew it and used it. Rolled her hips in a rhythm that had me seeing stars.
“Fuck, Mira.” I thrust up against her, matching her rhythm. “You’re so perfect grinding on my cock.”
She broke the kiss to gasp, breath coming in short pants, but I didn’t let her pull away far. I captured her mouth again, harder this time, my teeth grazing her lower lip as I sucked it into my mouth. My hands roamed her back, sliding beneath the nightgown but never beneath the jacket.
The sleeves swallowed her hands as she gripped my shoulders, and every time the fabric shifted, releasing a fresh wave of my scent mixed with hers, my wolf howled with satisfaction.
Mine. She smelled mine.
Mira ground down harder, pace quickening, and I guided her hips with my hands, angling her just right. I pressed her clit directly against the length of my cock, rubbing her through the layers until she shuddered in my arms.
“That’s it, baby,” I whispered against her ear, nipping at the lobe. “Ride me just like that. You’re driving me wild.”
Her head fell back, throat exposed, and I attacked it with my mouth.
Kissing, biting, sucking marks into skin that would show tomorrow.
I latched onto the pulse point under her jaw, sucking hard enough to bruise, my tongue soothing the sting before I bit down again.
She cried out, nails digging into my shoulders.
She pulled back to breathe, chest heaving, lips swollen and red from my mouth. The jacket had slipped off one shoulder, revealing the delicate strap of her nightgown, and I tugged it back up. Smoothed the collar, wanted her covered in me.
Her eyes searched my face. Then froze.
“Your eyes,” Mira breathed. “They’re gold. I... I think I wrote about it in my journal.”
I didn’t try to hide it. Couldn’t have if I’d wanted to. The wolf was too close to the surface, pushing forward, demanding to be seen. To be known.
“Yes.”
She stared at me. I waited for the fear or rejection. The moment she realized I wasn’t entirely human and decided she wanted nothing to do with me.
Instead, she reached up and touched my cheekbone. Traced the edge of my brow where the gold burned brightest. Her touch was gentle.
“Do you want me to stop?” I asked. The words came out rough, barely controlled.
Mira met my gaze and held it.
Then she pulled my mouth back down to hers.
She kissed me with hunger and I answered with everything. Her hips bucked against me and I thrust up harder, pinning her against me, every slide slick and torturous through the soaked fabric between us. She moaned louder, trembling on the edge.
“Percy, I’m...” Her voice broke. “I’m going to...”
“I know.” I held her tighter, one hand fisted in the back of the jacket, the other gripping her hip. My eyes locked on hers. “Let go, love. I’ve got you.”
She shattered.
Mira’s whole body went taut in my lap, trembling, a broken moan spilling from her lips as the wave crashed through her. I held her through it, watching her face, memorizing every expression as pleasure overwhelmed her.
Wrecked and flushed, wearing my jacket while she came apart in my arms.
Fuck. The most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.
When the tremors subsided, I eased her off my lap and down onto the mattress. Gentle, careful. She was boneless beneath me, chest heaving, eyes glazed with satisfaction.
I lay down beside her and pulled her against my chest. Mira came willingly, tucking her head under my chin, one hand settling over my heart. Her fingers traced lazy patterns across my tattoos, following the lines of ink she’d been so curious about.
“Well,” she said after a long moment. Her voice was drowsy, sated. “That escalated.”
I laughed. The sound rumbled through my chest, and she smiled against my skin. “Sorry. Can’t help it around you.”
“It’s fine.” She pressed a kiss to my collarbone. “It’s mutual.”
We lay there in comfortable silence, her fingers still tracing the ink on my chest. The wolf was settled now, content in a way I hadn’t felt in a while.
“I still don’t know what it is,” Mira murmured, voice heavy with approaching sleep. “But I feel safe with you three.”
My heart clenched.
I combed the hair back from her face. Pressed a kiss to her forehead as her eyes fluttered closed.
“You are,” I whispered. “Safe. With us. Always.”
Her breathing evened out peacefully.
I held her and watched the moonlight shift across the ceiling.
The door opened an hour later.
Lucian and Solomon stood in the doorway, silhouettes backlit by the hall light. Their eyes took in the scene. Mira curled against my chest, still wearing my jacket, face peaceful in sleep.
Lucian’s expression was calm. “Did you tell her?”
“No.” I kept my voice low, careful not to wake her. “But I think she’s ready.”
They exchanged a look. I could read the questions in their eyes. The hope, the fear.
“We need her to be ready,” Lucian said quietly.
Solomon stepped forward. His hand went to his pocket, and he pulled out a photograph.
“We found this in our locker at the station.”
He held it out. I took it carefully, angling it toward the moonlight.
Mira. Standing in the firehouse, a casserole dish in her hands. The photo had been taken from outside, through a window. She was laughing, completely unaware she was being watched.
I turned it over.
Red ink. Two words. Handwriting I didn’t recognize but a threat I understood perfectly.
“I’m watching.”
My blood went cold.