Chapter 36 Looming
"I want to get the hell out of here," I snarl. I was cornered, and we both knew it.
"Not until we talk," he said, releasing my wrist. "About the offering. About the bond. About what happens now."
"What happens now is I go back home, continue to steal some rich asshole's collection of ancient pottery, and pretend this whole supernatural clusterfuck never happened."
His face hardened, the softness vanishing. "You can't run from this, Eva. Not anymore. The torc is locked. The blood offering has been made. The train where you could have jumped off is long gone."
"Then what do you want from me?" I threw my hands up in frustration, my cigarette forgotten on the ashtray. "You want me to drop to my knees and thank you for dragging me into this life? You want me to admit that some part of me wants you? Fine. I admit it. Happy now?"
His gaze narrowed, "I don't want your gratitude, Eva. I don't want your fear. I want your surrender."
"Surrender?" The word was a foreign concept to me, a taste of bile in my throat. "I don't kneel for men, and I sure as hell don't kneel for you."
"Aren't you?" he countered, his gaze dropping to the torc around my throat. "You wore it to save a child. You offered your blood to save me. You feel the bond, the pull. You fight it, but it's there, growing stronger every second you're in this room with me." He leaned forward, his voice a low, mesmerizing growl. "Tell me you don't feel it. Tell me you don't want to know what happens when you stop fighting."
My anger warred with the traitorous heat coiling in my belly. He was right. Damn him, he was right. The bond was a living thing between us, a current of electricity that pulled me toward him, and it was getting harder and harder to resist.
"I hate you," I whispered, the words feeling weak and hollow even to my own ears.
"No, you don't," he said, his voice a low, confident rumble. "You hate that you want me. You hate that I'm the one who can give you what you've been craving your entire life without even knowing what it was."
"And what's that?"
"A home," he said, the simple word landing like a punch to the gut. "A pack. A place where you belong. Where you don't have to run anymore."
I stared at him, the fight draining out of me. I was exhausted, physically and emotionally. The memories, the fight, the blood, the bond: it was all too much. I wanted to sleep for a thousand years.
I looked at the bed. Then at him. Then back at the bed. It was big. It was soft. And it was right there.
"Fine," I said, my voice flat. "But I'm sleeping on top of the covers. And if you snore, I'm smothering you with a pillow."
A slow, triumphant smile spread across his face. "Fair enough."
"And no dream fucking!"
I tried, really. I should have dropped dead the second my head hit the pillow. But I couldn't. I heard Malach next to me, breathing deep and even, but I knew he wasn't asleep. He was watching me. I could feel his gaze like a physical touch, tracing the line of my jaw, the curve of my hip, the silver torc at my throat.
The bond was a slow, steady hum between us, a current of electricity that was both soothing and infuriating.
"Go to sleep, Eva," he said, his voice a low murmur in the dark.
"I'm trying," my voice is tight. "But you're looming."
He chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that vibrated through the mattress and straight to my core. "I'm not even touching you."
"You don't have to," I grumbled. "Your… presence is loud."
"Is it?" he said, and I felt the bed dip as he shifted closer. I froze, my heart starting to pound. "Or maybe it's your own presence you're finally hearing. The part of you that's been waiting for me."
"Go to hell," I whispered, but there was no heat in it. Just a weary resignation. And something else. Something I refused to name.
He rolled onto his side, facing me. I could see the outline of his face. He was close enough that I could feel the warmth of his breath. "Why do you fight so hard?"
"Because I don't want to be owned," Simple as that. There was no big trauma behind it. I was not a victim. I just wanted to be my own person. "Is that so hard to understand?"
"I don't want to own you," he said. "I want to be with you. There's a difference."
"Is there?"
"Every wolf here knows the difference. We mate for life. We choose each other. It's a partnership. A bond. Not a collar." His fingers brushed a stray strand of hair from my cheek.
"You've never had that, have you? A partnership?"
"I've had partners," I said defensively. "Of a sort."
"The kind you steal from? The kind you leave in your rearview mirror?"
"I didn't leave anyone in my rearview mirror. They left me. Or I left them. It was mutual."
"Liar," he said, but it wasn't an accusation. It was a statement of fact. "You've never let anyone close enough to leave you. Because you're afraid they'll see the real you and run."
"And what if they do?"
"Then they weren't worth your time," he said simply.
I was quiet. I didn't know what to say. He was right, and it pissed me off.
His thumb brushed my lower lip. "Tell me you don't feel it, Eva. Tell me you don't feel this... thing between us."
I couldn't.
"Tell me you don't want me to kiss you."
I couldn't do that either because I did. I wanted it with a desperation that scared me. I wanted to feel his lips on mine, to taste him, to lose myself in him.
"I don't trust you," I whispered.
"I know," he said, and his fingers trailed down my throat to the back of my neck. "But you're here. You're in my bed. You're wearing my collar. And you saved my life. That's a start."
Then he kissed me. It wasn't rough or demanding. It was slow. A question, not a demand. A test.
And I failed it.
Because I kissed him back.
My lips parted under his, and I melted into him. My hands went to his hair, my fingers tangling in the thick, dark strands. The bond between us flared to life, a roaring fire that consumed everything in its path. The room, the bed, the fight, the blood... it all faded away.
He rolled me onto my back, his weight a delicious pressure. His hands roamed my body, relearning every curve. His touch was electric, sending jolts of pleasure straight to my wet core.
"Malach," I breathed.
"Tell me you want this," he said, his lips against my throat. "Tell me you want me."
"I want you," I moaned, "God help me, I want you."