Page 32 of Pistols & Peonies

He's awake.

The smart thing would be to turn around and leave, go back to my room… but my wolf has other ideas. She’s practically drooling, wanting to memorize every inch of this gorgeous man. The breadth of his shoulders, the contour of his spine, the patterns of ink etched into his tanned skin…

I’m still standing there like a complete creep when Kane shifts his weight. He rolls onto his back and I freeze, my heart stuttering hard enough to hurt. He stares up at the ceiling for a beat, jaw tight, then turns his head toward the door.

We lock eyes.

Neither of us says a word. We just stare at one another as the silence stretches, thick and charged with tension. My wolf surges, begging me to close the distance, while the rational part of my brain screams at me to retreat.

Kane breaks first.

He lifts his chin, just a fraction. Not a command, but a subtle, dangerous invitation. A dare to step inside.

I lift a hand and press my palm to the door, nudging it open. It swings wide.

His eyes drop instantly, dragging over my body in a slow, unapologetic sweep. His teeth sink into his lower lip as he pulls in a sharp breath before his gaze snaps back to mine.

I shuffle a single step forward, then stop, leaning my shoulder against the doorframe and folding my arms over my chest like armor. “Can’t sleep,” I mumble, as if it needs saying.

He grunts as he pushes himself upright, the sheets pooling at his waist. His torso is an anatomy lesson in what happens when you have the discipline to hit the gym for decades on end– endless planes of hard-earned muscle, built for violence and endurance. I try to look away, but my eyes refuse to cooperate.

“You gonna stop lurking and just get it over with?” he asks, voice rough.

“Get what over with, exactly?” I scoff, crossing my arms tighter.

“Our wolves want to be close,” he grumbles, reaching over to peel back the covers beside him, exposing the empty space. “Let’s just cut the bullshit and deal with it so we can both get some sleep.”

I bristle immediately. “You want me to sleep in here?”

He drags a hand down his face, sighing. “Doesn’t matter what I want.”

Those words hit harder than they should. They shouldn’t make me feel anything– I don’t want him, either– but something tightens in my chest all the same.

“What makes you think you know what my wolf wants?” I grit out.

“She wants comfort,” Kane replies flatly, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “She wants to be near her mate.”

He’s right.

And that’s what pisses me off most.

Because this isn’t a choice, it’s the bond. This stupid, relentless pull dragging us together, our wolves calling the shots while we stand here pretending we still have control.

He inclines his chin again, eyes flicking pointedly to the bed.

I glare back at him while I hesitate, irritation warring with bone-deep exhaustion. My wolf presses insistently– a steady, aching pull that makes my chest feel hollow– and I don’t have the energy to keep fighting her. I barely even have the energy to stand right now.

“Don’t think this means anything,” I grumble, pushing off from the doorframe.

“Wasn’t planning on it,” he mutters, watching me intently as I cross the room.

The mattress dips beneath my weight as I climb onto the bed, keeping close to the edge so there’s as much distance between us as possible. The sheets are cool against my legs, his scent embedded in the pillow.

The second I settle, Kane moves.

He swings his legs over the edge of the bed, turning his back to me. Confusion cuts through my foggy mind.

“What are you–”