"It's not that I don't—" I stop, feeling my face grow even hotter. How does one sayyes, I'd like you to touch mewithout it sounding like a perverted invitation?
So I keep my mouth shut instead of finishing my sentence.
Fated connection or not, I still feel embarrassment. And awkwardness. And like we're a little too close to feel like strangers now—especially since his hands have literally been in my pants, which iswayout of stranger territory—but still feeling as if I don't know the man at all.
We've fast-forwarded through the most basic part of a relationship: getting to know each other. Like, at all.
The things I know about Caine fit on one hand. One: Murderous instincts. Two: For some reason, he can manifest his wolf outside his body. Three: His touches feelreallygood. Maybe too good. Four: He doesn't like Lyre very much.
I'm sure there's a five somewhere.
"You don't have to explain," he says.
But I do. I really do. Because his jaw is doing that tense thing again, and his shoulders have gone rigid, and somehow I'vemanaged to offend the most dangerous predator I've ever met bynotletting him touch me.
"I just don't want to end up back in the hospital," I say quickly. "The energy thing, remember? Lyre said we shouldn't—"
"I remember," he cuts me off, his voice clipped.
It feels like I've done something wrong, which makes something inside my chest twist up into a spiral of anxiety. It's hard to take a lungful of breath, and heat flushes through my scalp, making my hair prickle. "It isn't because of you—"
"I know, Grace." His voice isn't reallysofter, but some of the edge is gone. Closer to it than not.
Clearing my throat, I glance toward the alcove. At least the kids seem to have fallen asleep. It would be mortifying if they were watching all this unfold. Sara's still convinced the Lycan King's going to eat them all before morning, and his current aura wouldnothelp her fears.
"Anyway," I say, desperate to change the subject before this gets any more awkward. "You were explaining… about Blue Mountain."
Caine shifts, his massive shoulders rolling as if shaking off the moment. "Not much to explain. They suffered the proper consequences."
All of thirty seconds ago, he'd admitted his actions might have been extreme. Now he's back to cold and indifferent.
I pinch my lips together. Maybe it's better to be quiet, before I offend him further.
Silence settles between us, charged but not quite uncomfortable. The distant sound of Bun's soft breathing from the alcove and Ron's occasional sleep-mumbling fills the cave.
Caine remains statue-still, his profile sharp against the dim light—all defined jaw and brooding eyes.
I'm making this worse by staying away.
The realization hits me with sudden clarity. His hand stretched out was an offering, and I scrambled away like he was contagious. Mate bond or not, energy drain or not, I've just hurt his feelings.
Something about it—this idea of a terrifying Lycan King having hurt feelings—makes my chest tighten.
With a slow breath, I slide closer until I'm sitting right beside him, our backs against the same wall. I don't touch him—obeying the rule like a good girl—but I've closed the gap. Our arms are just inches apart now. Close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from his skin.
He doesn't move away. I don't either.
"The Fiddleback Pack was strange."
His voice comes so quietly I almost miss it. I turn my head toward him, suddenly alert. This is it—he's finally answering my first question about why he tore through the city like a hurricane, right?
"Strange how?"
He stares straight ahead, eyes focused on something I can't see. The silence stretches for so long I think maybe he didn't hear me, but then his hands clench. It's a subtle movement, but I feel attuned to every last twitch of his muscles, every soft exhale of breath, and the growing need between us.
No physical contact didn't seem like a big deal when Lyre mentioned it.
The reality is much different.
