Chapter 7 #2
She flushed, looking up through her lashes. "You think so?"
"I know so."
The air between us shimmered. It was the secret language we had developed over the last week. I know you. I see you.
"You two are adorable," a raspy voice interrupted.
We both jumped. An elderly waitress—Marge, a Badger shifter who had run this place since the eighties—was standing there with a coffee pot.
"Honey, you've got ketchup on your cheek," Marge told Arabella.
Before Arabella could move, I reached out. I used my thumb to wipe the small red smudge from the corner of her mouth. I didn't use a napkin. I licked the sauce off my thumb, holding Arabella’s gaze.
Her pupils dilated instantly.
Marge cackled. "Lord have mercy. I haven't seen a pair this mated since the Johnson wolves in ninety-two. When's the ceremony, Cap?"
I froze. Arabella froze.
"We're not..." Arabella started, her voice high. "We're just study partners. Colleagues."
Marge snorted, pouring coffee into my mug. "Colleagues. Right. And I'm the Queen of England. You act like you share a soul, kid. Don't fight it. Nature wins every time."
She winked and waddled away.
I looked at Arabella. She looked at me.
We should have corrected her. We should have been awkward.
But instead, Arabella just let out a breathless laugh. "Colleagues who share a soul. That's a new one."
"She's crazy," I said, but I didn't mean it.
"Maybe," Arabella whispered. She looked at me, her expression searching. "But she's not blind, Dante."
My heart slammed against my ribs.
"Eat your burger, Ara," I said roughly. "Before I decide to order you for dessert."
The drive back to campus was different.
The playful banter was gone, replaced by a heavy, humid silence. The truck felt smaller. The heater felt hotter.
Every time I shifted gears, my hand brushed her knee. Every time it happened, a spark of electricity shot up my arm.
She wasn't pulling away. In fact, she had shifted in her seat, angling her body toward me. She was watching me drive. Watching my hands on the wheel.
It was driving me crazy.
I pulled up to the curb outside her dorm. The engine rumbled beneath us, idling. The snow was falling softly, creating a white curtain around the truck.
I should unlock the door. I should say goodnight. I should let her go.
I turned off the ignition.
Darkness enveloped us, save for the amber glow of the streetlamp filtering through the snow.
"Thank you," she said softly. "For the food. And for... protecting me."
"I'll always protect you," I said. It was a vow. I hadn't meant to say it, but there it was.
She unbuckled her seatbelt. The sound of the click was loud.
She didn't open the door. She slid across the center console.
The truck had bench seats in the front, the console folded up. She moved until her thigh was pressed against mine. She reached out and touched my jaw, her fingers tracing the stubble I had missed.
"You missed a spot," she whispered.
"I was distracted," I rasped. "I was thinking about you."
"I'm here now," she said. "Think about me now."
I groaned. I turned, grabbing her by the waist and hauling her into my lap.
It was awkward—the steering wheel was in the way—but we didn't care. She straddled my thighs, her knees bracketing my hips. Her hands tangled in my hair, pulling my face down to hers.
We kissed.
It wasn't like the library. The library had been about dominance and shock. This? This was desperate. This was starvation.
I kissed her like I needed her breath to survive. I tasted the burger and the milkshake and the vanilla. I ravaged her mouth, my tongue sweeping against hers, demanding, taking, giving.
She met me, stroke for stroke. She made small, mewling sounds that drove me wild. She ground her hips down against my erection, and I nearly lost it right there in the front seat of a Ford.
"Dante," she gasped, breaking the kiss to bite my chin. "Dante, I want..."
"I know," I growled, my hands roaming over her back, clutching her hips, bruising her with my grip. "I know what you want. I want it too."
I wanted to take her upstairs. I wanted to rip those jeans off. I wanted to claim her so thoroughly that every shifter on campus would smell me on her for a month.
But then, my hand brushed her side, and she hissed.
I froze.
"What?" I pulled back, breathless. "Did I hurt you?"
"No," she panted, resting her forehead against mine. "Just... my bruise. From the crash. It's still tender."
Reality crashed back in. The crash. The fragility. The danger.
I was crushing her. I was too big, too strong, too out of control. I was mauling her in a parking lot like an animal.
I stopped. I forced my hands to relax, though they were shaking with the effort.
"I need to stop," I whispered, my voice wrecked.
"Why?" she asked, trying to kiss me again.
I turned my head. "Because if I don't stop now, Arabella, I'm going to shift. My eyes... look at my eyes."
She pulled back to look at me.
"They're red," she whispered, tracing my cheekbone.
"That's the wolf," I said. "He's too close to the surface. He thinks we're mating."
"And if we were?" she challenged.
"We aren't," I said firmly, lifting her off my lap and placing her back in the passenger seat. It took every ounce of willpower I possessed. "We can't. Not here. Not like this."
She sat there, chest heaving, hair mussed, lips swollen and red. She looked thoroughly kissed. She looked incredible.
"Okay," she breathed, adjusting her coat. "Okay. You're right. Control."
"Restraint," I corrected, closing my eyes.
She opened the door. The cold air rushed in, cooling the inferno.
She climbed out, but paused before closing the door.
"Dante?"
I opened my eyes. "Yeah?"
"Marge was right," she said.
And then she slammed the door and ran into her dorm.
I sat there in the dark truck, gripping the steering wheel until the leather creaked.
Marge was right.
We share a soul.
I let out a long, ragged breath and banged my head back against the headrest.
"I am in so much trouble," I whispered to the roof of the truck.
I wasn't just falling for the human. I was already gone. And when the crash came—and it would come—it was going to destroy us both.