Chapter 9
Rory
The party at the Hive was a living thing. It pulsed with a heavy, thumping bass line that rattled the floorboards and vibrated in my teeth. The air was a toxic cocktail of cheap keg beer, bodies sweating out adrenaline, and the ozone scent of thirty hyped-up shifters.
We had won. We had beaten Duluth. And now, the pack was celebrating the only way it knew how: by destroying the house.
I stood in the corner of the kitchen, leaning against the granite counter, nursing a warm beer I had no intention of finishing. My nose throbbed in time with the music. My knuckles were swollen. My entire body felt like one giant bruise.
And I didn't care about any of it.
I only cared about the girl standing next to me.
Zoe was still wearing my jersey. It was stained with a bit of beer from a spill earlier, and it smelled like the rink, but on her, it looked like royal robes. She was sipping something pink from a plastic cup, her eyes scanning the room with a mix of fascination and wariness.
She shouldn't be here. She was the Dean’s daughter. She was precious. This place was a pit.
But she hadn't left my side. Not for a second.
"You look like you're plotting a murder," she shouted over the noise, nudging my arm with her shoulder.
I looked down at her. The contact sent a jolt of electricity through my battered nervous system.
"Just thinking," I rumbled.
"About what?"
"About how much I hate this music."
She laughed. It was a bright, clear sound that cut through the chaotic noise of the party like a bell. "It’s terrible. I think that speaker is actually broken. It sounds like a dying robot."
"Thorne!"
A slap on my back nearly sent me face-first into the counter. I snarled, turning to see Jax, grinning maniacally. He was shirtless, sweating, and holding a bottle of champagne.
"Victory speech!" Jax yelled, trying to hand me the bottle. "The people demand words from the Enforcer!"
"No," I said flatly.
"Come on! You didn't kill anyone today! That’s a personal best!"
"Jax, go away before I ruin your record."
Jax laughed, unbothered. He looked at Zoe, his grin softening. "Zoe! You survived the game. And you're wearing the colors. Bold move. Does Daddy Dearest know?"
Zoe stiffened beside me. "He knows."
"Ooh. Scandalous. I love it." Jax winked. "Keep him in line, Z. If he starts growling at the furniture, just spray him with water. Works like a charm."
He danced away into the crowd, spraying champagne on a group of freshman girls.
I let out a long sigh, running a hand over my face.
"He’s… a lot," Zoe noted.
"He’s an idiot. But he’s a good goalie."
I scanned the room again. It was getting rowdier. Someone was trying to climb the chandelier in the foyer. Two guys were arm-wrestling on the coffee table, their veins bulging, a small crowd cheering them on.
The energy was shifting. The "happy drunk" phase was ending. The "aggressive drunk" phase was beginning.
I saw a guy—a defenseman from the JV squad—staring at Zoe. He was licking his lips. He started walking toward us, his eyes locked on her legs.
My Wolf woke up instantly.
Mine.
I didn't think. I moved.
I stepped in front of Zoe, blocking the guy’s view completely. I didn't say anything. I just stared at him. I let the gold bleed into my eyes. I let a low, sub-vocal growl rumble in my chest.
The guy stopped. He blinked, his lizard brain recognizing the threat. He turned and walked the other way without a word.
"Rory?" Zoe’s hand touched the small of my back.
The touch grounded me. I took a deep breath, forcing the gold back down.
"We're leaving," I said, turning to her.
"But the party just started."
"I don't care. It’s too loud. It’s too hot. And I’m done sharing you."
The words hung in the air between us.
Zoe looked up at me, her violet eyes wide. She didn't argue. She didn't pull away.
"Okay," she whispered. "Take me home."
The drive back to the duplex was silent, but it wasn't empty. The silence was heavy, thick with everything we weren't saying.
Tomorrow morning.
The movers.
The end.
I drove with one hand on the wheel. The other was gripping hers, our fingers interlaced on the center console. I squeezed her hand every few seconds, needing the reassurance that she was still there. That she hadn't vanished.
The snow was falling harder now, big fat flakes that swirled in the headlights like static. The world was shrinking down to just the cab of this truck.
I pulled into the driveway.
I killed the engine.
We sat there for a moment in the dark, the only sound the ticking of the cooling engine and the soft hiss of snow hitting the windshield.
"Rory," Zoe whispered.
"Yeah?"
"I don't want to go to sleep."
"Neither do I."
"Can we… can we go to your side?" she asked. "My apartment is full of boxes. It feels like leaving already. I don't want to see the boxes."
My chest tightened. Unit 4A. My sanctuary. My den. I never brought anyone there. It was dark. It was intense. It smelled like pure Alpha.
"Are you sure?" I asked. "It’s… not like your place. It’s a cave."
"I like caves," she said bravely.
I nodded.
We got out of the truck. The cold air bit at my skin, stinging the cuts on my face, but I barely felt it.
I unlocked my door.
We stepped inside.
The smell hit us instantly. Cedar. Leather. Musk. It was the scent of a male wolf living alone.
I didn't turn on the main lights. I flicked on a small lamp in the corner, casting the living room in deep shadows. The furniture was sparse—a leather couch, a massive TV, a few weights in the corner.
Zoe stood in the middle of the room, hugging herself. She looked tiny in this space.
"It smells like you," she said softly. "It’s… intense."
"I told you."
I locked the door behind us. The sound of the deadbolt sliding home was final. Click.
We were alone. No Dean. No scouts. No team.
Just us.
"Does it hurt?" Zoe asked, turning to face me. She pointed to my nose.
"It throbs," I admitted. "Adrenaline is wearing off."
"Sit down," she commanded gently. "I’ll get ice. Do you have ice?"
"Freezer."
I sat on the couch, sinking into the leather. My body felt heavy, the exhaustion finally catching up to me.
Zoe moved to the small kitchenette. I watched her. I watched the way the jersey hung off her shoulders. I watched the way she moved—graceful, efficient. She opened the freezer, found an ice pack, wrapped it in a paper towel.
She came back and stood between my spread knees.
She placed the ice pack gently against my nose.
"Hiss," I flinched.
"Shh. Hold still, big guy." Her free hand came up to cup my jaw, her thumb stroking my cheekbone. Her fingers were cool and soft against my battered skin.
I closed my eyes, leaning into her touch.
"You took a beating today," she murmured.
"Part of the job."
"It shouldn't be. You shouldn't have to bleed for a scholarship."
"I bleed so I don't have to feel," I whispered. "Pain is focusing. It quiets the noise."
"Is the noise quiet now?"
I opened my eyes. Her face was inches from mine. Her violet eyes were searching, worried, and full of love.
"Yeah," I said hoarsely. "It’s quiet. All I can hear is you."
I reached up, my hands settling on her waist. I pulled her closer until her thighs hit the edge of the couch, until she was pressed against my chest.
"Zoe," I groaned. "You have no idea how much I want you right now."
"Show me," she whispered.
I tossed the ice pack onto the coffee table.
I grabbed her hips and pulled her down. She straddled my lap, facing me. The jersey rode up, exposing her bare thighs. My hands found skin instantly.
Warm. Soft. Smooth.
I groaned, burying my face in her neck, inhaling deeply.
"You kept the jersey on," I mumbled against her skin.
"You told me to."
"Take it off," I commanded. "I want to see you. I want to see my skin against your skin."
She reached down, grabbing the hem of the jersey. She pulled it up over her head.
My breath hitched.
She was wearing a simple white bra. Lace. Delicate. Her skin was pale and flawless in the dim light. Her breasts rose and fell with her rapid breathing.
She tossed the jersey aside.
"Beautiful," I rasped. "You're so… fragile."
"I’m not fragile," she said fiercely. "I caught you when you fell, didn't I?"
"You did."
I ran my hands up her sides, feeling the curve of her ribs, the dip of her waist. My thumbs brushed against the underwire of her bra.
"Can I?" I asked, my voice trembling.
"Yes."
I reached behind her back. I found the clasp. Click.
The bra fell away.
I stared at her. She was perfect. Small, high breasts, nipples peaked and hard from the cold or the arousal.
"Rory," she breathed, arching her back as I leaned forward.
I didn't touch her with my hands yet. I touched her with my mouth.
I licked a stripe up the center of her chest, over her sternum, right over her thundering heart. She tasted of salt and sweetness.
"You taste like mine," I growled.
I moved higher, capturing one nipple in my mouth. I sucked, gently at first, then harder.
She gasped, her fingers tangling in my hair, pulling me closer. "Rory… oh god."
"Do you like that?" I murmured against her skin, the vibration making her shiver.
"Yes. More."
I gave her more. I used my tongue, my teeth, my lips. I worshipped her body. I treated her like a feast I had been denied for a lifetime.
My hands moved down, kneading her ass through her jeans. I wanted those jeans off. I wanted everything off.
"Bedroom," I said, pulling back. "Now."
I stood up, lifting her with me. She wrapped her legs around my waist again, clinging to me like a koala.
I carried her down the short hallway to the back room.
My bedroom was a cave. Blackout curtains. A massive king-sized bed with dark grey sheets. No decorations. Just a place to sleep and suffer.
I kicked the door shut.
I laid her down on the bed. She sank into the mattress, her blonde hair fanning out like a halo against the dark pillows. She looked like an offering. An angel in the devil’s bed.
I stood at the edge of the bed, ripping my hoodie off. Then my t-shirt.
I heard her intake of breath.