Page 28 of Song Bird Hearts

“Waited for what?” I ask, my voice a little too breathy.

“For the moment you’d need me,” he replies, repeating his words.

He turns to me now, slow and deliberate as he is all his movements, and the look in his eyes. . . God. It’s not desperation. It’s not even hunger. It’s devotion, obsession in a way that doesn’t flinch. I don’t understand it, and I don’t know if I’m gonna get any answers.

“I’m not here to chase you, little star,” he says. “I’m here because I already chose you.”

My breath catches. “You don’t even know me.”

He steps closer. Not too close, but just enough for me to feel his presence hum against my skin like static.

“That’s the thing,” he says, his eyes wicked. “I do.”

His eyes flick to my mouth, just for a second. It’s not a move, not a lean-in, but the heat of it rolls through me all the same.

“I know how you look when you think no one’s watching. I know your voice when you’re about to lie. You lie so often in interviews when they ask how you feel about your newfound fame.” His eyes flicker. “I know you’re scared right now, but pretending you’re not, because if you let it break through, you don’t know if you’ll pull yourself back together.” He takes another step, slow and certain. “And I know you don’t trust me yet. That’s okay.”

I’m backed against the porch rail now, heart hammering in my chest. His body’s close enough to feel the warmth of him, the steadiness, like he’s already built a space around me that no one else can reach.

“But I’m not going anywhere,” he murmurs. “Whether you love me or hate me, I’m staying.”

“That’s not your call,” I whisper.

“It never was,” he replies with a small smile. “I’m just following the pull.”

His hand lifts like he might touch me—just for a second—but he stops short. He doesn’t press and he doesn’t take. He just waits.

“Valerie,” he says, softer now, like it’s almost a prayer, “you don’t have to understand it. You just have to let me protect you.”

“I already have protectors,” I rasp.

He smirks. “And now you have me. What will you do with the wolf on your leash, little star?” He leans in, his breath fanning across my face. “Will you command him?” His eyes shine bright. “Will you pet him?” His hand rises again, but he never touches me. Still, I can feel the static between our flesh as he traces the air above my collarbone. “Will youfeedhim?”

And for the first time, I don’t know if the heat in my chest is panic. . .

. . .or something much, much deeper.

I choose panic. “Are you hungry? We’ve got Hot Pockets. I can nuke one for you.” I slip from between him and the railing and head for the door, but I stop before I go inside, all the while pretending like I completely missed his meaning. “Well, come on.”

Genuine amusement flickers in his eyes as his lips quirk up. But he follows me, just like he said he would.

My wolf on a leash.

Chapter15

Valerie

The fire cracks softly in front of the cabin, the warm orange glow licking upward, sending little sparks dancing into the crisp night air. We’re gathered around it like a makeshift family, an odd one stitched together with secrets. Giden had coaxed the fire into a full, toasty blaze like he was born doing it, while Knox sat sharpening a pocketknife on a leather strop with slow, rhythmic strokes. Wolf lounges cross-legged on a blanket beside me, seemingly relaxed, though that Rolex on his wrist glints in the firelight like it has its own agenda.

Keven snuffs in the dirt near the tree line, rooting through pine needles for something to eat. Occasionally, he gives the fire a wary glance, as if it might suddenly turn him into bacon like his name implies.

Gilden hands me a marshmallow with a flourish. “Mon Rossignol,” he says with a teasing bow. “For you, a delicacy of burnin’ sugar and nostalgia.”

I grin and skewer it with a stick. “You’re a poet.”

“Don’t encourage him,” Knox mutters, but the corner of his mouth twitches.

“C’mon, Knox,” I say, nudging him with my foot. “Loosen up. This is supposed to be fun.”

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