13. Mara
Mara
Ihear it before I see it—the shuffle of movement across the floor, the soft creak of a mattress. My body reacts before my brain can even register. That scent, unmistakable—cedarwood and sage—hits me like a live wire, and I know it's him.
Daniel.
My chest tightens, heat crawling through me, a low hum of need buzzing in my veins.
I sit up, careful not to disturb Tess, who's snoring softly beside me, or Leo on the floor, sprawled in some ridiculous pose, and I watch him through the dim light.
Gray seems deep in sleep, stretched out as if the world couldn't reach him.
I know I'm being reckless. I know I shouldn't move, shouldn't follow this pull, but I can't help myself.
The thrill, the anticipation, it has me trembling.
I swing my legs over the side of the sofa, bare feet touching the cool hardwood, and let the heat inside me guide me.
I creep toward the bathroom, each step measured, my pulse hammering in my ears louder than the snow outside.
The door is slightly ajar when I arrive, and I'm hit again by that scent, sharper now, more immediate.
My stomach twists, thighs tight with tension, heart a frantic drum in my chest. I was going to back away, go back to the sofa, wait for morning, but I can't. He's right there.
My fingers curl over the edge of the doorframe, and the instant it opens, I see him, zipping his pants, his expression a mix of surprise and hunger.
"Mara," he breathes, a whisper that makes me shiver all over.
"Yeah," I manage, my voice trembling, low, needy. I take a step closer and then another, and before I can think, my lips are on his, soft, seeking, desperate. The world narrows until it's just us, pressed close, hearts racing, breaths shallow, the door keeping us hidden from our sleeping friends.
His smile is against my lips when he pulls me further into the small bathroom. "I've wanted to kiss you all night," he murmurs, voice husky, "but we have to be quiet."
I don't care about quiet. I care about him.
The way his hands move over me, brushing hair from my face, skimming my neck, sending jolts of heat down my spine.
I press against him, teeth catching briefly on his lower lip, lips molding to his in a rhythm that's both tender and urgent.
My hands clutch at the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer, needing to feel every inch of him, even if it's just the brush of skin and the warmth of his chest.
"Shh," he murmurs again, pressing his forehead to mine, hands roaming, careful yet claiming. The room smells like him, warm and familiar, and I inhale, letting the scent anchor me, let it drown out the rational voice in my head that's screaming at me to stop.
My knees buckle slightly as his fingers slide along my sides, fingertips grazing in ways that make me whimper softly.
I bite my lip to keep from gasping, from betraying us to the others outside.
But my body betrays me anyway, responding, needing, aching for more than just this hidden, fleeting moment.
Daniel's hand cups my jaw, tilting my face up to his, lips brushing against mine again.
The kiss deepens, as if he knows how desperately I've imagined this, how long I've wanted him.
I press closer, letting my hands roam, feeling the hard planes of his chest under his shirt, memorizing the strength in his shoulders, the heat in his skin.
"I've wanted you," he whispers, low, against my lips, "all night."
I don't answer with words. I respond with a shiver, a press against him, a hand threading through his hair, pulling him closer, tasting him, needing more.
Every inch of my body hums, alive with desire and the dangerous thrill of secrecy, the knowledge that Tess and Leo and Gray are just a room away.
It shouldn't feel this intoxicating, this reckless, and yet it does, every nerve on fire.
He slides a hand along my back, holding me, grounding me, while the other stays on my jaw, brushing, caressing, coaxing me closer.
The kiss deepens again, slow, urgent, and I cling to him, needing the contact, the heat, the connection.
My fingers dig into his shirt, pulling him closer, wanting to feel the hard strength beneath the fabric, wanting to lose myself in him completely.
The world shrinks to just the two of us in the dim, cramped bathroom, hearts hammering, breaths mixing, heat rising until it's almost unbearable.
Every movement is careful, measured, yet desperate in its intensity.
His lips, his hands, his scent—it's everything I've craved, everything I've imagined, and still more, more alive, more consuming than I dared hope.
"I can't," he murmurs against my lips, a mixture of restraint and longing in his tone. "We have to be careful. Just… this."
I nod, shivering against him, trying to focus, trying to hold back the tide of want that threatens to sweep me away.
But I can't hide how it burns, how every nerve, every inch of me, is attuned to him, to the brush of his lips, the warmth of his body, the nearness that makes the air around us thick and electric.
He kisses me again and I press into him, letting the fire of desire pulse through me, every heartbeat echoing in my chest, every breath trembling with need.
I can feel him smile against me, feel the tension in his hands, the way his fingers brush over my skin as if memorizing, as if claiming, even in the smallest, most cautious gestures.
I want more. I ache for more. Every part of me craves it, yet I also revel in the restraint, in the secrecy, in the intensity that comes from being this close, knowing we must stay hidden. The thrill is sharpened by the danger of discovery.
The bathroom is warm, the air still close from the heat of the house, mixing with our own heat and scents.
My hair is loose now, falling around my shoulders.
My skin tingles wherever his hands have brushed, and I shiver at the memory.
I would give anything to forget the world, to lose myself fully in him, but tonight, this is all we can have.
I cling to him, lips brushing, noses grazing, his hands on me, mine on him, and it's enough, it's intoxicating, it's maddening. We don't speak, only breathe, only taste, only press closer where we can, savoring the heat and tension of what we both want and cannot fully claim.
Eventually, reluctantly, we pull apart, foreheads resting together, breaths ragged, hearts racing.
I look up at him, at those green eyes gone dark in the dim light, and I feel a pulse of something electric, something dangerous, something beautiful.
The moment is raw, intimate, and reckless all at once.
"We have to…" he murmurs, but his fingers are on my jaw, on my back, refusing to let go fully.
"I know," I whisper, shivering against him, wanting him still, needing him still.
We stand there, pressed together in the dim bathroom, the world outside quiet, asleep, the firelight from the living room casting faint flickers through the slightly open door.
Every part of me wants to surrender, to give in to the ache, the need, the burning pull of him, but the restraint—the shared understanding that we can't, not tonight—keeps us tethered.
And even as he pulls slightly away to adjust his shirt, to compose himself, my mind is consumed by him, by the memory of our mouths, our hands, the heat we've created in secret.
I want it again. I want him again. And I know, with a certainty that thrills and terrifies me, that we are only just beginning.
The morning light slips through the windows in pale, thin lines, bouncing off the snow piled high outside.
I'm sitting at the breakfast table with Tess, Margaret fussing over everyone's plates, Henry already digging in with a satisfied hum.
The aroma of bacon and eggs, toast and fresh coffee fills the room.
Everyone seems reserved, distant, wrapped in their own thoughts, and I feel that tension, a bittersweet tug at my chest.
Daniel keeps his eyes mostly on his plate, stirring his coffee slowly, and I notice the faint crease between his brows, the way he chews on the inside of his cheek.
Leo is leaning back slightly, phone in hand, and Gray is checking messages, scrolling through emails.
The morning is ordinary in appearance, but underneath, every glance, every subtle movement, is a ripple of what happened last night.
I spoon scrambled eggs onto my plate, stealing glances at Daniel when I think he's not watching.
He lifts his cup to his lips, and my stomach flips.
The memory of last night sits heavy, a low burn of longing that refuses to fade.
I shouldn't be thinking about it now, not with breakfast, not with Tess across from me, but I can't help it.
His presence is magnetic, and even in casual movements, he carries the pull of the moment we shared, the secret heat between us.
Margaret hums softly while refilling coffee cups.
"You two need more protein if you're going hiking later," she says, glancing at Gray and Leo.
Her gaze flits to Daniel and me briefly, warm and knowing, then returns to the stove.
Henry lets out a low laugh, biting into his toast with a satisfied crunch.
Tess sets down her fork.
"An interview with Professor Alden," she says, eyes wide, her voice carrying that slight tremor of worry she gets before anything high-stakes. "The Academy emailed me last night. One-on-one. They want me in two days."
I reach across the table, placing a hand over hers. "You'll be fine," I say, pressing lightly. "You always handle it. They're going to see what we already know."
Daniel glances at us, interest flickering in his deep green eyes. "I can drive you," he offers, calm, sure. "So you don't stress about getting there."
Gray lifts his head from his messages. "I'll come too. Can review patient notes on the way back." He flashes a grin that's professional but warm. "We'll all be back in two days. Easy."
Margaret leans forward. "That's fine. Leo, you can help out while I'm busy. Mara, you can help with Mrs. Lacey. You'll manage, right?"
I nod, though my chest twists. I wanted more than a few stolen minutes with Daniel last night, and my pulse tightens with longing I can't satisfy yet.
I force myself to smile. "Of course. We'll be fine."
Breakfast continues in a careful rhythm. Plates clink, silverware slides across ceramic. Everyone eats, talks in low tones, but my mind drifts, tasting the memory, imagining how it would have felt to linger, to take that risk. Tess glances at me, catching my wandering eyes.
"You'll be okay," she says again, trying to sound casual, but I see the worry hiding in her glance.
After breakfast, we clear the table together. Tess gathers her things, smoothing the folds of her jacket, checking over her shoulder like she's making sure she has everything. I walk beside her, carrying a small tote of papers she'll need.
"You'll do great," I say, voice firm despite the fluttering in my chest. "It's just a conversation. You'll show them who you are."
She bites her lip, nervous energy wrapped around her like a cloak. "What if it goes wrong?"
"It won't," I insist. "Even if it does, you handle it. You always do. Just… trust yourself. That's all you need."