“Do you not hear your own words, Cleo?” Zayn’s husky whisper sends an intoxicating wave of his warm breath onto my earlobe. The sound of my name on his lips is like silk against bare skin, causing my nipples to harden. “You said it yourself, I don’t fuck with unshifted she-wolves, yet I can’t seem to stay away from you. I’m already breaking all my own rules. What’s one more?” My brows scrunch.
Confusion mars my sudden arousal momentarily. What is this game he’s playing? What interest could he possibly have in me except for revenge against my father?
Although before I can voice these doubts, Zayn’s lips are upon mine, silencing any further thoughts.
The kiss is completely unexpected. Zayn’s lips, full and soft, press firmly against mine, his face intense and focused as his fingers tangle in my hair. His eyes are closed, eyebrows slightly furrowed, as if he’s as surprised by our kiss as I am.
My eyes flutter closed in response, caught off guard by the unexpected sensation, and I kiss him back. His fingers tuggingmy hair gently as he deepens the kiss; strangled sounds escape him when I kiss him back. My core tightens at the roughness of his grasp, sending shivers of delight straight down to my throbbing heat.
His weight shifts. Strong hands move lower down my waist, then hips before seizing my thighs and lifting me effortlessly onto the kitchen counter.
My heart races as I struggle to process the whirlwind of emotions coursing through me. Guilt threatens to suffocate me; Deacon is missing, and here I am kissing another man. I think of how selfish I must be, betraying Deacon when he needs me most.
Yet, despite my inner turmoil, something about kissing Zayn feels so right, as if we’re two puzzle pieces finally clicking into place. Just as I start to lose myself in the moment, that same doubt creeps in like a dark cloud, casting a shadow over my bliss and smacking into me.
With a jolt, I push Zayn away, breaking the kiss. My breathing is ragged, my cheeks flushed, and my mind a chaotic mess. How could I let this happen? What am I thinking?
“Zayn,” I stammer, trying to regain some semblance of control over the situation. “We… we can’t do this. It’s wrong.”
“Is it really?” he questions softly, concern etched on his handsome face. “Or is it just that you’re afraid?”
I don’t know how to answer him. My heart aches for Deacon, though something about Zayn calls to me in a way I’ve never experienced before. Still, I can’t ignore the fact that Deacon is out there somewhere, possibly hurt or worse, and I need to find him.
“Zayn,” I say firmly, trying to shove my conflicting emotions aside. “This isn’t the time for this. We need to focus on finding Deacon.”
He studies me for a moment, then nods reluctantly, stepping back and giving me space. As much as I want to explore whatever is happening between us, I know we have more pressing matters at hand. I need to find Deacon, and only once he’s safe will I be able to sort through the tangled web of emotions Zayn has stirred within me.
Zayn sighs heavily.
My chest is tight, my heart aching with guilt and confusion. This is all too much. I barely know this man, yet this stupid sire bond makes me feel like I’ve always known him.
It lets him get under my skin and plagues my mind.
“Hey,” Zayn says softly, cupping my face in his hands and pressing his forehead against mine. “We’ll go try to find Deacon, okay?” Although he doesn’t seem too happy about it—more like he is trying to placate me.
“Thank you,” I whisper, forcing a small smile despite my turmoil.
As we head to the printer to collect the missing posters I’d designed for Deacon, I can’t shake the feeling of unease. Zayn walks beside me, his presence providing a strange sort of comfort, even as it adds to my internal battle.
As we are leaving the packhouse, Zayn shivers. “Are you okay?” I ask him.
“Storms coming,” he tells me, and I gaze at the clear sky.
“Weather looks fine to me,” I tell him, and he shakes his head while digging out his keys. “I’m driving in case we get caught in it,” he tells me, and I raise an eyebrow at him
“I’ve driven in the rain before,” he shrugs.
“I have better vision,” he smirks, pointing to the passenger seat. I really should drive myself. “Car, Cleo—now. I don’t want you driving in the rain,”
“What rain? It’s sunny,” I tell him, motioning to the sky.
“It’s coming, I can feel it,” he sniffs the air. “And smell it.”
I sniff the air and he snorts. “Wolf senses, now come on.” He opens the passenger door. I huff while sliding into the seat as he heads to the driver’s door.
Zayn lets me direct him to all the places I know Deacon frequents, and we park at the train station to start sticking the last of our signs on poles. He starts to get on my nerves.
“Deacon is probably just chilling somewhere, don’t get why you worry so much,” he jokes, trying to lighten the mood.
