Twelve
Daria
Eventually, we make our way to the bedroom.
I don't remember deciding to move.
One minute we're lying on the living room floor wrapped around each other, laughing and catching our breath.
The next, Rand is carrying me toward the bedroom like I weigh nothing at all.
I should probably object.
Tell him I can walk.
Instead, I rest my head against his shoulder and listen to the steady beat of his heart.
Strong.
Steady.
Home.
It's ridiculous.
I've known this man less than two days.
Yesterday morning, I believed Werewolves belonged in fairy tales.
Today?
Today I'm curled up beside one.
Life is weird.
The bedroom is quiet, the late afternoon sun filtering through the old farmhouse windows, painting everything gold.
Rand slides beneath the blankets and immediately pulls me into his embrace.
Not possessively.
Comfortingly.
Like holding me is as natural as breathing.
I melt against him before I even realize I'm doing it.
His fingers lazily comb through my long blonde hair while I trace absent circles across the tattoo covering his chest.
I've never been with a man who liked this part.
The cuddling.
The staying.
The quiet afterward.
Usually, there was an awkward moment.
