Chapter 197 – The Watchtower

Chapter 197 – The Watchtower
Hazel

When the rain starts sluicing down and it’s immediately obvious that the bridge will be flooded and impassable, I’ve already decided I’m going to kill Eli.

Not quickly. Slowly. With paperwork. Because if there’s one thing that little fucker can’t stand, it’s tedium.

Rain sheets across the ridge, swallowing the road behind us like a greedy beast. The old watchtower looms ahead, gray stone half-crumbled, its door hanging by one hinge. The ruinous isolation is not why I’m afraid to run in there. The being trapped with Jace in a confined space, all by ourselves, is a much more daunting prospect.

Jace’s voice cuts through the downpour. “Get inside. Now.”

He doesn’t shout. Authority just lives in his tone, heavy, absolute and unquestionable. I shoulder past him out of sheer spite, dripping water everywhere, and drop my pack with a rebellious thud. None of this is actually his fault, but somebody has to bear witness to how fucking pissed off I am.

“Wonderful,” I mutter. “Trapped. Cold. Wet. Perfect romantic setting for hypothermia and murder.”

He bolts the warped door with a sound that seems distressingly final.

“We’ll wait it out.”

“You think?” I ask sarcastically.

His only response is the sound of flint striking. Thank goodness every member of the pack knows to stack the fireplace with fresh wood after it’s been used.

The tower fills with the smell of damp stone yielding to smoke and pine resin. My hands sting as feeling creeps back into my fingers.

Jace crouches beside the flames, his shirt clinging to the hard lines of muscle and discipline. Steam curls from his dark hair, a temporary crown. I look away too late. My heart is tumbling over itself and my thighs are suddenly tense.

“Stop glaring at me,” he says without looking up.

“I’m not glaring.”

“You’ve been glaring since breakfast.”

“That’s because Eli happened at breakfast. That little bastard.”

His mouth twitches. A dangerous, controlled curve. “He does tend to happen.”

The silence stretches. It’s a living thing between us, humming. Neither of us mentions what Eli said. Wind sighs through the gaps in the walls. Rain beats a rhythm against the roof, steady as a heartbeat that certainly isn't mine.

“Did you know about this?” I ask finally.

“The weather? Yes, it’s a thing I constantly live with.”

“The setup, Jace.”

He glances over his shoulder, his eyes flat and heavy as river stones. “If I had, I’d have refused. I don't force people into situations they don’t want.”

“Of course you would’ve refused.” I huff a short, bitter laugh, his words hitting deep. He doesn’t want to be alone with me. I already knew that, but hearing him say it hurts like a bitch. “You don’t do surprises.” Or intimacy.

“I don’t do traps.”

“Then you’re in the wrong pack. Don’t know if you’ve noticed, but our Alpha’s mate is a gleeful little shit who will do whatever it takes to get his own way.” I love Eli usually. This is not usual.

That earns me a flat, unreadable look. Typical Beta precision. But the corner of his mouth softens, just a fraction. He adds another log to the fire. “Your clothes are soaked. You’ll get sick if you stay in them.”

“Trying to get me naked already, General?” The sarcasm is reflexive, a flimsy shield. It would have landed better if my voice wasn’t quite so freaking breathy.

He doesn’t rise to the bait. “If you have dry clothes, by all means put them on. Otherwise take off your wet things and wrap yourself in a blanket.”

“Dictator.”

“It’s called common sense. You’ve been spending a lot of time with Eli, you may not remember what that looks like.”

I roll my eyes but peel off my coat and boots, spreading them near the fire. He does the same, methodical, quiet, every movement controlled. I can’t tear my gaze away and I hate how much I notice.

The slow drag of wet fabric over his broad shoulders, the dark hair plastered to his strong neck, the ripple of his muscles with each movement. He’s lean, but incredibly defined and his abs seem to have smaller, sexier abs.

Then his hands start unbuckling his belt and the air thickens until I can’t breathe properly. I pull my knees up under the borrowed blanket, pretending the rapid pulse under my jaw is the cold making me shiver.

His ass is glorious and I berate myself for wishing he’d turn around. The glimpse of testicles that I get is bad enough. I manage to stop my shameless staring a breath before he turns around. It may be the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I really wanted to keep staring at him shamelessly.

Jace settles beside me, not touching, but close enough that his gravity warps the space. “You’re still angry,” he observes.

“Of course I’m angry. I got tricked into a scenic detention with the most frustrating, infuriating man in the northern packs.”

His brow lifts, slow and deliberate. “You’d prefer someone else?”

“Yes.”

“Who?”

Was there a bit of a growl in that ‘who’? I open my mouth, ready with a cutting retort, and then close it. I choke on the truth.

Exactly the reaction he wants, judging by the faint, smug twist of his lips. I’ve never seen Jace look self-satisfied before, it’s very hot.

“Don’t,” I warn.

“Don’t what?”

“Look smug. You know exactly what you do to me.”

“Hazel, I really don’t.”

Lightning flashes through the arrow-slits, painting him in quick, blinding silver. I see every line of him. The sheer breadth of his shoulders, the wet skin catching the light, the small, hard scar at the corner of his jaw.

I swallow hard. “I know it’s going to be uncomfortable for a while, but you can just be honest and tell me you’re not interested, then it’s over and done with,” I say. Meanwhile my mind is screaming, ‘I need you so badly it hurts.’

“I’ve always opted for honesty over lies, so I can’t tell you that.” His voice drops lower, rougher, turning into gravel and thunder. “I’ve wanted you for a long time, Hazel. That doesn’t mean acting on it would be a good idea.”

Something in the air snaps. The sound of rain fades beneath the heavy, shared rhythm of our breathing.

He moves first, slow and deliberate, as if in warning. He gives me the space to stop him. I don’t. I’m on the verge of hyperventilating I’m so eager for him to kiss me.

His hand finds the edge of the blanket and brushes against my bare shoulder. My pulse trips over itself, a wild animal trying to escape.

“Hazel,” he murmurs. My name sounds different in his mouth now. Like a vow being tested. I try for sarcasm one last time. “You’re awfully close for a man who doesn’t like surprises.”

His reply is a whisper against my cheek, dangerous and low. “Maybe I like this one.”