Hours later, when I wake up, Maeve and I are no longer on opposite sides of the nest. Instead, she’s on her side, and I’m close behind her, my chest pressed into her back.
And I’m hard.
Her scent is heavy around me, thick and alluring, and it takes all my self-control to keep from rolling my hips into her,even as she lets out a little sound, tipping her head back so her curls roll to the side and her neck is exposed to me, showing her mating mark.
I want to bite it again, re-mark it, make the connection stronger. My mouth waters, and after a moment of hesitation, I get control of my wolf, grabbing him and stuffing him down. I’m not going to let him control me, no matter how loudly he howls.
Scooting back, I get some space between Maeve and me, the cool air rushing between our bodies and helping me calm down. Maeve lets out a little sound again and starts to scoot back, seeking out my body, my warmth, and I realize this was a terrible idea.
All I’ve done is set myself up for disaster, setting us up together on the floor like this.
Steeling myself, I stand, reaching down and scooping her into my arms. She smells amazing, and I hold my breath as I walk her into my bedroom, setting her on the bed and covering her with the blanket from the living room.
She whines once more, turning and reaching for me in her sleep, but I back up, heart thudding. For another long moment, I battle with my wolf—and his insistence that I climb into this bed, wake her up with the feeling of my lips on her skin—and I win.
I turn and walk out of the room, returning to the empty, cold nest on the floor. I’m not sleepy anymore, and I feel an itch in the back of my mind—if I’m not going to be with her, I might as well shift, go out, do some hunting.
But I’m not going to leave her here unprotected while she’s sleeping.
As I fall asleep, I think about the feeling of her body against mine, the expression on her face as she reached for me, and the flush on her cheeks.
And every second, I fight against wanting to get up and go to her until I finally drift off.
Chapter 11 - Maeve
I wake up reaching for Felix, expecting to find him because his scent is all around me, on the pillow under my head, and on the blankets wrapped around me.
Last night, my dreams were full of horror movie monsters, candy, popcorn, and Felix, his body against mine, his breath hot on my ear, his hands gripping me.
Now, I blink and sit up, looking around and realizing I’m not on the living room floor anymore, not in our nest. Felix must have carried me to his bed last night.
His bedroom is simple, with light gray paint and a king-sized bed in the middle of the room, the gray sheets slightly darker than the walls. A tall, light wood dresser holds a watch and a shining bottle of cologne. Wondering if someone got it for him, I push out of bed and walk over to it, picking it up and smelling it.
It’s the scent that sits over his natural one, the slightly spicy addition to him that I’ve been trying to place.
And I can smell it on me. It must be from last night, when he carried me in here.
The thought of that makes a hot blush spread up and over my cheeks. Felix must havecarried me to his bed last night. Which means he had to lift me up. I swallow down the embarrassment of that, the thought of him struggling under my weight, and try to figure out what I’m going to do now.
Last night was fun, which wasbad. It reminded me of how much I loved to spend time with him. How much we once knew about each other and our families. All the built-ininformation Felix still knows about me that I would never have to share with another person.
I set the cologne back where it was and pace for a second, trying to take several deep breaths. Trying to prepare myself for the moment I walk out of his bedroom and find him in the living room. Is he still asleep? Is he waiting for me?
Did I say anything embarrassing in my sleep last night?
Finally, I just force myself to walk through the door and into the living room. Felix isn’t there.
When I walk into the kitchen, I find a plate of strawberries and grapes on the counter, along with a note to look in the microwave. When I do, I find a stack of confetti pancakes, like we used to make when we were kids.
I swallow down the gooey feeling in my stomach, fight against the warmth I’m starting to feel for him. The sense that forgiving Felix for everything is going to be easy.
Every time he does something like this—something sweet, something reminding me of our shared history—I have to fight the urge to forgive him for everything. To accept that he’s changed.
But I’ve been through all this before. When we were kids, I thought we were best friends forever. Then, once we hit high school and popularity started to really matter, he dropped me.
And he’ll drop me again. I’m here to get the inheritance, and I’m leaving. I’m not letting these feelings mess up my head, and I’m definitely not letting them put me in another position where Felix can break my heart like he did.
I heat up the food, sit down at the table, and try to ignore how good the pancakes are.
