Page 52 of Ruthless Moon

Every fiber of my being screams at me to take a step toward her, to close the distance. But I resist, wrestling against the beast within that yearns for its mate and doesn’t care about consequences.

I step onto the porch.

She moves too, walking quietly across the clearing toward me. Toward the cabin.

“Morning,” I manage to mutter out, embarrassed at the stress in my voice.

She nods, her voice a mere whisper carried on the wind. “Liam.”

I force a half-hearted smile, my eyes never leaving hers. The casual interaction is a cruel joke. Are we really going to spend all day pretending like there’s nothing between us?

But the rules are clear—we can’t be together. And every moment spent in her presence is a battle between surrender and defiance.

She moves quickly, getting to the door before I do, and slips inside.

I follow behind her, catching a luscious view of her bare ass before she slips into a pair of loose sweatpants. A T-shirt quickly hides her perfect dewdrop breasts from view. Then my clothes are tossed at my face.

“You need to get dressed.” There’s desperation in those words. Pleading. This is as hard for her as it is for me. I can’t forget that we’re both struggling.

I slip into my clothes and then head over to the small kitchen. “It’s been hours since you hunted. Can I make you something?” I pull open the refrigerator. Eggs. Bacon. Sausage. Steak. A block of cheddar cheese. A container of cottage cheese. A smile tugs at my mouth. A girl after my own carnivorous heart.

“There’s coffee in the cabinet. And some fried eggs and bacon would be great. Thanks.” Her tone, now smooth and relaxed, warms my heart. I don’t want her to be tense. There’s no reason we can’t spend the day at least semi-comfortably. She disappears into the bathroom and I hear her brushing her teeth.

My eyes scan the rest of the small cabin. I hadn’t paid much attention to anything yesterday. The bed is in the back and instead of nightstands on either side of it, there are floor-to-ceiling overflowing bookshelves. My girl likes to read.

Not my girl. Stop thinking like that.

An oversize chair sits opposite the kitchen with a lamp hanging over it. Cozy. Comfortable. Blankets and pillows surround the big chair.

I start breakfast and the sizzle of bacon and crackle of the eggs in the frying pan fill the cabin. The rich aroma of fresh coffee brewing adds familiar comfort to the morning. Despite the internal turmoil, there’s something grounding in the act of cooking, a semblance of normalcy mixed into all the desire and restraint I’m struggling with.

The bathroom door opens and I glance over at Gen. Her hair is braided back now. Her face is pink from being scrubbed. No makeup and positively lovely. Just seeing her is a balm to my heart and a wound at the same time.

I fill her plate and a mug of coffee and then do the same for myself. For a fleeting moment, I enjoy the normal act of eating breakfast with my mate. This is what it could be like if we were allowed to be together.

“What do you like to read?” I ask, nodding in the direction of the very full bookshelves.

She lights up at the question, her face softening as she leans back in her chair and sips the coffee. “Mostly fantasy and paranormal romance,” she confesses with a hint of embarrassment coloring her cheeks.

A genuine laugh rumbles in my chest. “You mean like werewolves and vampires?” I tease. “And does anyone get the lore right?”

Her laugh joins mine, filling the cabin with a warmth that has nothing to do with the cooking. “I mean, there are no vampires that I’m aware of, but you’d be shocked what humans think werewolf lore really is.”

“What’s your favorite book?”

“Oh, that’s like trying to make me choose a favorite food. I like this series about shifters from another world in Alaska. Makes me want to go up there and explore. The guys are big and growly and sweet as chocolate. This author’s fated mate tropes are as close to the truth as I’ve ever read. Her hero and heroines don’t get tattoos like us, but they do see aglowin each other.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Like the shimmering heat waves we see?”

“No, they actually glow like a fluorescent light bulb.” Her giggle is infectious, and I laugh again. “But only the mates can see the glow. Plus, there are other shifters. Dragons. Lions. Tigers. Bears.”

“That would be odd, wouldn’t it?”

“If there were more than wolves?” She leans back and sips her coffee. “Do you think the witches made other guardians?”

“How would we have missed them after all these years?” I bite down on a piece of bacon, savoring the heavenly taste of fat and salt.

“We don’t exactly run around telling people about ourselves. Why would they?” She digs into her eggs and stares thoughtfully out the window. “I think it might be nice to not be the only shifter type in the world.”

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