“And heaps taller; I could wear you as a backpack,” he snickers. I glare up at him, and he pushes off the ground to stand when I turn, kicking his legs out from under him. He hits the ground hard, and I scramble to pin him while he stares at the ceiling, having the air knocked out of him.
“Fine, you aren’t short, you’re compact—You’re fun-size,” In one swift motion, he rolls, reversing our positions with an ease that leaves me breathless. Now pinned beneath him, I marvel at his agility, so at odds with his size. His eyes, gleaming with a playful glint, meet mine. “Seems the tiny predator has become the prey.”
I try to throw him off as he pins my hands above my head, his lips tugging in the corners as I struggle against him before I give up with a huff.
“See? Size does have its advantages. Height for reach and weight,” he shifts slightly, emphasizing his point without putting his full weight on me.
“Well, I thought you were supposed to be showing me how to defend myself, not showing me how utterly defenseless I am against someone your size?” I laugh and squirm beneath his weight.
His eyes, dark and intense, lock onto mine with a gaze that could command the moon. “You might think being smaller puts you at a disadvantage,” he murmurs, his voice low and husky, sending a thrill through me. “Remember, you have the big bad wolf always ready to defend you.”
His smirk is a shadow, playing at the edges of his mouth, his eyes burn with a lethal promise. “Let them come for you,” he says, his voice low and cold.
“They’ll quickly learn I’m the last shadow they ever cross.”
My hands roam across the expanse of his chest, tracing the lines down his abs.
Zayn’s breathing grows ragged, matching the erratic beat of my heart.
“You’re really not helping my training here,” I say, my voice shaky, as I try to focus on the task at hand and not the sinful thoughts creeping into my mind.
“No?” he asks, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “I could always…” His lips brush against my ear, sending a shiver through me. His lips press below my ear gently, his lips grazing his mark on my neck; my back arches at the sensation it causes, like I can feel him everywhere at once as his lips travel along my jaw before meeting mine.
Our lips meet in a clash of passion, tongues fighting for dominance. He tastes like wildness and promises; I drink him in greedily. The room spins, and everything narrows down to the feel of his body pressed against mine, the sound of our mingled breaths.
My hands tremble with anticipation as they reach for the waistband of Zayn’s pants, my fingertips gently tugging at the fabric. But in an instant, his body freezes, and he pulls my hands away, his lips trailing down my neck. Confusion furrows my brow at his sudden rejection.
“What’s wrong?” I manage to pant out, my voice heavy with desire.
Zayn groans, his head resting on my shoulder as he tries to catch his breath. “You’re barely a week away from your birthday, Cleo,” he breathes out, his voice filled with longing and restraint. “I’d rather wait until you’ve gotten your wolf.”
His words hang in the air, leaving me bewildered and hurt. He marked me and claimed me as his own, yet now he denies me? The conflicting emotions swirl within me, leaving me feeling like a mere pawn in some game I’m not privy to.
“What does that have to do with anything?” I ask, my voice trembling with frustration.
Zayn sits up, guilt etched across his face. He runs a hand through his tousled hair before meeting my gaze. “I told you this before, Cleo, not until you get your wolf,” he states, his voice filled with sincerity.
My heart sinks as the words leave his lips, and I try to hide how much they truly sting. The vulnerability in my voice betrays me as I stutter out my confusion. “I don’t understand,” I whisper, my voice catching in my throat. “You marked me…but won’t have me? What am I to you, then? Just a plaything when it suits you? A weapon against my father? None of this makes anysense. What has waiting for my wolf got to do with it when your mark is on my fucking neck!”
The room descends into a heavy silence, the weight of my accusations hanging in the air. Zayn watches me; his expression is unreadable, and he remains silent. Unable to find the right words, or maybe he doesn’t have any more excuses. Frustration and anger surge within me, and with a swift motion, I push him away and rise to my feet.
“Cleo!” Zayn pleads. But I refuse to listen. Instead, I head for the stairs before remembering I can’t escape him in his room, either. So, instead, I make my way toward one of the spare rooms, hoping to escape the embarrassment that engulfs us.
As I shut the door behind me, the hollowness of my heart echoes in the stillness. Tears well up in my eyes, blurring my vision as I desperately try to make sense of it all.
Even at this moment, I can hear Zayn’s footsteps approaching, growing louder with each passing second. Panic grips me, pushing me to lock the door. The walls seem to close in around me as I struggle to catch my breath.
“Cleo,” he pleads again, his voice soft as he tries to turn the handle, finding the door locked. I remain silent, unwilling to expose myself to further disappointment.
His fist bangs lightly on the door, rattling the frame as he speaks through gritted teeth. “Cleo, I can explain.”
I don’t respond and close my eyes, trying to block out the world around me. Finally, after minutes pass, I hear his footsteps retreat, and I can breathe again. I collapse on the bed, curling into a ball as I tug the blankets up, wanting nothing more than to go to bed and get this day over with.
• • •
The next morning, sleep evades me, flashes of last night’s humiliation replaying in my mind. I need to get out of this room; I need a distraction. I quickly dress in jeans and a long-sleeved shirt before leaving the room. My bare feet pad quietly down the hallway as I make my way downstairs. In the kitchen, I find Zayn sipping a steaming cup of coffee, his eyes finding mine from down the hall where he sits at the island counter.
His silver orbs are filled with remorse, but it’s too late for apologies now. I don’t want to hear any excuses or half-hearted justifications. I just need space from him in this situation. His jaw clenches as he sees me fully dressed. “Cleo,” he says my name warningly, I ignore him and head straight for the front door, only to hear his chair scrape across the floor.
