35. Don't tell me what to think
Without a word, he reaches up and brushes away the remaining tears from my cheeks with his thumb, his touch gentle.
Then he pushes himself up slowly.
His other hand finding my waist as he guides me toward him. He wraps one arm around my shoulders and pulls me against his chest, settling me against him so carefully that I can feel the steady warmth of his heartbeat beneath my cheek.
Now I'm the one letting go, relaxing into his strong arms as they wrap around me. The transport hums quietly around us, but all I can focus on is the warmth of his body against mine, the steady rhythm of his breathing.
I find myself shifting closer, drawn to him in a way I can't explain.
Without thinking, I swing one leg over him until I'm straddling his lap, my knees on either side of his thighs. Suddenly we're face to face, breathing the same air.
I clasp my arms around him and bury my head in the curve of his neck, inhaling the scent of him.
"You know," he says quietly, his voice rumbling in his chest, "I wish I could take away all your pain."
I almost whimper hearing those words. The vulnerability in his voice, the gentleness—it's so different from the guarded, dangerous wolf I first met.
Something between us has changed so drastically over the past few days that I can barely remember how it felt when his presence was threatening to me.
It's almost incomprehensible to think that this man holding me so carefully is the same person who told me to prove myself, who dared me, who lied to me more than once.
But something has shifted inside me.
The nervousness is gone—I don't know when or how it disappeared—but it's been replaced with something else.
Something that pulls me toward him from the inside.
When he looks at me, when he holds me like this, it feels different from anything else I've ever experienced.
It feels like truth.
And I don't even understand what that means.
Before I can think about it, I find myself speaking, the words muffled against his neck.
"You feel different than before."
"I do?" His voice is soft, questioning.
"Yes." I pull back slightly to look at him. "You feel like truth."
"Truth?"
I struggle to find the right words. "You feel real. Honest. Calm." I pause, searching his face. "You feel like something that's changing everything."
He goes very still against me, his breathing catching. There's something in his expression that makes my chest tighten—something that looks almost like wonder.
"Everything?" he asks quietly.
I nod, not trusting my voice.
He's quiet for a moment, then says, "I don't think you're ready for what you're saying to me."
"How do you know?"
"Because you're not ready for me."
"Why not?"
He's quiet for a long moment, studying my face. His thumb traces my bottom lip. "Because you wouldn't have to question where you belong anymore. You'd belong to my pack."
His voice drops lower. "And I don't think you understand what that means."
Something twists in my chest—part longing, part excitement that scares me more than fear ever could. He's probably right. This is insane.
But the way he's looking at me, the certainty in his voice when he talks about me belonging to...
"Don't tell me what to think," I say, my voice barely above a whisper, and before he can respond, I kiss him.
His lips are warm and firm against mine, and for a heartbeat he's completely still.Then he kisses me back like he's been starving for it, one hand threading through my hair while the other grips my waist.