Chapter 89
Ethan POV
I sat there for a minute, frozen. Completely still except for the way my chest was rising and falling like I had just run ten miles. My skin felt too tight. Like I wasn’t even in my own body anymore.
The moonlight slashed across her bed, lighting up the curve of her shoulder, her soft cheek pressed into the pillow, those lashes like feathers against her skin. The edge of my shirt slid a little lower on her collarbone, exposing this little triangle of skin that made my brain stop functioning.
My fingers hovered just above her skin.
Don’t.
But god, I wanted to.
I didn’t want to scare her. Didn’t want her waking up and seeing this side of me. The side that wanted to tear the whole world apart just so I could have her. Just so I could keep her.
But she was right there. So soft. So close.
“God!” I breathed out heavily. “The things you do to me Camila,” I said through clenched teeth. “And you don’t even fucking know.”
Didn’t know how I laid in bed at night, fists clenched, jaw locked, just waiting for the sun to go down so I could sneak into her room like some lovesick monster. Didn’t know how I listened to her laugh whenever she was with Tessa and memorized the sound like it was a favorite
song.
Didn’t know that I had killed for her.
That I had done things way worse than sewing Anya’s boyfriend’s lips shut.
The thought of that smug bastard made my jaw clench.
She shifted in her sleep, just slightly–her leg stretching out, arm curling under her cheek. And my heart stuttered. Like an actual, painful pause in my chest. Her lips moved, whispering something, maybe a dream I wasn’t in.
And I hated that.
I hated that she dreamed without me.
I reached out, fingers finally brushing the ends of her hair again. Her skin was so close. I could’ve touched her cheek. Could’ve kissed her temple, her jaw, her lips. My hand hovered there, shaking, aching.
But I didn’t.
I didn’t.
Because if I started, I wouldn’t stop.
I leaned in, forehead almost pressing against hers. Close enough that I could smell the faint hint of whatever so creamy and soft. Something expensive and/gentle and totally her.
“You’re mine,” I whispered, so quiet it didn’t even feel like a sound.
Just the truth,
used. Something
Chapter 89
She stirred again, lips parting like maybe she heard it. Like some part of her knew,
I closed my eyes and forced inyself to breathe. Deep. Slow. Inhale her scent, exhale the madness,
It didn’t work.
I was still burning.
I sat back again, dragging my fingers through my hair, yanking at it a little because it was the only thing keeping me from touching her This need–this craving–wasn’t just physical. It was cellular. Like she was in my blood. Like my whole body was programmed to move toward hers, even if it meant breaking every rule I had ever been taught.
My wolf was howling inside of me, clawing at my chest, pacing wanted out. He wanted her. He didn’t care about timing or decency.
behind my
ribs like a caged animal that’d waited too long for its mate. He
He just wanted ours.
And I couldn’t blame him.
The bond had only grown stronger. Every day, every second I spent near her, it tightened. Wrapped around me like barbed wire. Pulled me in, and I let it.
How could I not?
Camila was my everything.
My mate.
My reason.
My obsession.
I let the minutes pass, watching her breathe, watching the slow rise and fall of her chest under the thin fabric of my shirt. I could’ve stayed like that forever.
But the sky was starting to shift again. The dark peeling back into soft gray. The sun threatening to crawl over the horizon and catch me here–where I shouldn’t be.
I stood.
Reluctantly.
Fingers still tingling from where they almost touched her. Lips still burning from where they didn’t kiss her.
I slipped back through the balcony door, the cool breeze slapping me in the face like punishment.
The house was silent, dead quiet that the soft call of my name echoed through the walls. “Ethan?”
I landed soft as a shadow, my boots barely/disturbing the grass. The balcony vanished behind me as I slipped around the side of the house. The mansion loomed quiet and dark like it always did, like it was holding its breath while I snuck in like the twisted little monster I was pretending not to be.
The back door creaked open. I stepped inside, the cold tile biting at my skin through my socks.
Then I heard it. Ethan?”
My name, sharp and questioning, cutting through the stillness.
2/3
Chapter 89
I turned, already knowing who it was.
Greg.
My guardian. My fake stepfather. The guy who helped me flee my pack, taught me to blend in, to walk like a human, talk like a human, smile like a human. But under all of that? He was just like me.
A werewolt pretending to be something softer.
He stood at the bottom of the stairs, wearing that faded gray hoodie he always wore when he couldn’t sleep. Or when he was too wired. His jaw was clenched, salt–and–pepper scruff shadowing his face, arms crossed like he was about to give me a lecture I didn’t want.
“Where are you coming back from?”
I didn’t say a word.
Didn’t owe him anything.
I just stared, deadpan, stone–faced. Watching him like he was background noise. Like a painting I never liked but couldn’t take off the wall.
His lips pressed into a flat line. A heavy sigh escaping his lips. One of those I’m too old for this shit exhales that said everything without saying anything.
“Haven’t you been learning? I told you–human girls get freaked out by that!” His voice dipped lower, but it still had that edge. Like he was trying not to raise it but couldn’t help the bite. “That’s why I said act normal. I gave you the golden retriever boyfriend manual, didn’t I?”
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