There is a knock at the bedroom door as I rifle through a drawer of clothes, trying to find a pair of pants I can roll down at the waist to wear. I have some money put aside for emergencies, and I know my friends are happy to lend me clothes as well. But I really need to go shopping soon.
“Come in,” I say, and Brexley enters.
“You feeling okay?” he asks, even as his eyes rake over me. My hair is wet, and I’ve got one of his big fluffy white towels wrapped around my body.
“Yes, much better, thank you.”
There is something soft around our interaction now. Usually there are barbs and spikes, but the edges between us are all smoothed over. I’m not sure if it’s because I’m out of heat, the full moon has passed, or because we laid all of our most private pain out in the open.
“Do you,” he stops to clear his throat, “need anything?”
“No,” I say. We stand there for a moment longer.
“Okay then,” he says, as the awkwardness intensifies. He turns to go, but then abruptly changes course and crosses until he stops in front of me.
His brows draw in a scowl as he rakes a hand through his hair. “Fuck, Red. Why do you have to be so—”
“So . . . what?” I prompt.
He doesn’t say anything. Instead, he grasps my chin with one hand. Then he slides his lips along mine. The kiss is tender and deep, and it triggers all of my feelings at once. Unlike the violent frenzies we’ve given into before, there is no urgency, only deep, passionate feeling. My hands grip the knot holding up my towel.
When Brexley pulls back, I’m breathless. “I'm so what?”
Pressure builds in my chest. I’m hoping for something, so badly. But I’m not even sure what it is I’m hoping for. I only know we are on the cliff’s edge of that hope coming true.
Suddenly it’s as if I can see to the depths of his soul. I see every emotion in him and he lets me in.
I reach up to gently touch the scars that run down his face. He doesn’t stop me or pull away. Tracing the flesh, I feel like the most important person in the world for getting to touch him like this. I’m touching his vulnerability, his pain, his past. He pushes it so far away yet keeps it so close. Like me. The bubble of feeling in my chest threatens to burst.
Don’t cry, you big ninny. You’ll scare him off.
He says in a low voice. “You’re so under my skin. I thought I could get you out, but I can’t. When I leave you, it’s painful. It’s too painful.” His eyes search mine, and I realize he’s trying to tell me something.
“It hurts me too,” I confess. I felt it. When he leaves, a pressure builds around my chest the longer he is gone. Then at the Poison Apple last night, I could suddenly breathe. I didn’t know what gave me relief until I looked up and saw him standing there.
“Maybe, maybe we accidentally–”
“Mated,” I finish for him.
His throat bobs up and down as he swallows. I’ve never seen him so vulnerable. “I tried to stop it.”
“I think you were too late,” I say quietly.
“I think so too,” he agrees, then tunnels his fingers through my hair. He doesn’t kiss me again, and I realize he’s waiting. He’s waiting for me to say something more, do something more.
And then I realize, I can’t scare him off. He's seen me completely unhinged–possessed by lust, wild, and even violent at times. All the parts of myself I’ve been ashamed of for so long. But he never balked. Brexley only ever wants more of me and made it safe for me to allow my true nature.
No one else would understand, how could they? Hunter always wanted me to shove those parts of myself away. For him, I desperately worked to cram those parts of me inside, but it was like trying to punch oversized pillows in a tiny handbag. And the anxiety I felt at not being the “right way,” left me a neurotic mess.
Something thickens in my throat. Brexley may say harsh things, but his actions have spoken every word I ever longed to hear from Hunter.
I never really knew Hunter. He always kept himself at a distance, and no amount of pushing got me any closer. He was an idea I wove myself.
But Brexley is real. He did his best to push me away too. He’s lashed out and caused me pain, and made me face painful truths. But where his words were sharp as knives at times, his actions were so much louder. Getting me my favorite table, being kind to my friends, helping me study, and fae lords, even the way he treats my rabbits.
A werewolf taking care of my little house rabbits? It’s ridiculous! Ridiculously adorable. Every time Bangs and Bombs run up to Brexley looking for attention and he reaches down and ruffles their ears, my ovaries are in danger of exploding like pop rocks.
As fucked up as it is, he also didn’t need to help me with my near insatiable itch last night. But he stayed and pleasured me, gave me relief, repeatedly until I was satisfied. And then he made sure I got to my finals in as good of shape as possible. Because it matters to me.
