Page 80 of Glitched Fates & Stolen Mates

“While Flynn stands next to him, elbowing him in the ribs.”

We sniggered, then fell into comfortable silence, still holding hands. The late afternoon sun filtered through the canopy above us, casting shifting patterns of light and shadow across Felix’s face. I wanted to bottle this moment—the weight of his hand in mine, the way his hair fell across his forehead, the lingering taste of him on my lips.

But then Felix shifted closer, his shoulder bumping against mine as he settled his weight against my side. And when he let his head drop to rest on my shoulder, I thought my heart might actually stop beating.

His hair tickled against my neck, soft and lovely. Every instinct I had was screaming at me to wrap my arms around him, to hold him close and never let go, but I forced myself to stay still. This was Felix’s move, Felix’s choice, and I wasn’t going to do anything to spook him.

“This is nice,” he murmured against my shoulder, his voice muffled by fabric.

“It is,” I agreed, fighting to keep my voice steady despite the fact that my wolf was purring. My mate, pressed against my side, warm and willing. “But don’t get too comfortable,” I said, reluctantly pulling myself back to reality. “We’re actually going to train properly in a moment. No more distractions.”

Felix lifted his head to look at me, eyebrows raised.

“That’s right. There will be no distracting me this time,” I repeated, though the effect was somewhat ruined by the way my gaze immediately dropped to his lips.

A slow smile spread across Felix’s face—the kind of smile that was pure mischief and made my stomach do somersaults.

“That sounds awfully like another promise you can’t keep.”

21

Felix

“And then Professor Martinez said my interpretation of the piece was ‘refreshingly unconventional,’ which I think means good?” Lily paused, chopsticks hovering over her bibimbap. “Felix, are you even listening?”

I blinked, dragging my attention back to the dining room table. Eomma’s disapproving stare burned into the side of my head while Appa quietly worked through his rice.

“Sorry, yes. Unconventional is definitely good,” I managed, though I had absolutely no idea what piece she’d been discussing. Dance? Music? Drama?

Five days. It had been five days since the woods, since I’d kissed Kit under that canopy of trees and my world had shifted on its axis. Five days of stolen glances across the basement, of Kit’s fingers finding excuses to brush mine, of my entire nervous system lighting up every time he walked into a room.

The day after the woods, we’d attempted to train in the ballroom again. Lasted maybe five minutes before Kit’s hand had found its way to my neck, thumb tracing the line of my throat while his nose pressed against my pulse point like he was drowning in my scent.

“There are two cameras in this room,” I’d whispered, even as my knees went weak.

Kit had groaned like I’d physically wounded him, pulling back with eyes that were more wolf than human.

I’d almost suggested we go for it, then wipe the footage afterwards. Almost.

Instead, Kit had asked for our first proper date to be that very night. Apparently, he’d wanted to take me to that ice cream place near the station ever since it opened ages ago. Even though it was cold out, we’d walked through the evening streets sharing vanilla and honeycomb scoops, and I’d discovered that ice cream tasted infinitely better when licked from Kit’s fingers. That kissing could actually be quite nice. Very nice, in fact. That it could be soft and sweet and desperate all at once. That I loved the way my cheeks felt raw afterwards—a reminder that Kit had been there.

He’d walked me all the way home, and somehow, it wasn’t awkward at all. When the conversation occasionally lulled, Kit would naturally segue into something else before I had time to panic.

Plus, he made only two stalking jokes the entire time.

I’d tried to invite him in at my door—shyly, awkwardly, my hands fumbling with the keys while I mumbled something about tea. But Kit had smiled and shaken his head.

“I have promises to keep,” he’d said.

The shiver that had run down my spine had lasted until morning.

I’d woken up to a message from him, asking if I wanted to meet him before work, at the lime tree on Killigrew Street. I’d blinked at my phone in disbelief, my heart doing something complicated in my chest. That tree had been my quiet spot for months—somewhere I’d duck under the low-hanging branches when the Tube felt too crowded, when work felt too much, when I needed thirty seconds of green and privacy in the middle of London. I’d never mentioned it to anyone. Never thought anyone had noticed my weird little ritual of pausing there, tilting my face up through the waxy leaves like I could breathe better in that pocket of shadow.

But Kit had noticed.

Of course he had.

“Min-jun.” Eomma’s sharp voice cut through my wandering thoughts. “Now your sister has asked you a question.”