Page 33 of Wrath
What’s wrong?
He sat up.
She bit her lip and averted her eyes. “Can I sleep here?”
A lump formed in his throat.
“Just sleep, I swear. I don’t want another night on that horrible sofa, plus… I don’t want to be alone.”
He shifted the duvet on the opposite side of the bed. She climbed in, pulling the cover up to her chin, laying stiffly beside him, staring at the ceiling. He switched off the light, casting the room into darkness.
When he laid down, he found he couldn't sleep. He was hyper-aware of her body next to him. Couldn’t get the memory of her nakedness from his mind, but he didn’t want her to know, so held his breath and flexed his toes. Eventually, the sound of her breathing evened out as she fell asleep, and Wyatt gave himself permission to turn on his side and study her.
Beams of soft moonlight peeked through the gaps in the curtains. It was enough for him to make out her profile. Her lashes were like wings, shadowing her cheeks. Her nose dipped from her forehead and then scooped back out in a perfect arch. There was a little knob at the end that gave her features just enough of a difference to make her a curiosity. Then there were her lips, perpetually rosy, as though she were always flushed from the rush of just being kissed—or fucked. But what he liked most was her curly hair spread on the pillow. Wild, carefree and… resilient. Happy. Just like her.
With her optimistic outlook on life, her loyalty to her family, her patience and vivaciousness, he was drawn to her. It was as though she was made for him—the warrior of wrath.
No. He frowned. That wasn’t right. It was Wyatt who was made for her. She was born naturally, a twist of nature, two lovers coming together. It was he who was made—created—to need someone like her. To protect someone like her. To want her with every fiber in his being. It was he who would break if he lost her.
Raw emotion crushed his chest, soon followed by concern, and a trickling sense of fear. There were things she hadn’t told him, or her family. Hiding. Secretive. She didn’t fool him. The fire today hadn’t relieved her as much as the rest of her family. She was still afraid, and she’d come to him for comfort.
She trusted him.
Fifteen
After years of combat training,Wyatt had learned to sleep at the edge of consciousness, ready to move within a split-second’s notice. So when Misha woke next to him the following morning, he roused. And when she slowly and quietly got out of the bed, trying not to disturb him, he became curious.
Dawn’s pinkest hues came through the curtains, so where did she have to be so early?
Sleeping next to her had been painstakingly awkward. With his body so aware of her presence, and his mind slowly coming to terms with her importance to him, all he could think about was touching her. He’d wanted to pull her into his arms and take solace in her warmth, to give in to his baser instincts. But even with his thoughts pushing him toward her, there was a nameless resistance, like a rubber band, and he wasn’t strong enough to break it. Regardless, he was smart enough to know when he was getting the brush off. She was trying to sneak out like a thief, meaning; she resisted more than him.
As Misha fumbled for her shoes on the floor next to the bed, Wyatt sat up. His sudden movement caused a little chirp of fear from her mouth. When her mind caught up with her eyes, her hand fluttered to her throat.
“Jeez, Wyatt. You scared me. You’re like the waking dead.”
He cocked an eyebrow at her shoes.Leaving so soon?
“Um.” She gulped, tongue running over her bottom lip as her gaze raked down his bare torso. Then, catching herself ogling, she bit down and looked away. “Yeah. Look. I had a great time. Like,reallygreat, but this between us, whatever we had yesterday is finished.”
Brush off. Loud and clear.
Except… he wouldn’t accept it. Yes, he resisted, but he was also drawn to her. She didn’t know it yet, but they weren’t done.
“I’m not good for you, Wyatt.” She tied her unruly bedroom hair into a top knot.
She should wear her hair down. The blond ringlets stuck out, but he supposed it only made her more lively. He wanted to tug on that hair, bring her down to his lips, lower. She blushed when she caught the simmering lust in his gaze and a heatwave of hormones engulfed him so suddenly that he almost lost focus. His skin prickled as his body produced pheromones. His scent became stronger. It was all part of the package his mad scientist mother made of them to help trap a mate.
He couldn’t say he was completely averse to the pheromones, not if it got her to change her mind, and that made him an even bigger bastard than he thought.
Misha caught his scent, her jaw dropped and her eyes fluttered closed. She inhaled deeply.
“God, you smell amazing,” she groaned. “It’s unfair.”
She didn’t know the half of it.
Wyatt shifted toward her side of the bed, uncaring that his arousal clearly showed through his boxer shorts.
“I’m sorry.” She put her palm out. “I’m a one time only kind of girl.”
