Chapter Eighteen
The Rules Are Clear
LIAM O’CONNOR
As the first light of dawn creeps over the horizon, the moon loosens its hold. My wolf recedes, claws give way to fingers, and I’m Liam again, standing naked at the edge of the forest. Gen’s cabin is only a few yards away.
I didn’t run with Gen, but stayed close enough that she knew I hadn’t left her.
I shiver, not from the chill of the early morning, but from anticipation. She’s near. Her scent is a wildfire that burns in my veins. Breathing deeply, I steel myself for another day of silent longing and controlled desires.
She did the right thing last night, pulling away.
I lost control.
As I reach the porch of the cabin, I see her off to my right. She’s just shifted back to human, her eyes still gleaming amber with her wolf right at the surface. Her body is sleek and strong and naked and exquisite.
Our gazes lock, and that one moment shatters any semblance of preparation I thought I had. The intensity that flashes in her eyes is raw, unfiltered—a mirror to my own emotions.
Every fiber of my being screams at me to take a step toward her, to close the distance. But I resist, wrestling against the beast within that yearns for its mate and doesn’t care about consequences.
I step onto the porch.
She moves too, walking quietly across the clearing toward me. Toward the cabin.
“Morning,” I manage to mutter out, embarrassed at the stress in my voice.
She nods, her voice a mere whisper carried on the wind. “Liam.”
I force a half-hearted smile, my eyes never leaving hers. The casual interaction is a cruel joke. Are we really going to spend all day pretending like there’s nothing between us?
But the rules are clear—we can’t be together. And every moment spent in her presence is a battle between surrender and defiance.
She moves quickly, getting to the door before I do, and slips inside.
I follow behind her, catching a luscious view of her bare ass before she slips into a pair of loose sweatpants. A T-shirt quickly hides her perfect dewdrop breasts from view. Then my clothes are tossed at my face.
“You need to get dressed.” There’s desperation in those words. Pleading. This is as hard for her as it is for me. I can’t forget that we’re both struggling.
I slip into my clothes and then head over to the small kitchen. “It’s been hours since you hunted. Can I make you something?” I pull open the refrigerator. Eggs. Bacon. Sausage. Steak. A block of cheddar cheese. A container of cottage cheese. A smile tugs at my mouth. A girl after my own carnivorous heart.
“There’s coffee in the cabinet. And some fried eggs and bacon would be great. Thanks.” Her tone, now smooth and relaxed, warms my heart. I don’t want her to be tense. There’s no reason we can’t spend the day at least semi-comfortably. She disappears into the bathroom and I hear her brushing her teeth.
My eyes scan the rest of the small cabin. I hadn’t paid much attention to anything yesterday. The bed is in the back and instead of nightstands on either side of it, there are floor-to-ceiling overflowing bookshelves. My girl likes to read.
Not my girl. Stop thinking like that.
An oversize chair sits opposite the kitchen with a lamp hanging over it. Cozy. Comfortable. Blankets and pillows surround the big chair.
I start breakfast and the sizzle of bacon and crackle of the eggs in the frying pan fill the cabin. The rich aroma of fresh coffee brewing adds familiar comfort to the morning. Despite the internal turmoil, there’s something grounding in the act of cooking, a semblance of normalcy mixed into all the desire and restraint I’m struggling with.
The bathroom door opens and I glance over at Gen. Her hair is braided back now. Her face is pink from being scrubbed. No makeup and positively lovely. Just seeing her is a balm to my heart and a wound at the same time.
I fill her plate and a mug of coffee and then do the same for myself. For a fleeting moment, I enjoy the normal act of eating breakfast with my mate. This is what it could be like if we were allowed to be together.
“What do you like to read?” I ask, nodding in the direction of the very full bookshelves.
She lights up at the question, her face softening as she leans back in her chair and sips the coffee. “Mostly fantasy and paranormal romance,” she confesses with a hint of embarrassment coloring her cheeks.
A genuine laugh rumbles in my chest. “You mean like werewolves and vampires?” I tease. “And does anyone get the lore right?”
Her laugh joins mine, filling the cabin with a warmth that has nothing to do with the cooking. “I mean, there are no vampires that I’m aware of, but you’d be shocked what humans think werewolf lore really is.”
“What’s your favorite book?”
“Oh, that’s like trying to make me choose a favorite food. I like this series about shifters from another world in Alaska. Makes me want to go up there and explore. The guys are big and growly and sweet as chocolate. This author’s fated mate tropes are as close to the truth as I’ve ever read. Her hero and heroines don’t get tattoos like us, but they do see a glow in each other.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Like the shimmering heat waves we see?”
“No, they actually glow like a fluorescent light bulb.” Her giggle is infectious, and I laugh again. “But only the mates can see the glow. Plus, there are other shifters. Dragons. Lions. Tigers. Bears.”
“That would be odd, wouldn’t it?”
“If there were more than wolves?” She leans back and sips her coffee. “Do you think the witches made other guardians?”
“How would we have missed them after all these years?” I bite down on a piece of bacon, savoring the heavenly taste of fat and salt.
“We don’t exactly run around telling people about ourselves. Why would they?” She digs into her eggs and stares thoughtfully out the window. “I think it might be nice to not be the only shifter type in the world.”
“Well, I’ve been face-to-face with a grizzly bear before and if it was a man in a bear’s skin, he didn’t let on he had a conscience.”
She huffs out a laugh. “Not every wolf is one of us, Liam. The same would be true for bears.”
I take a bite of my bacon and lean back, tipping the chair slightly onto the two back legs. “But we can tell when wolves are just plain wolves or Moonbound wolves. One, we’re a bit bigger. And we can sense them. Smell them.”
She gives a cute little shrug of her shoulders. “I think it would be cool. Maybe if we had a dragon shifter friend we’d have a chance at our real fate instead of the one my father dictates. A dragon could beat my father.” The hopeful words do little to disguise the melancholy in her voice.
I’m on board with a fantasy world where I get to keep Gen. Dragons. Bears. I don’t give a shit. Whatever it takes. I wish to Fate it was real.
The simmering desire in my blood burns to touch her again. It’s been too long. Sitting across the table isn’t enough. I thought it would help, but being close only makes me want to be closer. It’s not taking the edge off.
Listening to her laugh makes me want more of her. Seeing her smile makes me selfishly want to be the only man who makes her smile again. She’s mine and yet she’s not and that reality is crushing me.
“What are we going to do, Liam?”
Fuck.
I stare into her deep ocean-blue eyes and grind my teeth until they hurt. The need surges, insatiable. And I see the same mirrored desperation reflected in her gaze.
I get up from the table and pull her from her chair into my arms. I cover the tiny squeak that comes out of her mouth with a growl. Gripping her waist, I anchor her body to mine.
Her lips are like coming home. Every nerve ending ignites. We move in sync. Her taste is sweet with a hint of coffee and something so intrinsically her, a flavor I will spend eternity wishing for more.
Gen’s fingers clutch at my shirt, her soft body melting into mine. It’s so much more than a kiss. It’s a promise. An apology. A plea. All the words we can’t say are voiced in the choreography of our lips and tangling tongues.
The world falls away, leaving nothing but her. I cradle her closer, one hand slipping up to cup the back of her head, my fingers gripping her hair.
The wildfire consumes, threatening to burn us both to ashes. But at this moment, I’d gladly surrender to the flames. And that’s dangerous, but it’s a danger I intend to ignore for a while longer.
“I need to touch more of you,” I say hoarsely.
She nods.
I scoop her up. It’s a short distance to the bathroom and the shower stall where I intend to do everything but bond with her.
Shoving the door closed behind us, I set her on her feet and she surprises me, immediately reaching for the buttons on my shirt.
Her shaky fingers work their way to the hem and she pushes it back and off my arms, dropping it to the floor behind me. Next, my pants. I return the favor, stripping her down until we’re both standing there...waiting.
The shower springs to life with a flick of my wrist, steam filling the small bathroom as hot water cascades down from the overhead shower. “We should cool down,” I say, struggling to form words when all I can think about is her body and the way her scent fills my lungs.
“Really?” She smiles, a knowing twinkle of mischief in her eyes as she steps under the stream, pulling me along with her. “You know you turned on the hot water.”
“I did.” I step inside and close the glass door behind me. Then I grab and roll up one of the towels from the bar on the far side of the shower and toss it to the ground at her feet.
I kneel, putting my knees on the soggy towel.
She takes a surprised step back, but the shower wall doesn’t allow for more than a few inches of retreat. “Liam.”
I shouldn’t be doing this. We’re dancing on the edge of a cliff, but I can keep myself from going over the edge. I know I can. And I need her with a desperation I don’t know how to communicate.
“Please.” I wrap an arm around one of her thighs and pull her closer. So close that it would barely take any effort at all to taste her. I can smell her arousal even through the steam of the shower. She smells like the sweetest honey.
A low pounding echoes in the distance of my mind. I focus my hearing. Muffled voices rise to the surface, but I don’t care. I want her.
“Liam. There are people here.” She heard them too. Her hands are pushing on my shoulders, holding me back, pushing me away. “Liam.”
Fuck. I hang my head. “I’m sorry. I didn’t... I—”
She cups my face and turns my gaze up to her, inviting me to continue. Asking me to be honest.
“Gen, I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to exist in the same space with you and not want everything.”
Her lips tremble. She doesn’t speak, but her sorrow and need flow into me simultaneously.
She releases my face and I release the hold I have on her body. I flee the shower, yanking on clothes as I exit the bathroom. The fabric clings to my wet skin, but I shake as much out of my hair as I can and head for the door.
Who the hell is showing up and why didn’t my brothers text me a warning?
I grab my phone off the couch and glance at the notifications. Four missed texts from Bast. Dammit.
Bast: Car coming.
Bast: Meredith and Rachel.
Bast: Almost @ the door.
Bast: Finish up wtv the hell ur doing and b ready.
Fuck.
I wanted to spend today alone with Gen. I don’t have long left with her.
I turn toward the bathroom door and bellow out a warning. “Meredith and Rachel are here.”
There’s a muffled frustrated fuck shouted from the bathroom and then the water cuts off.
A knock raps on the other side of the cabin door and I can’t stop the growl in my chest. I yank open the door and paste the best smile I can muster on my face.
Both Meredith and Rachel are on the doorstep wearing hesitant smiles. Bast and Jackson are standing right behind them avoiding eye contact.
Fuck. Fucking. Fuck.
I shoot my brothers an angry glare over the women’s shoulders and they back away, melting into the trees without a sound.
“Well, that was uncomfortable. You and Gen doing okay?” Meredith chirps like nothing is wrong at all. Like she can’t see my sopping-wet hair or the fact that I’m inside the cabin I was told to guard from the outside.
She knows.
Everything.
Just like my mother would if she showed up and saw me here.
I step back and open the door wider so they can enter. “Fine. No sign of Darcy.”
Meredith canvasses the room, taking in the uncleared dishes, and then scoping the rest of the cabin. “Where’s Gen?”
“Bathroom.” I head for the table and pick up my still-warm mug of coffee, needing something to occupy my hands.
“Playing it awfully close to the edge, aren’t we, Liam?” Meredith’s words are like a knife at my throat. Her gaze drifts to my wrists, looking for bond marks.
I didn’t say the spell. And we didn’t have sex. Nothing shows unless I say the spell. And nothing happens for real unless we have sex.
Rachel stands off to the side, struggling to look anywhere but at me.
I glare right back at Meredith. “You don’t understand.”
A flood of empathy washes the accusatory expression off her face. “Oh, honey. I understand so much more than you think.”
“I doubt it.”
“I married a man I wasn’t supposed to marry because he was my soul mate. Then separated from said mate to protect each other and ran across the country, pregnant, and threw myself on the mercy of your pack. And I’ve never seen him again.”
Fuck. I’m not sure how I would handle something like that happening with Gen, but it wouldn’t be well. I shake my head slowly. “Do you know what happened to him?”
“I know he’s alive. I can feel that. But I can’t look for him. And he can’t look for me. We’d both be hunted and either imprisoned and tortured or just killed outright. So you see, young man, I understand a lot.” Meredith’s eyes are glassy and tear-filled, but not a single one spills down her cheek.
I’m not sure I’d survive what she has survived.
Gen emerges from the bathroom, enveloped in a cloud of steam. She pulls a towel tight around her as the bathroom door swings shut behind her. Her face has flushed to a rosy pink from the hot water. She sweeps her long blonde hair up into a haphazard twist, deftly securing it on top of her head with a large dangerous-looking plastic claw.
“What brings you out here?” she asks, sliding her feet into her slippers and padding over to the coffee table. Her tone is casual, her movements fluid, as if their sudden appearance is the most normal thing in the world.
“We brought you clothes for the rehearsal dinner so you didn’t have to go back to your father’s house. Grabbed your makeup bag and a bunch of stuff from your bathroom too.” Rachel lifts a large tote into the air.
Relief washes worry from Gen’s face. “Thanks. I appreciate that a lot. The last place I want to be is back there.”
She doesn’t look at me.
I can’t look anywhere else.
They’re talking about the wedding. They’re talking about the event that will soon permanently steal her from me. And then I really will have to leave.
“Rehearsal starts in the town square at five, then dinner is at six-thirty.” Rachel puts a duffel on the couch and then lays a puffy white garment bag over the back.
My heart tightens, pain lancing through my chest like acid.
It’s Gen’s wedding dress.
Hell. I’m not sure how I’m going to survive seeing her in her dress.
“I’ll let you ladies talk. Gen, I’ll be outside with Jackson and Bast if you need me.” I meet her gaze and swallow my pain. I can’t make this harder on her. I have to be strong.
We’re doing the right thing.
Gen gives me a weak smile and a barely there nod.
I slip out the cabin door into the bright sunlight of the morning, listen for a moment, seeking my brothers’ heartbeats. I find them and walk off the porch into the trees.
It’ll be better if I spend some time outside of the cabin.
Less temptation.
I’ll see her tonight for the run.
It’ll be better this way.
Easier for both of us.