Chapter 15 #2
He’s still staring at the wall where his fist connected, shoulders rigid. For a moment, I think he won’t answer.
“Four years.” His voice sounds hollow, empty.
The firelight flickers across his face, casting shadows that make him look older. Tired.
“You love her.” The words taste bitter on my tongue. Like old coffee. Like regret.
His shoulders tense, and a muscle jumps in his jaw. The firelight catches the sharp edges of his face, and something in my chest twists.
I shouldn’t care. I barely know him. But watching him stand there, perfect posture crumbling, perfect hair messed up from running his hands through it—it hurts. Actually, physically hurts.
He doesn’t move for a long moment. Just stands there, staring at nothing, like he’s replaying every memory at once.
“I thought I did.” His words come out slow and deliberate. “Now, I’m not sure it was ever real.”
My leg protests as I hop toward him, but I don’t care. His pain radiates off him in waves, and before I can overthink it, I wrap my arms around his waist. He stiffens at the contact, muscles turning to stone beneath my touch. But I hold on tighter.
“She’s stupid,” I mumble into his chest. His heartbeat pounds against my cheek, fast and unsteady. “She’s so incredibly stupid for giving you up.” My fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt. “You’re perfect because you’re not perfect. You fought off wolves. You saved my life.”
His breath catches. The tension in his body shifts, softens. His hand finds my jaw, tilting my face up. His fingers move against my skin, gentle, exploring. Like he’s mapping every imperfection, every freckle.
“You saved mine,” he whispers.
His fingers remain on my jaw, and my brain short-circuits, making my mouth run even more than usual.
“She’s missing out, you know.” My voice comes out breathier than intended.
“You’re kind and brave and stupidly perfect even when you’re not trying to be.
And...” Heat floods my cheeks, but apparently, near-death experiences destroy what little filter I have.
“I mean, I felt you when we shared that sleeping bag. You’re clearly working with some premium equipment there. ”
The words hang in the air for a heartbeat. Oh God. Did I just say that? To Sebastian Lockhart? Maybe the wolves can come back and eat me now.
His lips twitch. The smallest smile breaks through his anguish, and my heart does a weird flutter-flip thing that definitely isn’t healthy.
“Premium equipment?” His voice holds a hint of laughter.
My face burns hotter. “I’m just saying, her loss. In multiple ways. Which I noticed. Not that I was trying to notice. It kind of happened. And I’m going to stop talking now.”
His smile grows wider, and my heart does that strange thing again.
The space between us changes, charges with electricity. I can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t do anything but feel.
My heart pounds so hard I wonder if he can feel it through his palm. His thumb traces my lip again, slower this time, like he’s memorizing the shape. The rough callus on his finger catches, sending shivers down my spine.
The fire crackles behind us, casting dancing shadows across his face. His eyes look darker in this light, intense and focused entirely on me. No one’s ever looked at me like that before—like I’m something worth studying, worth understanding.
I should step back. Should make a joke about wolves and adrenaline, and near-death experiences. Should do anything except stand here, pressed against him, watching his control slip with each passing second.
The firelight paints his skin in gold, catching on the sharp angle of his jaw, the hollow of his throat where his pulse hammers. My fingers itch to trace that pulse, the evidence of his wanting.
His eyes darken as they drop to my mouth, pupils expanding until only a thin rim of stormy blue remains. The intensity of his gaze sends heat spiraling through me, pooling low in my belly, making my skin hypersensitive where his fingers still rest against my jaw.
“Sebastian?” My voice doesn’t sound like mine. Too breathless. Too wanting.
“Bailey.” Not a question. A decision.
His thumb brushes across my bottom lip, and I can’t stop the small sound that escapes me. His eyes flare at the noise, his breathing becoming as unsteady as mine.
“This is a bad idea,” I whisper, even as I’m leaning closer.
“This is just adrenaline,” I whisper against his lips. “The wolves and the near-death thing and...everything.” My fingers curl tighter in his shirt, betraying my words. “Our bodies are confused.”
“Absolutely,” he agrees, his thumb still tracing my bottom lip. “Pure biology. Fight or flight response.”
But he doesn’t move away. If anything, he pulls me closer, his other hand sliding to the small of my back. His touch burns through my thin shirt, leaving trails of fire across my skin.
“We should probably...” My voice catches as his fingers trace down my neck. “You know...stop.”
“We should.” His breath fans across my lips, warm and sweet from the tea. “This is completely inappropriate.”
His forehead rests against mine, and his heartbeat thunders against my palms where they’re pressed to his chest. The restraint in the tension of his muscles, the slight tremor in his fingers. He’s fighting this as hard as I am and losing just as badly.
Neither of us moves. Neither of us steps back. We stand there, breathing each other’s air, balanced on the edge of something that feels bigger than adrenaline, more dangerous than wolves, more real than anything I’ve known.
His lips hover a breath away from mine. Waiting. Asking.
“Just once?” The question falls from my lips, a surrender disguised as a compromise.
His eyes meet mine, something raw and honest burning in their depths.
“Just once.”