I chuckle. “Is your pussy getting cold, Mirth? I’m happy to warm it.”
She snorts a delicate laugh. “Your mother promised me pancakes.”
“Well, that’s a mood killer.”
She laughs again. Then I let her go just enough to get her clothing straightened, even as mud crusted as it is. My jeans, shredded by my transformation, aren’t remotely salvageable, so I don’t bother dressing. I’m not fucking walking back to the house in only a sweater and boots.
Naked, I carry everything clutched in one hand and capture Mirth’s hand in the other, guiding her back toward the house. We retrieve her abandoned backpack, Armin’s urn still safely tucked within it, at the edge of the pond.
Armin could be just as impetuous and self-destructive as me. But he wouldn’t have been pleased with me fucking his beloved sister in the woods.
I laugh, covering the sob still lodged in my chest.
Mirth twines her fingers through mine. “Armin?” she murmurs, as if she can read my mind. And since my soul is carved from hers, maybe she can.
“Yeah. I was just thinking … he’d beat the shit out of me, with his actual hands, if he saw us now.”
Mirth hums, not denying my assessment. But then she grins, looking at me with a delighted — and yes, satisfied — smile. Her eyes are bright purple. “He’d get over it. He’d never deny me anything I truly wanted.”
Me. She wants me. My heart swells painfully, hurting with how much I love her. “I want you,” I say, instead of blathering more declarations that she’s not ready to match. “In every way, every day.”
She flushes prettily. “You just had me.”
“I always want you.”
She leans into me, tilts her head up, and brushes the lightest of kisses against my lips. Her sweater gapes open at the neck, and my gaze snags on the bruise darkening her shoulder. From my bite. Possessiveness and smug arrogance floods through me. Again.
It isn’t a claiming mark. I would have needed to break the skin, and Mirth would need to bite me in return for me to claim her as one shifter claims another. Not that I know if that sort of essence connection would even work between an awry and a shifter. But I brush an answering kiss over the bruise nonetheless — along with a soul-deep, silent promise — then nip lightly at her ear.
Just to get one of those sweet, quiet giggles from her.
Her eyes glinting purple, energy threading between our clasped hands, Mirth keeps flicking her gaze to me as we walk back to the house. I meet that gaze steadily every time she looks — not that I’ve looked away from her for more than a moment since she goaded me into fucking her.
I want her to know I’ll always be here. Any time she looks for me, looks my way, I’ll be here.
Thankfully,I find clean sweatpants in the mudroom. They’re black like I prefer, even if a little tight. All the shifters in residence — my mother and sisters — are slighter than me, even in my still-near-emaciated state.
Mirth hangs her backpack on one of the empty coat hooks, pouting at me playfully as I pull up the sweats to cover my still fucking half-hard cock.
I’ve got her pinned back against the wall, inhaling her little gasp of surprise, before I realize I’ve moved.
“Wolf,” she teases, nipping on my lower lip and recognizing who was momentarily in control even before I did.
“Since I so easily captured you again,” I rasp into her neck, palming her ass and lifting her up to wrap her legs around me, “I might as well take full advantage.”
“Easily?” she teases. Joy practically sparks off her, embedding into me wherever our skin touches. “Maybe I should play harder to get.”
I laugh almost involuntarily. Then, once again distracted by the mere sight of it, I languidly lick the bite mark on her shoulder. “I’ve missed you, love, so much that it —”
“Oh, good! You found each other. Mirth, did you want …” My mother walks around the corner, her jaw dropping open as she lays eyes on us.
“Maple syrup?” Mirth chirps playfully. Smiling, and still radiating that gentle joy even while pressed against the wall with her limbs tangled around me.
“Oh …” My mother’s smile dies. Her tanned skin pales. Her bright-blue gaze flicks to me, then to Mirth, and back again. She clenches her hands at her sides. “Bolan … this is … not … what is happening?”
Mirth, now frowning — though not as deeply as I am — presses against my shoulders. I step back just enough to let her slide down my body, but I keep her tucked against me. I’m not certain I’m actually capable of letting her go right now.
My mother’s lips twist as she takes in our shared disheveled state. I haven’t torn any of Mirth’s clothing, but she’s covered in dirt and other leafy detritus. Then my mother’s nostrils flare — smelling us on each other.
