Chapter 23
YVAINE
Iwhirled around, one hand on my throat, and squinted at the unknown werewolf with murky blue eyes, like laundry water someone had forgotten to change.
I couldn’t recall ever seeing him before. The stench of whatever he’d drank—or ate, as there were hints of garlic on his breath—made me grimace. I avoided inhaling so as not to contaminate my poor lungs.
His salt-and-pepper hair stuck to his forehead in sweaty locks, and he fixed me with a smug look on his intoxicated face.
“Wanna dance? I know the boogie-woogie,” he asked my chest. I mean, really—zero eye contact. The man had the manners of a drunken Labrador.
“No, thanks,” I deadpanned, turning away.
Garlic Man wasn’t done.
“Oh, come on now, baby pumpkin.” Baby pumpkin? If the garlic hadn’t already coaxed my gastric juices up into my mouth, that nickname would’ve finished the job. “I can buy you one of those fruity pink drinks you little pumpkins like!”
“I’m more of a whiskey pumpki— I mean, girl.
Lone drinker. And I don’t appreciate being compared to root vegetables.
Though, thanks for the reminder—beta-carotene and niacin are good for eye and skin health.
” I could almost see the smoke drifting out of his ears as his brain tried to follow the conversation.
Which was why I’d said it. “And I’d recommend a splash of Listerine before you approach someone next time. ”
Something in his expression shifted, fast. His face drained like someone had unplugged it, his eyes flicking to something behind me.
Or someone.
Before I could pivot, glance over my shoulder, even sniff the air, the world went dark.
I should’ve known that the two warm, callused pieces of hard flesh over my eyes were hands—huge ones. Like, pancake-griddle huge—but I was too distracted. Or surprised. My hippocampus melted into a puddle of goo in my head.
Because there were sparks. All over my face, everywhere those beefy hands touched. My breath hitched when a little voice suggested who might be the griddle owner.
“Mate, mate, mate,” my wolf chanted, hopping around in circles.
My lips parted, a tiny gasp betraying me. My own hand shot up, latching onto what I assumed was one of his wrists. The heat emanating from him was enough to keep me warm for a whole winter.
As I turned around, my jaw dropped, too obvious to go unnoticed. My heartbeat promptly decided it was the right time to commit suicide and stop beating when steel-gray eyes collided with mine.
No, not steel.
A thousand shades of silver.
He was just…
Just.
There were probably thirty or more adjectives to describe beauty, and although I’d always considered myself fairly intellectual, my brain was currently spinning in helpless, poetic circles, trying to land on the right word.
None of them fit. Maybe I could toss them all in a centrifuge and merge them into the perfect one.
From this close, I realized how epically wrong I had been about my mate. So indisputably wrong.
He was much taller than I’d assumed. In fact, I definitely needed to order a portable ladder online, and ASAP. A pack of mini waffles stuck out of his front hoodie pocket, and a can of beer hung from the other end. Sweet and bitter.
His hair wasn’t only blond, either; it had threads of honey and shadows tangled together. It was like no part of him could decide on being one thing, so instead, he was made up of varying shades and depths.
I also noticed details, those special little features that would only reveal themselves in such proximity—the teeny scar slicing through his left eyebrow and thickening down the side of the temple, the stark angles softened by warm freckles across his nose, the small beauty mole on his chin.
Curly blond lashes were probably the only feminine trait he had, if you had to pick a girlier feature in him. After all, it seemed he’d probably invented the definition of masculinity.
His eyes darkened as they raked across the exposed skin of my legs, taking on the color of angry clouds filled with thunderbolts as his gaze shifted behind me, to where Garlic Man had been before he’d fled.
Finally, they sparked when they swung back to me. One corner of his mouth tugged up. Slow. Lazy. Confident. I held my breath as the other one followed a second later.
And just like that—I knew.
From that moment on, I would never be able to appreciate another smile.
Bonus point, his minty breath was a relief after the garlic field I’d just inhaled.
With my mouth open like a freshly-caught trout, I tugged at my skirt.
Well done, Yvaine. Real smooth.
But what did one say to their mate upon first meeting?
Hi, I like your mini waffles, but their sugar content exceeds the sensory benefits?
Hello, your jawline should be classified as an illegal weapon?
Before my shy vocal cords could utter a sound resembling the beginning of a hello or a hey or even a heyo, my mate’s grin widened. He reached for my hand and…just snatched it. Folded it all around mine.
Without warning, he took me in his arms, the skirt of my dress spinning with me.
One moment, I was processing how good he smelled, and the next, I was twirling around, one hand buzzing with sparks.
I let out a breathy squeak that landed somewhere between surprise and a giddy laugh, and when I came back around, I was tucked in front of him, still holding his hand.
And we danced, his body close to mine. Too close to breathe right. The butterflies in my belly were as high as Garlic Man had been.
I exhaled and tried to steady myself.
This is your mate.
I let the beat of the music flow through my movements and swing me. People around us blurred; the room spun in slow motion.
And there was only us.
Only the way his hand fit into mine like it belonged there.
Only the way I watched him as he watched me.
His eyes lingered on my hair, spinning and bouncing with every shift and beat, then shifted to my flushed cheeks before coming back to my eyes.
Uncontrollable feelings poured into me.
He only had eyes for me. Me alone.
I needed more contact.
He was indeed my soulmate because, without me voicing it, he drew me to his chest. As if under a spell, my arms floated up, hooking around his neck. The sparks, the new heaviness resting around my body told me that his arms had settled low on my hips.
Just like that, still swaying, we grinned at each other.
They were small smiles, those quiet ones that hid a secret meaning. The kind of smile that didn’t need words. The small smile of new, shy love blooming beneath wintry skin.
My wolf howled, tail wagging in the background of my soul.
“Mate! Ours! Claim him! Lick his neck!”
Then, surrounded by bouncing bodies and strobing lights, with my heart thudding in sync with the bass of the music, his knuckles grazed my cheek.
Two fingers found my chin, nudging it up.
My breath hitched as his silvery eyes dropped to my mouth, and everything around us dimmed—the crowd, the noise, the sticky floor beneath our feet.
His face began its descent, drawing closer and closer, until it reached the final destination.
Until he put his lips on mine.
The world just…vanished.
The kiss was a mixture of sweetness, hesitation, and fireworks.
I felt his hands slide up and twine through my hair, then latch onto the ends and tug. I gasped against his mouth, and he deepened the kiss.
And, oh, Stephen, that kiss.
Nothing like the ones that came before it. A reset button—like every other kiss I’d ever had was a rough draft, and this was the real thing.
He let out a low groan as his palms skated down my sides, curving over my hips, firm and possessive. He hauled me even closer, my body merging against his, and my moans disappeared into his mouth, my arms around him serving as my only anchor to this world.
Our mouths moved together in perfect rhythm, as if we’d practiced the art of kissing each other long before we ever met. Our lips molded perfectly, like a heart split in two had now been reunited. I smiled into it and felt him smile back.
When I sucked his lower lip, he inhaled through his nose, sharp and shaky.
So I did it again.
Adrenaline and sparks sailed through my veins.
I lost track of time and space.
Too soon, he pulled away. His breath fanned my forehead, but my eyes remained closed, soaking in his scent, the sparks, and the magic bubble.
Happy lava exploded from the silly volcano that was my heart.
I parted my lids. Logan cupped my jaw, his half-lidded gaze following the sweep of his thumb over my cheekbone.
He seemed to be thinking hard, brows drawn together, studying me with those devastating eyes.
I was dying to talk to him, to hear him speak, but I was a drunk woman, intoxicated by her soulmate and possessed by animal urges.
All I could think about was that kiss, how I wanted—needed—to repeat it again. And again.
And more agains.
Before I could act on it, a lock of gold slipped out from under his hood, brushing over his forehead and distracting me from my kissing plan. I had to touch it.
He sucked in a noisy breath when I dragged my hands along those shoulders, so ridiculously broad that they made it look like he carried boulders for lifting class, and dug my fingertips into the steel that covered his skin. I pushed down as I stood on tiptoe.
Thank you, Makena, for convincing me to wear heels tonight.
He looked at me, brows arching for a second, before obeying and lowering himself. His eyes followed the path of my hand as it reached up, while the other remained on his shoulder for support.
When I ran my hand through his hair, I stared at it while he just…stared at me.
Raptured. Surprised. Frozen.
His eyes softened, a flicker of amusement swirling there, as he let me play with his curls.
Soft and silky, just like I’d imagined. I loved the texture between my fingers. A soft laugh bubbled from his chest, low and warm, sending a ripple of pleasure down my spine. It made me get a bit bolder.
I tugged gently. The laugh vanished. He moaned under his breath and bent fast to capture my lips again, hauling me into him.
Knowing I had that effect on such a beautiful specimen made me dizzy. A new kind of drunk.
This time, the kiss wasn’t sweet. It was heat and hunger, hands pulling, bodies crashing. His tongue pushed past my lips, stroked and tangled with mine. Our noses bumped.
I arched into him as I clung to his shoulders, completely undone by the way he kissed—like he already knew me. Like he’d waited forever for this. It was breathless and messy and perfect.
My vagina rubbed her metaphorical hands together, sure she was getting some tonight. Yearning and desire pulsed through me, the sparks a tangible current.
With a low growl, Logan wrapped his arms around my waist and lifted me right off the floor with an easy strength that made my core throb, thinking about what else he could do with such ease. I bet people couldn’t even see me as I disappeared into his humongous arms.
How had the slow, hesitant kiss from before evolved into this? A primal need. A claim of territory. A wave of heat flooded me, and his touches became more pronounced, as if to show who I belonged to.
And then my tongue brushed something sharp.
A fang!
A squeal—quite an embarrassing one—slipped past my lips. The bitches.
He rumbled a laugh over my mouth, deep and husky, and trailed the backs of his fingers down my right cheek to my neck, lingering over the spot where mates were supposed to mark each other.
And pressed down.
Nostrils flared, he looked at me through the cracks of his eyelids. The tips of his fangs were visible as he bit down on his lower lip.
I closed my eyes.
His lips brushed my jaw.
His hot breath fanned across my neck.
His tongue flicked out and traced the base of my throat, right over the marking spot.
Tempting. Dangerous. Consensual.
I tilted my head to the side to offer him more skin. My heart hammered against my ribs like it wanted to break out and order him to mark me.
He growled again, but this time it was different—rougher, torn between restraint and something deeper, hidden.
“Mate.” I heard a distant, distorted voice, as if a beast had given human speech.
His breathing turned erratic. Are his hands shaking?
His lips ghosted my mark spot.
And then—
Then…
When nothing happened, my eyes fluttered open, skin humming, heart ready.
I was leaning against a column, unable to trust any of my limbs.
Boneless.
Alone.
My silly smile faltered, slowly dropping off my face like it had been peeled away, leaving behind its sad twin.
I blinked once. Twice.
Logan—the Terminator, my mate—was gone.
Disappeared just as he had appeared.
There was just the heat on my skin, the imprint of his hands, and the harsh thud of my heartbeat in the empty space where he used to be.
A lump formed in my throat.
As the music throbbed around me and the crowd sharpened back into focus, a cold, acute awareness stabbed through my haze.
After all, it was true. He abandons girls.
This time, it just happened to be me.