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“How do you know he’s awake?” I asked.
“I can feel him.” Vin dug through my drawers like he’d been here before and stole a pair of basketball shorts, pulling them over his hips. Such a waste of clean clothes.
“We aren’t going out for breakfast.”
“I didn’t think we were.” Vin turned and surveyed me.
“Whatever.” I strolled out of the room and grabbed my apron from its hook in the sparse kitchen. It was spacious and well-stocked enough for two, but not purposefully. I’d figured one of everything with a spare for backup when I stocked the rural cabin, but maybe the Gods had other ideas.
“You don’t put on shorts, but you use an apron?” Vin was on my heels.
“Makes more laundry.”
“But the apron has to be washed. It sits on your balls.” He stared at me like I was mad.
“Correct. Clothes are a waste if I’m not going to be in public, but the apron is necessary because bacon grease on the balls is rather unpleasant.”
His brows rose, and for a moment, I couldn’t tell if he was going to laugh or walk out the door. “So let me see if I have this correct. You don’t wear clothes inside?”
“Not usually, no.”
"Last night?” he asked.
“I had been out to see you, then I was at my club and trying to talk myself into taking someone home, but I chose pain instead and came here to get away from the weight of the pack.” I wasn’t sure if I’d meant to hurt him with my words, but they elicited a growl I felt down my spine.
“You’re lucky I didn’t find anyone with you here.”
“I believe you.”
He stepped around me and took a seat at the counter. “I would have torn them to shreds in my mood.”
I had no doubt in my mind he was as good as his word. “I tried, but when he touched me, I felt sick.” Maybe it was stupid of me to admit the extent of my obsession with him. “It’s been years since I’ve been able to bring myself to let someone else touch me.”
“And the quickening?” he asked.
“I was drugged out of my mind for the last one.” I lifted my eyes to meet his, trying to gauge his reaction. I wouldn’t tell him more. Those secrets I’d carry to the grave.
His face was stone. Not even a lip twitch. “Your wolf allowed such a thing?”
“I didn’t give him a choice.”
“How many, Dominic?” The words were ice, a blast of wind to my soul.
“I don’t know.”I didn’t want anyone but him. He had to know that. I couldn’t control the ritual. I only got through it. I hated every single one.
It made me sick to wake up in the morning with no memory of the quickening but knowing I’d betrayed him. I hated myself more with every passing year.
His lip raised in a snarl. “And still you have no heirs?”
“None, but that was a conscious choice.” I wet my lips with my tongue and turned away from him. I hated to admit it. I hated what I’d done, and somehow saying it out loud, even to him, made it feel like a betrayal to my kind.
I avoided him by gathering the things I needed for the French toast and setting them out on the counter. My hands knew what to do, and it involved little to no thinking. I liked it more when I was cooking for other people. Feeding hungry mouths felt like I was accomplishing something. Better than fighting an endless war.
I cracked eggs, but a hand gripping my wrist painfully stopped me.
“Explain it to me, Dominic.”
I twisted out of his grasp, turning on him, eyes black, intent on screaming at him, but the words died on my tongue when I caught his expression.
