I wish that he would.
There’s nothing more to say, so instead we head out. Aurora turns her back politely as I shift, then hops on her bike and starts the engine. I marvel at her moonlit silhouette as we silently start out together, heading down narrow roads and half-hidden pathways that only shifters know by heart.
The Aurora I knew wasn’t this mature, this self-assured and confident. She doesn’t even seem to mind that she can’t shift, much to my surprise. It’s as if she’s accepted it, and by doing so, accepted herself.
I wonder if she’s found someone to warm her bed while she’s been living on the outskirts of our territory. An outskirts shifter, one of the newcomers, or a rebel who spits my father’s name between bared teeth.
My wolf is jealous and territorial at the thought. Aurora cranks her bike ahead, and he howls, the two of us racing toward her with as much speed as possible, as if we could catch her heart as well as the rest of her.
By the time we make camp, I’m exhausted, which is a good thing. Aurora has a sleeping bag, and I have my fur, but I shift to human form to help her set up the perimeter. I need my hands for that—but not my mouth or tongue, apparently, since neither of us says a word.
Inhaling her scent is a special kind of torture.
“I’ll take first watch,” I tell her. “After this, we’ll mostly be staying on pack lands, in guest houses, but tonight…”
“You don’t want me to be eaten by a coyote,” she says, popping her neck as she settles into her sleeping bag. “Wake me up before dawn. I’ll take the rest.” Her eyes reflect the moonlight and starshine as she says, “I can do that much, at least.”
The words that come to my tongue die unspoken behind my teeth. Nothing I can say will change this bitter thing between us, blackened and aching. It’s all my fault, and I wouldn’t change a thing.
That’s what I tell myself as the scent of lilac and honey overwhelms me. As my wolf paces and howls. As her deep, even breathing invades my head, her vulnerable beauty in sleep the greatest temptation I’ve ever known.
All my instincts tell me to go to her, hold her close to me, sink my teeth into her flesh, and make her mine.
My cock is so hard and aching that I’m surprised she didn’t notice before she went to sleep. Maybe she did but didn’t say anything. Maybe it disgusted her—after all, I’m the one who made things like this.
It isn’t hard to stay up for my shift on watch. I doubt I could fall asleep anyway.
I’m not sure if I’m strong enough to resist the pull of this bond forever.
And that scares me more than the madness or the fae ever could.
Chapter 5
Aurora
Even if it weren’t for the rising sun, I doubt I would’ve slept very long at our makeshift camp. The smell of Kieran is overpowering this close, a sharp bite of cedar with the softness of rosemary and sea salt.
I wake up before dawn and find him sitting on a rock nearby, his head on a swivel, his broad shoulders tense. He doesn’t move as I rise from my sleeping bag and walk over to stand beside him, but I can tell from the shift of muscles along his back that he’s aware of me.
As if he wouldn’t be aware of me. I’m sure he feels it all the time, the way I do: the bond. It’s a constant ache in my chest now, dulled but still present with every breath I take. I resent the fact that it doesn’t seem to hurt him the way it hurts me—that must be one of the privileges that comes with being the rejector instead of the rejected.
“I’ve got this,” I tell him, crouching beside the rock to stare off into the dull light of dawn. “Take a quick nap before we head out. I’ll make sure we aren’t being tailed by anything.”
He grunts in response. “I’m not tired.”
Watching him stand up, his powerful body looming over me—damn his impossible height—I feel a spark of indignation. “We were supposed to split the watch and each take half.”
“I don’t need the sleep,” he insists, his blue eyes not even glancing my way. “We should get there early instead of wasting more time. If we head out now, even on foot, we’ll be there before noon.”
It irks me to be dismissed, especially byhim,but there’s clearly no swaying him. Everything is up to him and always has been. It rankles me, but if going along with his decisions gets this over with quickly, maybe that’s for the best. The sooner this ever-present ache is gone from my chest the better.
We disassemble the camp in silence, exchanging little more than monosyllabic words, grunts, and gestures. Kieran guides me to a shed just off the path, previously hidden in the dark, where I can lock up my bike. It’s one of many similar sheds shifters keep near the wild paths that lead between our territories. Some are big enough to serve as sleeping spaces, and some, like this small shed, are little more than storage for water, spare clothes, and now my motorcycle.
When I get back to camp, he’s packed up everything except for two bowls of warm, sticky oatmeal and two tin mugs of coffee. Even my sleeping bag has been rolled up and tied to the bottom of my pack—something that makes me feel a little… strange, given how much I know it smells like me. The image of him inhaling my scent flashes through my mind for a moment before I bitterly remind myself that he wants nothing to do with me.
Kieran hands me my bowl unceremoniously, his back turned to me, his movements sharp and impatient.
“You sure know how to charm a lady,” I comment as I take the first bite of sticky, sweet oatmeal. “Nothing warms me upto a man faster than grunts, single syllable words, pre-dawn wakeups, and the world’s least flavorful breakfast.”
