Page 52 of This Pack of Ours

Kit forgets steps even when they’re on a list in front of him. Kit needs help. Don’t let Kit be in charge of things.

Fuck, at least they all seemed into me.

Except Vander.

He seemed tohateme, snarling at me in the coffee shop, sitting as far away as possible on our date, giving me one-word answers or grunts when I tried to ask him questions. Juni seemed to handle him no problem, and once again I wished we could do this together. But for now, it was me trying to figure this out on my own.

They’d said he needed balancing, right? To get laid.

Maybe I should try to do something I was actually good at today. Take the first step towards ‘co-existing’ with Vander.

* * *

“I brought you something.”

I’d found Vander sitting on a chair in one of the empty rooms of the new house. He’d barely looked up as I walked toward him. Didn’t he feel it? Even standing two feet away, I desperately wanted to be closer to him. My heart skipped a beat as his gorgeous, icy eyes met mine. I shifted uncomfortably and held out the pastry.

“You like Danish pastries?” I asked.

“Too sweet," he said, not taking my offering.

“Oh, I have a spinach and feta one as well.” I pulled out the other bag.

“Pass," he said.

Shit. I needed to pivot. Find something.

I put down the pastries and wished I was wearing a sweater so I could tuck my hands into the sleeves. I ended up wiping them on my shirt instead.

“Um, well I could?—”

“Stop," he cut me off, looking right into my eyes.

I froze.

He stood up to his full height, towering over me, and I couldn’t tear my gaze away from his attention. God, he really did look so hot scowling down at me. His morning frost scent was sharp, spiked with his annoyance. For a second, I was terrified he was going to leave again, just brush me off, but thankfully he shifted a bit closer, folding his arms. I couldn’t help briefly looking at the way the corded muscle flexed.

He was still looking at me like I was a door-to-door salesman that had interrupted his nap.

“Let me do you a favour and save us both some time.” He was speaking slowly, like I was a child. “You don’t have to do this. I don’t like you. I don’twantto like you.”

Oh. Right.

I swallowed and his eyes followed the movement, lingering on my throat and then up to my lips.

Oh.

That was something. My hope soared again, because despite his brutal rejection, that haddefinitelybeen interest. I could smell the change in his scent.

Literally theonlyinterest I’d seen in him so far, the first sign that the scent match was affecting him, too, that he might… want me.

And I could work with that. It was natural to lean into my body’s reaction as my perfume hit the air. To relax, to tilt my head a little bit to expose my neck to him. To let my breathing catch, to part my lips slightly. To look up at him through lowered lashes while I held my breath.

He tilted his head, and gave a small, cruel smile, his hand coming up to brush against my face.

My breath stuttered at the small touch,him, and I found I was crazy for it. I couldn’t help leaning into it, arching my neck even more. My perfume was building even more in the air, my body responding, waking up.

His eyes flared, his thumb stroked my cheek and then—thank fuck—he crowded me back to the wall and caught my lips with his. His tongue was pushing into my mouth, and I was trapped, his hand holding me firm in his ruthless kiss. I groaned. I didn’t want out, grabbing his shirt and trying to tug him closer because fuck, I needed this, needed him to want me —

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