by Rebecca Main
“Hi.”
He swaggers over to our table, a paper bag in hand bearing the local bookstore’s logo. “And who is this?” He outstretches a hand, which Ben takes enthusiastically.
“Ben, I’m Zoey’s—”
“Boyfriend,” I interject swiftly. “He’s my boyfriend, and we don’t actually have a lot of time together so if you wouldn’t mind….”
“Zoey,” Ben’s voice carries a low warning to it, eyes darting back and forth between Ryatt and me as he attempts to assess the situation. He’s not used to me being so rude, but the Adolphus family seems to bring out my brasher side.
“Ah, the infamous Ben. Truth be told, I’ve been dying to meet you. Tell me, what exactly are your thoughts on carpentry? Would you say you’re more of a claw hammer man or a ball peen? I quite like the feel and swing of a sledgehammer.” His smile cuts like a razor, eyes twinkling with malicious intent.
“How do you know him?” Ben asks me, his voice somewhat strained.
“I know his sister. She’s nice,” I tell him, surprised at my honest words.
“And my other brother,” Ryatt interjects. “I’d say he’s just a few years older than our Zoelle here. Instant connection those two—I mean with my sister, of course. Why, I would go as far to say that we think of Zoe as family already.”
“Well, I suppose if you really thought of her as family you would know that she prefers Zoey to Zoe.” Ben retorts.
“Does she? Is that right, Zoey?”
“I like them both, but... I do prefer Zoe,” I admit abashedly.
“Hmmm,” Ryatt exhales thoughtfully. “Well, I saw you and just wanted to come by and thank you, Zoe.”
I wrinkle my brow. “For what?”
“Why, I haven’t seen my brother this happy in ages! Whatever you did or said to him the other day has put him in a right, good mood.”
He sends me a saucy wink and salutes Ben before walking off, hands shoved into his pockets, bag bumping up against his side. The most annoying whistle on his lips. I feel the color drain from my face, and the familiar knot of anxiety twist my insides apart. This isn’t how today was supposed to happen.
“Do you see his brother a lot?” Ben asks uncertainly.
“No!” I reply more sharply than intended. I earn a raised eyebrow in return. “It’s just that I see his family a lot. More than I would like, to be honest. They… they deal with Gran’s business and the aunts on a regular basis. So, we always seem to be bumping into each other. His sister really is quite kind though.” A ton of rocks drops to the pit of my stomach, anchoring me to my seat as the lies slip forth. What am I doing?
“Right.” There is a tightness to his voice that shames me. “And you all of a sudden prefer to be called Zoe?”
“I like that you call me Zoey. I'm your Zoey.” My conscious screams at me to confess my sins, but Ryatt’s appearance has clearly ruined the moment.
We finish the rest of my meal in awkward silence and conversation, the tension between us growing, but unwilling to bend or break. Something in my heart cracks at my cowardice, when he leaves. Ben only gives me a quick peck on the cheek before racing off even earlier than he originally said. Our farewell lacks its usual spark and affection, with both our hearts stretched thin. And, I note grimly, Ben’s kiss is nothing in comparison to Xander’s lightest of touches.
– Chapter 8 –
A New Deal
After the lunch date ordeal, Xander and I renegotiate our agreement. I can’t quite remember the details of how I’m convinced to do so, but one late night call from Katerina Adolphus is apparently all it takes. She pleads passionately on her son’s behalf for more than an hour until I find myself agreeing to her new terms. Daily texting and or calls. Visits down to three times a week, and physical contact limited to hugs or casual touches.
I can’t deny the rush of anxiety I feel after I end the call with Katerina. The days spent earlier this week with Xander had been nice. Without the pressure of an arrangement hanging over our heads, we actually got along.
Granted, we had pseudo chaperons for those encounters, but I hadn’t minded their presences one bit.
If I’m honest, I’m worried Xander will revert back to his old ways, now the new deal has been struck. But my worries are unwarranted. Mostly.
Our first few face-to-face meetings I feel much like Little Red Riding Hood with Xander taking the part of the Big Bad Wolf. But the Big Bad Wolf dressed up in slim-cut suits and Gucci cologne. He always brings flowers and makes sure to flash his dimples whenever possible. He’s charming. Downright fucking pleasant. To make matters worse, he actively listens to me. Asks questions. Engages me in conversations outside my comfort zone.
Once again, I’m confronted with a new side of Xander: the seducer. And he’s not just after my body, but my heart and mind as well.
Though my head cautions me still, knowing Xander plays nice only to get closer to me, the pros seem to outweigh the cons. The soulmark is tempered by his nearness, and as such, so is my sanity. I’ll endure Xander’s unwavering attention if it means I can focus on my life outside of coven and pack affairs. Like the issue of my crumbling relationship with Ben.
I should have told him at lunch, I think for the thousandth time. There’s no doubt about it. My relationship with Ben is falling to pieces right in front of my eyes. And I have no one to blame but myself.
As if Xander can smell the end coming, he begins to circle.
Painting words left to entice, then feigning innocence at my incredulous looks with wide eyes and a coy smile.
“What can I say, Miss. Baudelaire. I aim to misbehave.” Said while stealing a bite of my chocolate torte.
“Some of the best moments in life are the ones you can’t talk about.” Said while partially licking honey off his bottom lip.
“Open wide.” Said just before offering me a bite of his dessert.
Standing far too near without ever touching at all. Pulling out my chair and reading over my shoulder. The soft pant of his breath hovering closely to my ear.
Showing off his strength in clever ways. Cleaning the front gutters of the house at the request of Aunt Lydia. He does so without a shirt. The taut lines of his abdominals teasing me from my bedroom window. It is a highly unnecessary action, yet no less effective in completely stealing my attention. Sneaky bastard.
For every show of strength, he speaks openly with me about some insecurity of his.
For every call I leave unanswered from Ben, he gazes at me with knowing, understanding eyes.
For every bold suggestion comes a swift apology. But the damage is already done.
Images of the two of us plague my mind, both waking and asleep. To date, I had never met a man so keen on seducing me. Nor more adept with his techniques. Thankfully most of our in-person encounters occur in settings flush with a multitude of scents to busy the senses. Lest Xander detect my scent of arousal. By some of his less restrained heated looks, I know we careen toward the end of our game of chase.
I can’t decide if I’m relieved or terrified. Both, if my food has anything to say about it.
“This just isn’t working,” I mutter to myself. Skin prickling in sudden anticipation. I raise my eyes to the front door. It’s Xander. I can feel his aura approaching my barrier: an array of deep and clear bright reds that shouts his strength and prowess for all to see. I’m home alone, and I would bet my savings that he knows it. He always manages to get me alone for our time together. Pausing in my work as a knock sounds at the door, I concentrate on lowering the barrier and opening the door with my mind. It takes a long moment, but the telltale click of the lock retreating into its chamber sounds and the door creaks open.
“Zoelle?”
I take a deep breath, stealing my nerves against what is to come. “In the kitchen!”
He walks in, surveying the scene with a casual eye before approaching me from behind. The length of his arm curls around my middle, chest fitting itself snug against my back as he gives
me a one-armed hug.
“How are you?” he asks, his voice low and near my ear.
“Fine,” I respond with a shrug, disengaging him easily. Glancing over my shoulder, I watch as he prepares a vase for the flowers he has brought.
“What are you making?”
“Apple cinnamon rolls, but a bit differently. I want them to look like one of those blooming apple tarts at the bakery, but I’m not cutting the dough right.”
“Maybe I can help,” he offers, rolling up the sleeves of his button-down and tossing me a smile.
“I’m afraid Adolphus men aren’t allowed to slave away in the kitchen.”
His eyes narrow playfully as he mimics the way I place the cinnamon rolls in their ramekins. “I don’t mind breaking the rules if you don’t,” he tells me in confidence leaning toward me. I send him a disapproving glare, but it lacks its usual sting. That has been happening a lot recently. So have my ill attempts at getting him to call me Zoe. Or even Zoey.
“I can manage on my own,” I insist halfheartedly.
“You don’t have to though,” he murmurs. “I’m here.” Our eyes briefly catch.
“I know.” I duck my head and continue working, letting Xander keep up the conversation until the mood has lightened. He teases and taunts until keeping a smile off my face becomes an odious task.
“Are you always this domineering in the kitchen? Geez.”
I laugh and swat at the hand that reaches for the empty dough bowl. “No more! You’ll get yourself sick if you keep eating that. It has raw egg in it.” He smiles charmingly back at me, dimples peeking through.
His hand darts forward once more, carefree smile still in place, as I smack his hand again with the sticky spatula. With a laugh, he licks the remains of cinnamon sugar and dough from his hand. “Harder, Zoelle.”
I blush and guffaw, hitting him indeed harder with the spatula. A rumble of his pleased laughter fills the kitchen. “Behave,” I scold as I place the ramekins in the oven and begin clearing the island. I rebuff Xander’s attempt to help, asking him over my shoulder instead to fix us some tea.
But Xander stands stock-still. Breath bated at my instruction. Then I realize why. My hand is placed without a thought near the bottom of his spine. The touch is casual yet somehow so intimate. It is something I am careful never to do. I stare at the offender in horror, before drawing it sharply back against my chest and turning to the sink.
“You know,” I say, forging past the obvious electricity crackling between us. “I hope you’ve taken your sister’s concerns to heart. I don’t think it’s unreasonable to keep a few stronger members of your pack behind, even if it means coming across rude at the dinner party. Don’t the Wselfwulf’s have a history of going back on their word?”
“They never made a promise not to attack us during the dinner. It needn’t be said. The dinner is a celebration the entire Wselfwulf pack will be expected to attend. If anything, I’ll need my strongest by my side throughout the dinner if something happens.”
“Well….”
“It will be fine, Zoelle. We’ve run through a number of possibilities about how the night might go. We’re well prepared for any outcome.” The alpha comes through in his voice. It is full of calming authority that puts my nervousness at ease.
“That’s good.”
He hums in response, handing me dishes instead of grabbing the tea from the cabinet. I’m all too aware of his nearness. The scent of pine and spice assailing my nose with each brush of his arm against mine. I step to the side, allowing him room in front of the sink, which he eagerly takes.
“You don’t need to be afraid,” Xander tells me reassuringly. “The Wselfwulf pack will do you no harm. I won’t let them.” A shiver runs its way across my body at the fervor of his promise. “I won’t let anyone hurt you, and neither will my mother apparently. She’s mentioned you two sometimes talk.” I flush and nod. We did. Little text messages here and there. Nothing to0 intrusive. We work in silence. His words drive me to speechlessness.
I’m not sure when his gentle flirting had turned into such neat promises, but they’re beginning to take their toll. I shift my weight from foot to foot, hurrying to get the dishes done, so I can grab the tea.
As we put the last of the dishes into the dishwasher and wipe off our hands, I make a beeline for the tea cabinet only to run into Xander’s solid chest. He steadies me. His hands deliciously warm against my arms.
“Sorry,” I mumble, getting lost in the depths of his eyes. His fingers tighten for one tantalizing second before releasing me and shifting back. Big Bad Wolf letting Little Red get away? How unnerving.
But as I pass, I can hear him suck in a deep, rattling breath. His resounding groan freezes me to the spot as I cast a helpless look toward him. One hand grips the counter tightly, while the other rests in a tightly balled fist at his side. But he does not turn around to face me. I gulp, knowing very well that I should continue with my task. Knowing that if I do, one of us will speak and break the spell laying between us. But I don’t.
My heart hammers painfully against my chest and the soulmark quakes in anticipation. I shake my head at my weakness. I shouldn't. I tell myself, ready to correct my mistake when his hand falls heavy on my shoulder.
“He’ll never know,” he tells me hotly.
With great effort, I attempt to summon the indignation I know I ought to possess. “You can’t possibly think that I would—”
He turns fully to face me and takes a step closer. “But you already have.” The cool confidence in his quiet words leaves me shaking. He stalks closer.
“It wasn’t anything,” I protest, missing the hardening resolution of his features. “It was the soulmark.”
“No,” he speaks slowly, his other hand coming to trace the path from rib to hip. “No more excuses. No more talking.”
My words fail to reach my tongue. Heart pounding as it is, fierce and hard in my throat. Xander’s eyes dilate, flecks of bright gold stealing around his pupil. For a fleeting moment, I imagine the idea of surrender. The onslaught of pleasure it will surely bring. My eyes flick toward Xander’s lips, and it is enough to break our standstill. With a snarl, he crushes me to his chest, his lips slanting across my own in a vicious kiss.
I cannot stifle the urgent sound of longing against his mouth. In an instant, I am itching inside my own skin as he deepens the kiss. His tongue goads me into action until my hands find their way around his neck and steal into his hair. My back slams against the cabinet door just as his thigh thrusts itself between my own. My hips rock forward to meet his as we share a groan of pleasure.
Xander draws back enough to look down at me, a starved look in his eyes. I can't imagine how I must look, panting and mindless. A crazed fire runs through my veins, one I can no longer ignore. One stronger than magic. My hips tilt forward to relive the delicious friction.
“You are maddening,” he breathes fiercely pressing back into me. My eyes slide shut at his heady exclamation, my neck tilting ever so slightly to the side to accept his attentions. He bites and licks. Sucks the skin until it bruises. “You’ve made me weak like I’ve never known before.” He growls into my skin, reclaiming my lips and swallowing my gasp.
My nails dig into his skin, begging him closer as the weight of his torturous hands glide across my body leaving fire in their wake. We share the longest, most insistent kiss I have ever known. It leaves me delirious. No man should be able to coax such trembling feeling from a body. I can only attempt to keep up, my own hands wandering down the rigid planes of his chest and abs. My teeth nip at his lips. My tongue urges him on. But as soon as I begin to pursue his touch in earnest, he slows. The kiss turns languid and sensual. Thorough. His hands caress my sides, slipping down toward my thighs.