by Zoe Chant
“It happened when we were busting a drug dealer in this old warehouse by the docks. Hardwick and I went in first. We did that a lot, because Hardwick has shifter abilities; he’s stronger, faster, and he can tell when people are lying. He said it’s a griffin thing.”
He paused again. The words came hard, each sentence forced out past a moment’s indecision.
“But I was distracted.”
“By what?” Olly asked softly.
The answer was almost too quiet to hear. “By thoughts of you.”
Sick guilt choked her. He’d been shot because of her?
“No!” he said quickly, reading the shame on her face like an open book. “Don’t blame yourself. It wasn’t you, Olly. It was me. I ran from the mountains, ran from you. But I couldn’t leave you behind. I thought about you all the time. I woke to thoughts of you and dreamed of you at night.”
He paused again. She squeezed his hands in wordless encouragement.
“Right before I went in, Hardwick turned to me and said, ‘Are you good to do this?’ I said yes; what else was I going to say?” His mouth twisted in a faint, unhappy smile. “Hardwick just looked at me, and he said, ‘You’re lying. If you need to take a backseat on this one, partner, tell me now.’”
“But you didn’t,” Olly whispered. Because admitting something’s wrong would mean admitting you couldn’t handle it. It would mean admitting how out of control you were.
Her owl shuffled uncomfortably inside her.
“No,” he said. “I didn’t. I told Hardwick again that I was fine, and he looked away, and I knew right then that he knew I’d been lying to myself for months. How could he not know? But he backed me up, like he always did. He didn’t say a word, just went in at my side, like always. And then... then the shooting started...”
His hands felt cold in hers. She stroked the backs of his hands with her thumbs, and tried not to let her gaze keep being drawn to the scar at his temple.
“This one guy, he almost got the drop on Hardwick, because Hardwick was too busy covering me. Hardwick knew how out of it I was. He could see it better than I could.”
“Did Hardwick...” she began hesitantly. “Is he—”
Jackson shook his head. “No, he’s fine. I took the shooter out before he got my partner, but I took a bullet in the process.”
Took a bullet. Such a simple phrase for something so awful. She could almost see him lying on the warehouse floor, with blood all around him, splattered on his clothes and his beloved face.
“You could have died.” It came out choked.
“But I didn’t.” He almost smiled. “Left me this dashing scar. At least that’s what Ma calls it.”
She managed a tiny grin. “Your mom’s sense of humor is worse than yours.”
He shook his head. His hair fell back over his forehead, hiding the scar. Without thinking, she reached out and brushed it back again.
“I had a lot of time to think in the hospital. Like I was making up for all the time I spent not thinking. About you. About the situation here. Leaving things the way I did... We never even talked. I never told you—” He broke off. His expression tightened. “I almost got Hardwick killed because I couldn’t admit that I was too distracted, too fucked up, to be working that job that night.”
“It’s not your fault.” A sudden flash of insight, the kind she used to get all the time, back when she and her owl were working together rather than against each other. “Hardwick told you the same thing, didn’t he?”
“Yes,” Jackson admitted, looking away.
“You’re still friends.”
“Maybe. I haven’t really seen him much since the shooting, except when he came to see me in the hospital. I just walked away.” His smile was more like a miserable grimace. “Like I do.”
“Oh, come on,” she said. “Hardwick’s not going to blame you for that. He knows you had to go away to get your head together.”
“Really?” He hesitantly raised his eyes to hers, and she was caught off guard by how neatly she had trapped herself.
“Yes,” she said, feeling around the edges of the idea. Forgiveness. For herself. For him. It felt strange, and yet... right.
“I thought leaving here was the right thing to do, too. Leaving without even talking to you, or telling you I still—” He shook his head, a sharp jerk. “I told myself that if I wasn’t your mate, then there was no point in me sticking around. It’d only hurt us both, and you… didn’t have any use for me.”
“No.” It burst out, faster than thought. No, never.
“No?” A brief glint of humor failed to cover up the heaviness in his eyes. “What would you have done if I hadn’t run away? If I’d stayed, and begged you to keep me?”
“I’d have done the right thing.” She licked her lips, trying to convince herself. “Told you to leave. Because you deserved better than someone who knows they’re not fated to be with you.”
The lines deepened at the corners of his mouth—a mouth meant for smiling, turned down now. “How do you know what I deserve?”
“Because I know you! Because you’re brave, and kind, and you listen and watch people almost as much as I do, but you do it so you can help them. You deserve so much more than I’ve given you.” She had both her hands on his face now, caressing the prickle of stubble on his jawline. “I should have talked to you then.”
“How? I’d already run away.” The sad curve of his mouth deepened. “I’m not your mate, Olly... Am I?”
She hunted within herself. She didn’t even know what it was meant to feel like, this mate-bond everyone was so obsessed with. She just knew she didn’t have it. All her feelings for Jackson hadn’t transmuted into some magical connection. And she’d been so shaken by that she hadn’t let herself see what they’d stayed.
Love. Normal, everyday, wonderful love.
“No,” she whispered. “So we were both right. The right thing was for each of us to let the other go.”
He seemed to become smaller, his shoulders rolling inwards. Olly grabbed them and this time, she couldn’t stop her fingertips digging in like her owl’s talons. Holding onto what was hers.
She met his eyes. “I want to do the wrong thing.”
15
Jackson
Olly’s words echoed in his head.
“You do?” he said. He shook his head. “No. I must have heard you wrong.”
Olly pressed her lips together.
“I didn’t hear you wrong.”
She shook her head.
“But—” He wanted to hold her. Twelve months of confusion and longing honed to a knife-sharp point of need inside him. He pushed it down, same as he’d been doing that whole twelve months and telling himself he wasn’t. “That’s impossible. You said it yourself. I’m not your mate.”
“No.” She slipped her hand into his. “And I still love you.”
Her eyes widened as though she’d surprised herself. Her free hand flew to her mouth.
“I can’t believe I just said that. I can’t believe I spent a year…” She tore away from him and spun away, then turned back to him, her eyes blazing. “A year! Being miserable, and telling myself I wasn’t, telling myself everything was happening the way it was meant to, so what I was feeling couldn’t be real, couldn’t be important…”
Something in Jackson’s chest, some secret part of his heart or soul or whatever the hell it was non-shifters had, fluttered and then stilled, as though it was waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Olly paused. Her eyes flicked sideways, the way they always did when she was checking with her owl. She frowned.
“But how is that possible?” Jackson didn’t want to ask, but he had to. The look on her face… “Your owl—”
“It was trying to help.” Her expression was a muddle of confusion and tenderness. “All the time. I thought I needed certainty so that’s what it tried to give me. And I never let it see how unhappy I was, so…”
“It threw you into a frozen lake!
”
“I already told you why. It thought it had a good reason.”
“How is a ring a good—”
“Where is it?” Olly’s eyes flashed. She reached under the bedcovers, feeling around. “I’m sure it’s here somewhere. I had it in my hand, I know I did…”
“What’s so important about that damn ring?” he asked, half-laughing as she hunted through the bedcovers.
“It’s not the ring. It’s what it represents. Aha!”
She sat up, holding one closed hand in front of herself.
“What are you doing?”
Her lips twitched. He wasn’t sure whether she was laughing, or trying to stop herself from crying. “I told my owl how unhappy I’d been, and why. I told it I was in love with you. And it went to get me this.” Her eyes were shining, and he still couldn’t tell: tears of happiness, or sorrow? Her voice dropped. “It wanted to fix things.”
She was clutching the ring as tightly as she had been when he pulled her out of the water. He hadn’t even been able to open her hand, then. Now he gently uncurled her fingers, one by one. The tourists’ engagement ring glittered on her palm.
He swallowed. “That’s not going to fit on any of my fingers,” he managed to say.
“We can’t keep it!” She snatched her hand away and dropped the ring on the bedside table. “I’m an owl, not a magpie.”
“Didn’t you just tell me your owl’s the one who picked it up?”
“We’re going to return it,” she said firmly. “It’s the right thing to do.”
His heart hammered in his chest. “I thought you wanted to do the wrong thing?”
Olly stared up at him, her gaze long and searching and no longer confusing. She was happy and Jackson felt a corner of his heart open up to the possibility that he might be, too.
“That’s different,” she murmured. “I’m still going to do everything wrong when it comes to you. Even though it’s not fate, even though I’m not meant to… I love you.”
“I love you too.”
His voice hung in the air. One heartbeat. Two.
Then Olly was kissing him. Her lips were still cool; Jackson wrapped both her arms around her and kissed her until they were both panting and the icy water was a distant memory. When the kiss broke, they were both lying down—he didn’t even remember when that had happened—with the blankets tangled around him.
“Twelve months,” Olly grumbled, her breath hot against his cheek. “Twelve—what was wrong with me?”
She kissed him before he could answer, then kissed him until he couldn’t remember the question, her body hot and straining against his. He ran his hands down her sides. It had been so long since he’d seen her, touched her…
He hissed as her hands found a fresh bruise on his side.
“Where did that come from?” She outlined it, her fingers so gentle it somehow hurt more.
“Pond,” he replied shortly. “You kicked me.”
“No!”
“Good thing you did. I couldn’t see—” He shook his head. “Let’s not talk about this now.”
She shivered and he rolled over, holding her close beneath him. Her chest rose and fell under his as he nuzzled her neck, brushed wet strands of hair away from her skin and then kissed her again until she gasped with need.
He moved down her body, inch by inch, rediscovering her. He laid gentle kisses on her nipples and harder ones on the crease between her hips and her belly. He nipped lightly at the top of her thigh and her leg jumped.
Olly moaned breathlessly. Her hands roved over his shoulders, the back of his neck, her fingers tangling in his hair as though she didn’t know whether she wanted to pull him back up and kiss him or push him further down.
He went down.
He kissed the hot wetness between her legs, and flicked his tongue out to caress her clit. She gasped, both legs twitching.
“Is this good?” Jackson asked, his voice a rumbling murmur against her heat.
“Oh God.” It was exactly the answer he’d hoped for. He kissed her again, sliding one finger between her slick folds, and had to hold her leg down with his other hand.
“No kicking,” he warned her, and pressed her mouth against her clit as he repeated: “No kicking… be careful…”
This was heaven. Olly’s body strained tight as a bow. He slid another finger inside her and she moaned.
“No more. Please. Come back—up here—”
Jackson relented. Olly’s eyes were shining. Her lips were red and wet, the surrounding skin roughened from his stubble. He touched it, a silent apology, and she closed her eyes, tipping her head back.
Jackson froze.
Olly’s eyes flew open. “What’s wrong?”
Everything. Jackson swallowed. “It’s nothing. I…”
“Jackson.”
Jackson’s head dropped onto the pillow beside her head. He couldn’t bear to look her in the eye. Couldn’t bear the caring concern in her voice. When she realized why he’d frozen—
He lay above her. She was still trembling; he was shaking, still buried deep inside her, still holding her safe in his arms as they both gave themselves over to breathless climax. This was it. Everything had led to this. Every late night together watching the stars, the quick looks that had gotten longer, silent questions eventually given voice… They were together and for the first time Jackson could remember, everything in the world felt right.
He felt right.
Then she opened her eyes.
“I’m sorry,” Olly whispered, back in the present. “I should have thought.”
She touched his face—gently, cautiously. Her fingertips rested just next to his scar.
“I should have realized,” she continued, her voice edged with irony, “that recreating the moment I broke your heart might be a bad idea.”
“It’s not your fault.” His voice was tight.
“I should have thought. I had all the—it’s not even a case of having all the pieces! It doesn’t take an owl shifter to see the problem here!” She groaned. “I’m sorry. God. What a mess.”
Jackson rolled onto his back. She kept her hand in his hair and didn’t complain when he pulled her close, winding his arms around her as they lay nestled together in the tangled blankets.
“I don’t think either of us were doing much thinking,” he admitted. “Not with our brains. This isn’t—we can’t—”
“I want to.” She watched him, waiting, her heart in her eyes. “You’re the only man I want, Jackson Gilles. Even if we’re not mates. Even if it’s not fate.”
His chest twisted. Yes, he’d been hurt. He hadn’t needed to hear her say he wasn’t her mate that night twelve months ago – it had been clear in every line of her face. In the way she’d pulled away from him, as though even his touch horrified her. And then she had said it, neatly shutting the door on paradise and throwing away the key, and she might as well have taken a pickaxe to his heart.
But she’d been hurt, too. Her own soul had betrayed her. That had to cut deeper than…
“You’re sure?” he said, like an idiot. Olly would think he was—
But of course Olly wouldn’t blame anyone for checking and double-checking.
She gave him a brief, understanding smile. “Yes. I’m sick of lying to myself. I’m not going to lie to you, too.”
“I can’t lie to myself anymore, either,” he admitted. “I told myself I would never come back here. Then when Jasper called about his paperwork, I told myself I wouldn’t see you. That I’d already shut the door on my broken heart forever and there was no point opening it again.” His mouth twisted. “See how well that worked out.”
“Didn’t it?” Olly wriggled around until she was pressed against his chest.
Jackson wrapped his arms around her. She was warm, and soft, and everything he’d thought he’d lost forever.
“No more broken heart, right?” she whispered.
He knew Olly too well to miss the double question. He pulled her
close.
“It’s healing.”
“Good.” She nuzzled close against him. “Mine, too.” Her tone went completely dry. “Piece by piece.”
He snorted and buried his face in her hair. It was still damp, and smelled like pond water, but her own scent was there beneath it, sweet and wild.
Olly. His Olly.
He slid his hand down her back and she tipped her head up. “Hmm?”
“Just checking. Either you’re warming up or I’m freezing as well.”
She huffed with amusement and grabbed his hand. “You don’t feel cold to me.”
“Well, the same rule applies. If you’re still freezing, I’d feel—”
She snaked one foot up and pressed it against his inner thigh. He bit back a shriek. “All right! I’m not freezing. Or I wasn’t. Your foot’s like ice.”
Jackson reached down and wrapped his hands around her foot until it started to approach above-freezing temperatures. “You should have said. We need to keep all of you warm, after the lake.”
“I just think they remember being the only bit of me not covered in feathers, even in human form.” Olly shrugged and wriggled her toes. “You can keep doing that, though.”
“Hmm.” He found her other foot and gave it the same treatment. She gazed at him, one hand resting on his cheek.
“Thank you,” she said softly.
“What for?” He massaged her feet. “Saving your life?”
“Oh, that.” She wrinkled her nose, and then her expression tensed. “I mean giving me another chance. I won’t let you down this time. I promise.”
“Olly, you didn’t—” Jackson’s hands stilled and he knew, he just knew, that whatever he said now it would come up against Olly’s steely obstinacy. So instead of arguing, he said: “And I promise not to run away this time.”
“You didn’t—”
“And you didn’t let me down.” He let go of her feet and took her hand. “We were both confused, and both hurting. But we can’t start over if we keep dragging up what we did wrong last time.”