Chapter 74
Bright sunlight streamed through open windows, seabirds calling on the morning breeze from the bay.
Quentin blinked against the light, rubbing a hand down his face. He froze when he noticed two things.
First, that he was lying in a plush bed, cotton sheets draped over his legs. Very much not the living room couch where he’d been sleeping the past week.
And second, that he was not alone in said bed.
Coconut and vanilla wrapped around him like another blanket, soft and sweet and familiar. Delaynie was nestled into his side, still asleep and breathing steadily, long auburn hair draped down her back.
The memories swept over him like a wave.
Varyn’s party. The eshwa—that intoxicating drink. The irresistible desire to touch, to taste, to whisper. The acknowledgment of something that had always been there, bubbling just beneath the surface.
Something that he’d been so fucking stupid to give in to.
He stifled his groan, not wanting to wake her. What had he been thinking? Yes, they’d had to prove themselves to the pirate lord. But surely, there were other ways they could’ve done that. Varyn probably just expected them to sit and watch, not actually participate.
And yet…
And yet, he couldn’t say he regretted it. Quentin, after all, had always craved things he knew he couldn’t have. And Delaynie Albellane was the most forbidden fruit of all.
Was it worth risking their friendship? Would he be able to survive if she said she wanted to forget it all? Or worse, if she decided she couldn’t be near him ever again?
Quentin swallowed thickly. No matter what happened next, he was in such deep shit.
Delaynie stirred. Nerves raced through his body, threading into his gut. She wore a cream button-down shirt—his, he realized with a pang of satisfaction that did little to soften the buzzing beneath his skin. Her small hand splayed across his bare torso, goosebumps prickling as she moved.
Until she, too, froze. As if suddenly realizing where she was.
As if she were also remembering everything that had changed.
Delaynie lifted her head, silky hair falling off her shoulders. Her features were uncharacteristically soft, her usual edge shorn away by sleep. She blinked, meeting Quentin’s gaze in the morning light.
Quentin forced his mouth into a smirk but knew it lacked his usual irreverence. “Good morning,” he whispered, cringing at the uncertainty leeched into the words.
Delaynie’s cheeks flushed that perfect shade of pink. “Um…” She shifted—not away from him, but into herself somehow. Like her energy was coiling in, nervousness written across every line of her body. “Good morning.”
“Are you…” Gods, he was doing an incredible job of making this so much more awkward than it needed to be. “How are you?” Quentin tried instead.
“I’m good,” she said softly, lips tugging into the ghost of a smile. Her eyes flashed around the room. “Are you?”
Quentin bit back his snort. Of course, he was good. Frankly, he’d never been better.
But he wasn’t sure she was ready to hear that.
“Yes, little wolf. I’m good.”
Delaynie nodded. She rested her head back on his arm, but her gaze didn’t meet his. She held herself perfectly still, even her breathing growing shallow.
“Hey.” Quentin twisted to face her fully, his forehead brushing hers. He didn’t miss the way her breath caught in her throat, the way her eyes went even wider as she finally met his stare. “Talk to me, Del.”
She tugged her bottom lip between her teeth. Quentin fought to keep from focusing on it. She pulled her hands to her chest, absently picking at her nails.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
That caught Quentin off-guard. “Sorry for what?”
“For last night. I-I crossed a boundary with you. I’m sorry.”
Quentin held himself unnaturally still, every muscle in his body tightening. “So, you regret it, then.”
Delaynie’s eyes flashed, mouth falling open with shock.
“No—Quentin, that’s not what I’m saying.
” She shifted again, like she kept trying to make herself smaller.
“I know you like fun and easy. That you don’t like complicated.
I feel like all last night did was make things more difficult for us.
We’re friends, but…” She twisted out of his arms and lay on her back, staring at the ceiling.
“But for a moment, I let myself imagine something that doesn’t exist. That wasn’t fair of me. ”
Quentin was quiet. Even his mind was quiet—processing, digesting, drinking in her words. Inhaling what she said, exhaling what she didn’t say.
Something shifted and snapped inside him. Resolve settled into place, as rigid and sure as he’d ever been.
He gripped her chin in his hand. “Look at me.” She let him pull her face back to his. His chest cracked at the faint line of tears ringing her piercing blue eyes.
“I will gladly let you complicate everything in my life. I would even beg you to do it.” He swallowed thickly. “We’re friends, but sometimes I imagine more, too.”
They watched each other in silence—for how long, Quentin would never know.
Delaynie blinked; slowly, contemplatively.
Quentin could almost see the cogs spinning in her brilliant mind, the way she was working through every possible meaning to his words, every possible outcome that could burst from this.
“I’m not what you want,” she finally said, so soft it was hardly more than a whisper on the morning breeze.
Quentin couldn’t hold back his low chuckle.
“Oh, Delaynie,” he murmured. “You are so right about so many things…and so wrong about that.”
Her brow furrowed. “What?”
He moved slowly. Afraid to frighten her, but desperate to touch her. He gently swept the pad of his finger across her cheek, tucking a strand of auburn hair behind her ear.
“You are everything that I want. You are beautiful and smart and full of fire. You are a warrior and a queen and a tempest in the mountains. It is me who could never deserve you.”
Delaynie’s bottom lip quivered. All her carefully built walls and masks had slipped, letting Quentin see all that softness hiding beneath. Someone who’d been forced to grow up too fast—someone who had never dared to let herself dream.
On the surface, they were so different. Opposites in every way. But beneath it all?
Quentin wasn’t sure he’d ever met someone more like him.
“So,” she said softly, masking a tremble in her voice. “What does this mean now?”
Quentin toyed with that strand of hair. “You told me last night that kissing was where you drew the line.”
Her cheeks flushed pink again, but she nodded.
Quentin fell into those blue eyes. His gaze drifted to her full, soft lips.
“Still true?”
Delaynie hesitated. Ran her tongue along the seam of her mouth.
When she slowly, carefully, shook her head, Quentin’s body ignited.
His hand slid to the back of her neck. He pushed onto his forearm and leaned over her, savoring the way her piercing eyes watched him, the way her chest rose and fell with her heavy breaths, the way her cheeks stained darker.
He again brushed his thumb across her temple. “What do you want, little wolf?”
Her eyes sharpened. Clarity filled her expression, all that brilliant fire roaring to life.
“I want you to ruin our friendship.”
Quentin couldn’t stop his smirk. “That’s a little cynical, don’t you think?”
“Then look me in the eye, and tell me nothing would change.”
Quentin’s smile faltered. His gaze bounced between her eyes, falling to her lips, then back up.
“I can’t,” he murmured. “Because everything would change. But I’ve never craved change more than I do at this exact moment.”
Delaynie nodded. Her hand found his arm, nails digging into his skin.
“Good.”
Time slowed.
Quentin lowered himself, hovering just over her lips. Her sweet scent accosted him, sweeping over his skin, sinking into his lungs with each heavy breath. Finally, his body begged. Finally.
Her lips brushed his, softer than velvet.
Their apartment door slammed open with a booming crash. Booted steps thundered through the living room.
Quentin snapped up, throwing his body between Delaynie and the closed bedroom door. He scanned the floor, searching for his baldric, grateful he’d changed into a fresh pair of cotton trousers.
There—his knives were thrown carelessly in the corner. He was ready to leap off the bed for them when a small hand wrapped around his wrist.
“Quentin—”
It was too late.
Their bedroom door burst open, kicked in so hard it splintered off the hinges. A dozen men wearing dark cloaks and masks that revealed nothing but their eyes swept into the room, curved swords drawn and readied.
“What the fuck is this—”
Three men surged for the bed, grabbing Quentin by both arms. He roared, kicking out furiously, until more men secured his legs, too.
Delaynie cried out, terror filling her voice, and his vision turned red.
“Don’t you dare fucking touch her.”
“She’s not who we want.” The voice in his ear was deep and scratchy, pitched with the Kizar accent. “Come with us willingly, and she won’t be harmed.”
“You expect me to believe that?” Quentin snarled. He threw all his strength back into this fight. He was already disadvantaged without his knives, so he used his nails and teeth and arms and legs, brawling like a wild animal.
Nothing could shake his captors. There were too many of them. They overpowered him, overwhelmed him, and he couldn’t get free.
Helplessness filled his chest, but fuck, he couldn’t stop fighting. Not as Delaynie’s cries turned pleading, her sobs breaking through the madness.
The men started to drag him forward. Off the bed, out of the room. Away from her.
“No!” he roared again. “Delaynie!”
He was desperate. He was losing. And he couldn’t lose her.
Blue light—bright and blinding—filled the room.
“What the…” His captors froze, turning back toward the bed. Their grips on him remained strong, but something in the air shifted.
A savage, wicked growl tore through the room. Quentin’s head snapped up, fighting to glance over his shoulder.
The air left his lungs.
Delaynie was gone. Beside the bed, where she’d been seconds before, were three more men, swords held in trembling hands.
They slowly backed away from the massive, towering wolf with cream-colored fur, the tips of her hackles along her back and shoulders fading to a deep auburn red. The wolf’s lips were lifted in a dangerous snarl, fangs glistening in a jaw that could sever limbs.
The wolf swung her head around the room, as if searching for something. Her icy-blue eyes finally landed on Quentin, a fierceness he would know anywhere flashing in their depths.
Quentin’s limbs trembled in his captors’ hold.
“Little wolf.”