The warmth of the diner, the safety of Wayne and April’s protection, the illusion that I could build something lasting inMillbrook, all of it had been temporary. A brief respite before the inevitable reckoning with choices made in heat and rage.
As I stood on the sidewalk, pregnant and surrounded, I realized my quiet life had just ended with military precision.
25
— • —
Rhea
The parking lot felt like a gladiator arena with SUVs forming the walls. The cold wind bit at my exposed skin, but it was nothing compared to the burn of Damon’s hand on my lower back, steering me toward his vehicle like I was property to be managed.
I jerked away from his touch, whirling to face him despite the awkwardness of my changed balance. The twins shifted with the sudden movement, and I had to brace one hand against the nearest SUV to steady myself. But I needed to see him, needed to catalog what these months had cost the Lycan King who destroyed my life.
Up close, I could see how the months had ravaged him. Weight loss had left his clothes hanging loose on a frame that used to fill them perfectly. His hands carried a tremor that spoke ofnerve damage from prolonged mate bond rejection. Dark circles hollowed out his eyes, and his skin had taken on the grayish pallor of someone who hadn’t slept properly in months. He looked like an alpha whose mate bond was eating him alive.
Good.
“You’re pregnant.” The words came out accusatory, as if I’d committed another crime against him.
A laugh escaped me, sharp and bitter enough to cut. “Brilliant observation. Lycan King education is really paying off.”
His jaw clenched at my sarcasm, that familiar muscle ticking with barely controlled fury. We stood three feet apart, but the space crackled with electricity, the mate bond trying to bridge what rejection had severed. My traitorous body betrayed me with its response. My nipples hardened beneath my coat, visible through the thin fabric of my dress. My breath shortened to match his. Pregnancy had made everything more sensitive, every nerve ending hyperaware of his proximity.
“How far along?” The question sounded strangled, his eyes fixed on my belly like it held answers to questions he was afraid to ask.
“Do the math yourself. Or did you forget that night too conveniently?”
Don’t let him see how much his presence affects you, I commanded myself, even as my thighs pressed together against the ache building between them. Weeks of dreams, months of my body calling for him, and now he was here and I hated how much I wanted him still.
He moved closer, crowding me against the nearest SUV. The metal was cold against my back, but Damon’s body heat overwhelmed everything else. “You ran carrying my pup. My heir.” The possessive emphasis on each word made my wolf stir despite everything. “You had no right…”
His words undid every last bit of control I was holding onto. I raised my hand without a second thought, and I slapped him. Hard. The crack echoed across the parking lot like a gunshot. His head snapped to the side, and when he looked back, his eyes flashed gold, his wolf rising to meet my challenge.
“I had no right? You rejected me. Banished me. Accused me of murder. And you talk about rights?”
One moment we were glaring, the next he was pressing me against the vehicle, mouth crashing down on mine with months of pent-up hunger. I meant to bite, to fight, to resist. Instead, I moaned as his familiar taste flooded my senses, coffee and mint and that dark undertone that was purely him.
My hands fisted in his shirt, pulling him closer even as my mind screamed traitor. The expensive fabric bunched under my grip as I used him for balance, for grounding, for everything I shouldn’t need from him. Damon’s hand spread possessively over my bump, palm warm against where they grew.
“I hate you,” I gasped between kisses that felt more like punishment than passion.
“I know,” he breathed against my mouth. “I hate myself too.”
This changes nothing, I reminded myself even as my legs parted to accommodate his hips. Remember that.
His hands were everywhere, relearning my changed body with devastating efficiency. Pregnancy had made me fuller, softer in places I used to be angular. His touch cataloged every change like he was memorizing me all over again. My back arched without permission, pressing into his exploration.
He lifted me onto the SUV’s hood like I weighed nothing, stepping between my spread thighs. The position was obscene, me on display in a public parking lot, him pressed against my core. The metal was cold against my ass, my dress riding up to bunch around my thigh. But shame took second place to the fire in my blood.
His hands slid up my thighs, pushing fabric higher and higher, knuckles grazing bare skin with reverent slowness. He paused just above the apex of my thighs, eyes dark with hunger, then continued the ascent until the hem of my dress bunched around my hips.
His voice dropped low, coarse with want. “Still the softest thing I’ve ever touched. Every inch of you drives me insane.”
The cool air hit the heat between my legs, and his gaze locked on the damp cotton stretched over my center.
He made a sound deep in his throat, thumb grazing the wet spot. “You’re soaked through. Do you even realize how much you give away like this? Still so greedy, so ready for me.”
I could feel his arousal pressing against me through his pants, could feel my own wetness soaking through underwear. I had imagined this again and again, but nothing compared to the heat of his hands and the way my body responded without hesitation.
