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Instead, I let go when she did. “Drive safely,” I said.

“I will.”

She got into the car, and I closed the door for her. She backed out slowly, headlights sweeping across the gravel before turning toward the road. Sloane lifted one hand, and I raised mine in return.

Then she drove away.

I stayed there until her taillights disappeared beyond the curve.

My body still felt the weight of her against me. Her warmth lingered across my arms, and the scent of her remained in every breath. The disappointment from the clearing hadn’t vanished, but it no longer felt important.

She had almost kissed me.

Then she had hugged me tightly enough to leave no question that she wanted to be close.

Maybe she needed time. I could give her that.

I turned toward the hall, where somebody had begun arguing about who left caramel corn in the projector case. Trevor denied involvement before anyone accused him, which made the answer obvious.

I headed inside with Sloane’s scent still filling my nose and the memory of her warmth following me through the door.

The dream didn’t have a clear beginning, instead pulling me directly into a warm current of pine and toasted vanilla sugar. Sloane was beside me on the blanket, the dark forest canopy overhead dissolving into an abstract tapestry of deep blues and charcoal.

When I reached for her, my hands found the small of her back, her skin incredibly soft and warm under my palms. She had a habit of sending self-deprecating text messages about her lack of muscle and her skinny frame, but in the thick silence of the dream, her body was completely perfect. She was a delicate, precious weight that anchored me to the earth, fitting flawlessly against the heavy contour of my chest.

I pressed my forehead against her shoulder, breathing her in, my fingers tracing the infinite constellations of freckles that spilled across her cheeks. I wanted to map every single dot with my mouth, to memorize the pattern of her skin under my touch until I knew her better than the trails on the ridge.

Her sandy-blonde hair cascaded over her face and shoulders in thick, heavy waves that caught on my fingers when she leaned down.

She laughed, a breathless sound that vibrated through my body, sending a tremor of pure electricity down my spine. The bright pink blush of her embarrassment bloomed across her cheeks and down her neck, and I wanted nothing more than to chase that rising heat with my lips.

Her mouth was full and soft, her lips slightly parted, offering a silent invitation that made my entire body ache with a desperate, heavy yearning. I pulled her flush against me, our limbs tangling, her chest rising and falling against my ribs until the physical heat of her proximity became a beautiful, suffocating fire.

I leaned forward to finally capture her lips, but my mouth met only cold, empty air. My eyes flew open to the gray shadows of my bedroom ceiling, the phantom scent of pine evaporating instantly into the familiar smell of my own sheets.

I sat up in bed with a ragged gasp, heart hammering and skin slick with sweat. The sheer frustration of the sudden interruption settled deep into my muscles, leaving me fully awake, physically tense, and deeply annoyed.

I rubbed both hands over my face, trying to scrub the lingering warmth of her skin from my palms, but my imagination refused to yield the memory of her skin against mine.

I lay back down, staring at my ceiling while my heart gradually returned to its normal rhythm.

I was a man who prided himself on practical readiness, a future alpha who carried the load of the pack, and I was currently losing my mind over a long-lost pack member.

Thank God she wasn’t actually related to me.

I grabbed my phone from the nightstand, the bright light of the screen cutting through the shadows. I scrolled through our private messages, reading her silly daily reminders to drink water and unclench my jaw. A grin spread over my face.

She was half an hour away in a city apartment, probably sleeping peacefully, while I was here, wide awake and completely compromised by a girl who sent me GIFs of cartoon cats.

13

SLOANE

SO YOU’RE PRETENDING TO BE A WOLF

The morning after movie night, I spent two hours attempting to identify two unlabeled layers in a graphic that contained a hundred and eighty-six of them.

This was not the most emotionally significant problem in my life.