Page 38 of The Players We Hate
Her fingers twitched in mine.
“I’m not a secret, Wren. And you’re not someone I could ever forget.”
She blinked, and the polished mask slipped, leaving her bare. Her hand slid up my chest, smearing the fake blood on my torn flannel.
“I’m not asking you to take anything,” she whispered. “If I give it to you, if I’m sure, then why are you still holding back?”
I stared at her, stunned. Not because I didn’t believe her—because I wanted to. Wanted it to be more than heat or some twisted rivalry.
I leaned down, pressing my forehead to hers, fighting for control.
“We can’t come back from this,” I said.
“I don’t want to.”
Her answer came without hesitation. No fear or doubt.
My restraint coiled tighter, but I kissed her anyway. Slow and deep. When we broke apart, I cupped her jaw, breathing hard.
“Come with me.”
“Okay,” she exhaled.
I laced our fingers together and kept walking, slower this time. No more pretending. No more running.
She was mine, whether she realized it yet or not.
And as the trees closed in behind us, I didn’t look back. Red never stood a chance against the wolf.
Chapter Eleven
Wren
His hand locked with mine, rough and certain, as Talon pulled me through the trees, away from the bonfires and noise of Devil’s Backbone.
Leaves cracked under my boots, my cape trailing me, a twisted shadow of a fairy tale. I wasn’t running from the wolf—I was following him.
His truck waited at the edge of the lot, headlights flashing when he hit the remote. My chest tightened.
He opened the passenger door, steadying me with a hand at my waist as I climbed in. The seat carried his scent—leather, cologne, heat that wrapped around me the second I sat down.
A moment later, he rounded the hood and slid behind the wheel. The door shut, sealing us in silence heavier than the party we’d left behind.
But he didn’t start the engine.
He turned toward me, hand braced on his thigh, jaw tight, swallowing down whatever he didn’t want to say.
I started to say something, but he caught my hand first, giving it a gentle tug that pulled me across the console.
Every inch felt intentional, dragging out the space between us. My heart slammed against my ribs as I moved, breath catching when I slid sideways into his space.
I didn’t end up fully in his lap. Instead, my legs stretched across his, my palm pressed to his chest to steady myself. His arm came around my waist, holding me there, solid and unshakable.
The leather creaked under us, the only sound left now that the party was far behind. Just me and him, and the heat of everything we hadn’t said yet.
I looked at him, truly looked at him, and everything inside me softened.
Talon Pierce wasn’t the boy people warned me about. He wasn’t the enforcer on the ice, the one with blood on his knuckles and fire in his eyes. Not right now.
