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53
Greyson
“Look, we don’t have to go,” she says. “I mean, what’s the point if we don’t even know what we’re doing here?”
“Wedoknow what we’re doing.” I’m aware of the growl in my own voice, one I can’t seem to be able to conceal around her. “We’re working this out. And I intend to make this work, Indigo. As uncomfortable as that makes me.”
“Do you have to always qualify it with a statement like that?”
“This is my attempt to warn you that it’s going to be a bit messy at times.”
“You mean, you’re going to withdraw when I least expect it in that emotionally stunted way of yours?”
I would chuckle in amusement but for the wisp of fear hidden in her jovial voice. In reality, withdrawing from her is not the only thing she has to worry about.
“No. I don’t want to do that. I’m going to start therapy next week. So are you.”
“And do I—?”
“No,” I snarl. “You do not get a choice.” My breathing is heavy as my heated desire for her ripples through my body. “You’re going to do as you’re told… for once.”
“I’m not good at that.”
“I’ve noticed. Which is why I’ll be stepping up your training very shortly.”
“My training… How romantic.”
I emit gentle laughter at her mischievous tone. “The pleasure you feel will be romantic, Indigo.”
“More romantic than dinner with your parents, I hope.”
Her words make my pulse kick in my neck. “We don’t have to attend,” I respond.
“I mean, is there really a point if they clearly aren’t gonna like me?”
“They want us hidden in the shadows. If we start out by hiding, we’ll never get out. It will just feel too comfortable there. Safe. It’s not tolerable to me to make you hide the way I’ve hidden myself. Plus…” I close my eyes, aware of the naivety of my hope. “I can’t give up hope that once he sees us together, that something will shift in that man. That he’ll see me as… human.”
And that maybe I’ll see myself as human, and not some half-human half-monster hybrid. A wolf afraid of the full moon.
“Usas human,” I qualify. “My friends all tell me the same thing—that they feel the heat between us from a hundred paces. I want him to feel it.”
“Well, just don’t get your hopes up,” Indie replies. “He seems to get off on being—”
“An asshole.”
“That’s being kind. Believe me, I know the type. They can literally orgasm just by withholding affection.”
I imbibe the frail sorrow dissimilated in her upbeat timber. She understands too much.
“Your mother?” I ask.
“Yep. And frankly, she could probably turn your father to stone with one strategically directed glare.”
“Have you heard from her recently?”
She sighs. “Unfortunately.”
“She called?”
