Chapter 8 #2
"My truck," Jack mumbled. "Keys in my pocket."
I fished the keys out of his pocket. My hand brushed his thigh. His muscle jumped.
"Sorry," I whispered.
"Don't be," he groaned.
I helped him into the passenger seat. He groaned as he settled in, leaning his head back against the headrest, closing his eyes.
I climbed into the driver’s seat. The seat was adjusted for him—I had to pull it forward about a foot just to reach the pedals.
I started the engine.
"Where to?" I asked softly. "Dorm? Or the Hive?"
"Neither," he whispered without opening his eyes. "Too loud. Too many people."
"Then where?"
"The Den," he said. "Take me to the cabin."
"Jack, the cabin is an hour away. And the snow..."
"Please," he rasped. "I need quiet. The noise... it’s too loud in my head."
I looked at him. The stitches on his forehead were angry red against his pale skin. He looked broken.
"Okay," I said. "The cabin."
I put the truck in gear and drove us back into the darkness.
The drive was tense. Every bump in the road made Jack wince. I drove carefully, my eyes glued to the snowy track.
We arrived at the cabin an hour later. It was dark, cold, and silent.
I helped him inside. I got the fire started. I helped him onto the couch.
"Water," I commanded. "Drink."
He drank. He looked a little better. The color was returning to his cheeks.
"Come here," he said, patting the space next to him on the couch.
I sat.
He didn't speak. He just leaned over and buried his face in my neck. He inhaled deeply, his nose cold against my skin.
"You smell like the jersey," he mumbled. "Like me."
"I stole it," I whispered, stroking his hair. "I wanted you to see me."
"I always see you," he said. He lifted his head. His eyes were clear now. Dark, intense brown. "When I was on the ice... when I hit the boards... the only thing I thought was: Did she see me fall?"
"I saw," I said, my voice trembling. "It was awful."
"I didn't want you to see me weak," he admitted. "I wanted to be the hero. Not the casualty."
"You’re not a casualty, Jack," I said fiercely. "You got up. You walked away."
"Because you were there," he said. He reached up, his hand cupping my cheek. His thumb traced my lower lip. "You pulled me back. The wolf was... scared. Confused. Your voice grounded me."
He leaned in.
"Kiss me," he whispered. "I need to feel alive."
I didn't hesitate.
I kissed him.
This wasn't gentle. This was frantic. It was the taste of adrenaline and fear and relief.
I climbed into his lap, straddling his hips, mindful of his bad knee. He groaned, his hands gripping my waist, pulling me down harder against him.
His mouth devoured mine. He bit my lip. I tasted copper—his blood, from the cut reopening slightly? Or mine? I didn't care.
"Jack," I gasped, pulling back for air. "Your head. The concussion."
"Fuck the concussion," he growled, attacking my neck. "I need this. I need you."
His hands were under the jersey now, on my bare skin. His palms were rough, calloused, hot. He traced the line of my spine, making me arch into him.
"You’re so small," he murmured against my throat. "So perfect."
He moved his hand to my breast, cupping it through my bra. I moaned, a sound that seemed to spur him on.
"I want to see you," he demanded. "Take it off."
"The jersey?"
"Everything."
My heart hammered. We were alone. In the cabin.
I reached for the hem of the jersey. I pulled it over my head.
I was wearing a simple black lace bra.
Jack stared at me. His eyes flared gold.
"Beautiful," he breathed. "Mine."
He reached out and traced the lace with a reverent finger. Then he leaned forward and kissed the skin right above my heart.
"Jack," I whispered, my hands in his hair. "Are you sure? Your head..."
"My head is fine," he said, looking up at me. "My heart is the problem. It’s beating too fast."
He pulled me down for another kiss, deep and consuming.
But then, he stopped. He pulled back, grimacing, his hand going to his temple.
"Ow," he winced.
"Okay, stop," I said, putting my hands on his chest to hold him back. "That’s it. Adrenaline crash."
"No," he argued weakly. "I’m good."
"You’re dizzy," I diagnosed. "And you’re pale."
I climbed off his lap. I felt cold without him.
"You need rest," I said, pulling the jersey back on. "Doctor’s orders."
Jack slumped back against the couch, looking disappointed and exhausted.
"You’re a cruel nurse," he muttered.
"I’m a focused nurse," I corrected. "I’m going to get you some ice for your knee. Then we are going to sit here, and I am going to ask you questions every two hours to make sure your brain isn't bleeding."
"Can we at least cuddle?" he asked, giving me a puppy-dog look that was unfair for a man of his size.
"Yes," I softened. "We can cuddle."
I got the ice. I propped his leg up.
Then I curled up next to him on the narrow couch. He wrapped his arm around me, pulling me into his side. His head rested on top of mine.
"Eloise?" he whispered into the darkness.
"Yeah?"
"Thanks."
"For what?"
"For not running away when I bled."
I closed my eyes, listening to the steady, strong beat of his heart under my ear.
"I’m not running anywhere, Wolf," I whispered.
And I meant it.
I fell asleep like that, listening to his breathing, keeping vigil over the monster who had become my hero.
The night was quiet. The snow fell.
And for a few hours, the world didn't hurt.