Chapter 13 Axel
Axel
Iwatch her from the chair in the corner of her room. Been here three hours now. Maybe four.
Who’s counting?
Well, I am. Three hours, seventeen minutes, and approximately forty-three seconds since she fell asleep.
Not that I’m obsessed or anything.
Fuck, who am I kidding? I’m completely obsessed.
She’s beautiful like this—vulnerable in a way she never allows herself to be when awake. Her silver hair spills across the pillow, and I have to clench my fists to stop myself from running my fingers through it. Her face is peaceful, lips slightly parted, and I wonder what she’d do if I—.
No. Bad Axel.
We have rules now.
Hudson’s rules.
Stupid fucking rules.
My wolf is pacing under my skin, snarling at me to claim her, to sink teeth into her neck so the world knows she’s ours.
But then she whimpers, and all thoughts of rules and claims evaporate. The peaceful sleep doesn’t last.
It never does.
Another whimper escapes her lips, and her brow furrows.
I move silently toward her bed. I know the routine by heart—the soft sounds of distress, the way her breathing quickens, how her fingers clutch desperately at the sheets. Then the thrashing starts.
“Shhh,” I whisper.
She’s clutching a pillow to her chest tonight, and something violent erupts in my chest.
That fucking pillow.
It gets to be in her arms every night. Gets to feel her heartbeat. Gets to absorb her tears when the nightmares get bad.
That should be me.
Not fabric, not fluff.
Me.
Her heat against my chest, her scent in my lungs, her body knowing it’s safe in mine.
I should be the one whose name she whispers in her sleep.
“You know what, pillow?” I mutter, reaching for it. “Your time’s up. This is a hostile takeover.”
Her arms tighten immediately, and she makes this little sound—half protest, half plea—that goes straight to my cock.
Focus, Axel.
“Stubborn even in your sleep,” I growl. “Fine. We’ll do this the hard way. I love the hard way.”
I watch her face, looking for an opening. Instead, she nuzzles deeper into the pillow, and a small smile touches her lips. She looks… content.
With a PILLOW.
“Oh, that’s just insulting,” I whisper. “I’m right here, Wildcat. Warm, breathing, considerably more fun than cotton stuffing. Also, I come with abs. The pillow doesn’t have abs.”
She hugs it tighter.
“Traitor,” I accuse her sleeping form.
I stand, pacing her room like the caged animal I am. Five steps to the window. Four to the dresser. Seven to the door. I’ve measured it all. I could tell you the exact square footage, the volume of air, and the precise angle of moonlight at every hour.
“You know what?” I tell the pillow. “You’re dead. You’re going in the wood chipper as soon as she wakes up. Yeah, I’ll buy a wood chipper just for you. Make it really dramatic. Maybe set you on fire first—”
A soft cry from the bed cuts through my murder planning.
She’s thrashing now, her peaceful expression replaced by terror. The nightmare’s got its claws in deep tonight.
“No, no, no.” I’m beside her instantly, all thoughts of pillow-homicide forgotten. “You’re safe, Wildcat.”
Her breathing is labored, tears leaking from her closed eyes. She’s fighting something in her dreams, and I can’t follow her there, can’t protect her, and it makes me want to tear the world apart.
“I’ve got you,” I murmur, touching her forehead. Fuck the rules. “Nothing can hurt you. I won’t let it. I’ll kill anything that tries.”
And I mean it. I’d burn the world down for this girl. Already have plans.
She calms at my touch, melting into it like she recognizes me even in her sleep. Her death grip on the pillow loosens.
“That’s my girl,” I whisper, carefully extracting the offending cushion. “Let it go. Let me—yeah, that’s it.”
I slide into the space the pillow occupied, pulling her against my chest in one smooth motion. She stiffens for a heartbeat—probably her subconscious recognizing that I’m definitely not a pillow—but then she does something that stops my heart.
She burrows into me.
Like, actively burrows.
My wolf surges, claws scraping at my skin, demanding I hold her tighter. Her nose presses against my neck, her arm wraps around my waist, and she lets out this little sigh that sounds like… contentment.
“Fuck,” I breathe, frozen in place. “You’re going to be the death of me, Wildcat.”
She mumbles something unintelligible and throws her leg over mine.
I grin in the darkness. “Pillow can’t do this, can it?” I whisper, wrapping my arms around her properly. “Pillow doesn’t have a heartbeat. Doesn’t generate heat. Definitely doesn’t get hard when you wiggle like that—shit, stop wiggling.”
She doesn’t stop wiggling.
“You’re doing this on purpose,” I accuse her sleeping form. “You’re awake, aren’t you? Just pretending so you can torture me.”
She snores delicately in response.
“Fine. Play your games.” I press my lips to her hair, inhaling deeply. “But when you wake up and find me here? I’m going to tell you the pillow spontaneously combusted. Act of God. Very tragic.”
The pillow lies on the floor, and I give it my best psychotic grin.
“I win, you inanimate fuck.”
She shifts against me, mumbling my name.
My. Name.
She said my fucking name.
My wolf howls within me in triumph.
I’ve tasted violence. I’ve tasted blood. I’ve had my bones broken and my soul shattered. But nothing, NOTHING, has ever hit me like hearing my name mumbled in her sleep.
“Say it again,” I whisper urgently, “come on, Wildcat. One more time.”
But she’s deep in sleep now, peaceful against my chest, her breath warm on my skin.
No more nightmares tonight. Not on my watch.
I settle in for the long haul, memorizing everything: the weight of her, the rhythm of her breathing, the way her hair tickles my chin, how her fingers twitch against my ribs like she’s fighting even in her dreams.
These stolen moments are all I get for now.
But soon…
Soon she’ll be saying my name while awake. Soon she’ll be saying it while I’m inside her. Soon she’ll be screaming it while I make her forget every other name she’s ever known.
Soon she’ll reach for me instead of that fucking pillow.
Soon she’ll realize what I already know:
She’s mine.
My Wildcat.
My perfect scarred savage who punches first and asks questions later. My beautiful Wildcat, who doesn’t know she’s already saved me just by existing.
“When you wake up and try to break my nose again,” I whisper, pressing another kiss to her hair. “I’m going to tell you something.”
I pause, breathing her in.
“I’m going to tell you that you can break whatever you want; my nose, my ribs, my fucking heart, as long as you keep looking at me the way you did when I caught you in my jacket. Like maybe I’m not the monster everyone thinks I am.”
Like maybe I could be yours, too.
She sighs in her sleep, burrowing impossibly closer.
“And I’m going to make sure you never want that fucking pillow again.”
The pillow seems to mock me from the floor.
“First thing tomorrow,” I tell it seriously. “Wood chipper.”