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You can do this. Lift your hands, dammit. Reach for him. Scream for him. Pull yourself out of this!
My body doesn’t respond. I’m trapped in it, trapped in this frozen nightmare, floating above myself, waiting for the shadow to consume me.
Then, as if rubber bands bind my mind, the constriction snaps, releasing me from cataplexy. I gasp for air and jerk up, pushing away, only to be pulled back and restrained by suffocating arms.
“Frankie?” Kodiak’s voice vibrates against me. “What’s wrong?”
“Muscle atonia.” I search the room for the phantom and see no shadow. No child-size silhouette.
It wasn’t real, but goddammit, the frightening sensations cling.
“What?” He grips my chin, lifting it to make eye contact.
“Sleep paralysis. I couldn’t move.”
“Is that common?”
“It can be for people experiencing psychological stress.” I push at his wrist, removing his unnerving touch. “Guess when it started for me.”
He has the decency to look guilty. “Is it night terrors?”
“I guess. Except I’m conscious. Every time I wake from a violent, vivid dream, I’m fully aware but completely paralyzed. And the hallucinations…Jesus, those are the worst.”
“Hallucinations about what?”
“Children. Wild, man-eating children.” I steady my breath, bolstered in the grip of his black gaze. “Have there been others? Other kids? Babies? Pregnancies? More than you, Leonid, and Wolf?”
His arms slack around me, allowing me to ease out of his embrace.
He doesn’t move to return to his bed, his eyes ever watchful, never leaving my face.
It’s an intimate moment, dark and confined. In the shade separating the midnight sun and the polar night, between the heartbeat and the hush, it’s a space for sharing secrets.
When he doesn’t answer, I ask about his mother and the women who came before me. He continues to stare at me wordlessly, so I press him for Denver’s plans. I put dozens of questions to him, but only one catches his attention.
“Am I safe with you?”
Before the last word leaves my mouth, his uninjured hand clamps around my nape, and his lips cover mine.
Soft, plump, masculine, scorching hot lips.
I’m so shocked by the assertive feel of them that I don’t fight. Instead, I find myself opening to him and tasting his tongue.
Good God, he’s delicious and earthy, teasing my senses with hints of blueberries and vodka between stinging bites of aggression. I forget myself in the blazing heat of his kiss, his need so raw and unhinged I don’t know where I am or what I’m doing.
His lips expertly guide me as if moving on instinct, his tongue sweeping, licking, causing strange, fluttery pulsations in my chest. Goosebumps cover my skin. My hand rests on his hard stomach, heat radiating between us, through me, burning me up. God, what am I doing?
I’m married.
I love Monty.
“Stop.” Heaving, I shove him away and scramble back so fast my head hits the wall.
He glares at me in the darkness, breaths labored and lips wet. His tongue peeks out to lick them, to savor the remnants of our kiss. Jesus, that’s so fucking hot.
And wrong.
Shame coils in my stomach, making me sick.
I’m sick. This isn’t me. I’m not this weak…this selfish, cheating, pathetic person.
This place is fucking with my head. Injecting my mind with poison. I’m not strong enough to beat it. Not with my mind intact. If I manage to escape, will I be the same person? Will I be able to look at myself in the mirror?
He unfolds from the bed and strides away.
“Why did you do that?” I whisper. “Why kiss me?”
Lowering to the floor, he leans back against the door and settles in to watch over me. Or just to stare. “You wanted to know if you’re safe with me.”
So he kissed me in answer?
He’s all savage angles, sharp lines, and menacing wolf eyes, and now I know his mouth tastes like a forest of smoldering berries and wildfire. And his kiss doesn’t burn out. It continues to kindle without the press of lips, hot and deep, tingling my tongue, searing my throat, and branding my nerve endings all the way to my toes.
No, I’m not safe with him. Not safe at all.
26
Wolfson
—
I wake to the sound of heavy breathing. It’s a coarse sound, unrefined, conjuring images of an overgrown primate humping a tree.
Cracking open an eye, I find not one but two overgrown primates. They’re just standing there, staring at me like a pair of hairy tits.
My brothers are fucking mouth-breathers.
“Not today, pets.” I roll away. “I’m calling in sick.”
“I’m the one who should be in bed today.” Kody yanks me back by my hair and shoves his bandaged hand in my face. “Remember?”
“You want to go there?” I jackknife into a sitting position, knocking him away. “Yeah, let’s talk about how you stole the fun for yourself last night.”
“Fun?” His face screws up.
“It’s called knife play, babe. All the kids are doing it.”
“This is why we never take you seriously.”
