Page 76 of The Girl in the Forest

I shuddered. Emotions rolled from him and through me. Wonder and longing. Passion and fury.

The confession trembled from my lips. “I have… ached for you. Been afraid for you. Confused by you.”

He was across the room in an instant. His arms closed around me while I battled against the exhaustion that stripped my ability to think.

“You need rest.” He pressed his lips against the side of my head, his hands stroking my back before he led me to a bedroom, where white linen covered a bed, and a thick comforter in chocolate-brown offered warmth. But Grayson steered me into a bathroom, and I cried when I saw the steaming tub with floating flower petals, exactly the way the magic had prepared my bath in Aine’s wrinkle.

“Take as much time as you need,” Grayson said, then left me alone.

I was grateful. My emotions were raw enough to bleed. The water was hot enough to make me gasp when I first stepped in, but by the time I lowered myself, the water had adjusted in temperature.

With a sigh, I gripped both edges of the tub and leaned back. Closed my eyes and let the warmth seep into my muscles while the petals floated. The soft, floral scents intensified in the steamy air. Time passed, but the water remained warm and I only realized how I’d fallen asleep when Grayson lifted me from the water.

The brush of his magic was a cocoon. He wrapped me in a towel and carried me to the bedroom. My skin, my hair dried before he helped me into a pair of silk boy shorts, then tugged one of his reeking shirts over my head. I slid toward sleep when he put me in bed, tucked the comforter up around my shoulders, and silently left the room.

But he still hadn’t answered the one question that mattered most.

Did he love me?

Or was it lust?

CHAPTER 21

Noa

When I woke, the light through the windows had softened into lavender and meant I’d slept for hours. The bed Grayson put me in was his. The sheets carried his scent, and for a moment, I imagined him there, sprawled across his half of the mattress, the sheet thrown back and tangled between his legs. I wondered what he looked like, relaxed in sleep. The bronzed skin against white sheets. The hardened muscles sleek in repose.

If we’d had normal lives, would this be our reality? Would I wake to the comfort of his body, pressed close to mine? Would his hair be tousled because I’d clenched my fingers in the strands when we’d made love?

More questions followed… would I wake without the sense of borrowed time? A wheel already turning toward an unknown end?

I pushed upright. In the pastel light, I could see my backpack. As I dressed, I glanced around, searching for signs of him. Clues to who he was when he was here.

A collection of acorns filled a glass jar. Beside the jar was a palm-sized, shiny black stone. Obsidian, heavier than I expected when I picked it up. The irregular, knapped edges were razor thin—the sharpest material known that could be carved into a blade. Obsidian was sacred to wolves, the blending of two opposing forces, molten glass forming into hard stone. The wolf… fiery, emotional. And the man, hardened, protective. Deadly.

The warmth of his energy drew me through the mellow house, then through the open French doors. Outside, pink-tinged clouds formed ribs against a sky that had not fully darkened. I was barefoot, wearing jeans with his reeking shirt. My hair was loose and probably still tangled.

Grayson stood on the patio with his back to me. He also wore jeans but nothing else, and I allowed myself the small luxury of studying his back, the muscles that bunched. The black wolf tattoo, what I could see of it, seemed muted. As if the wolf it represented had retreated to some quiet corner of his own.

“Do you like pepperoni?”

Somehow, he’d known I was there, and I wandered closer to see what he was doing—cooking. Actually, what he was doing was spooning sauce on pizza dough, arranging a variety of ingredients: olives, onions, crumbled sausage, green slices of bell pepper and thin, round slivers of tomato. I stared at the way his hands moved as he handled a knife, unable to look away. How he wiped his fingers on a white towel that he tossed aside.

“What is this?” I teased. “No pizza out of a box?”

His eyebrow arched while humor sparkled in his eyes. “You doubt?”

“No.” I laughed. “I’m impressed.”

Stepping closer to the outdoor kitchen island, I studied his handiwork. “Any extra olives?”

“Here.” He picked one up, held it a fraction from my lips. “Open.”

“Feeding me n—”

Grayson pressed the olive against my open lips, holding it until I bit down. The olive juice tickled my tongue, igniting my hunger, and the soft humming noise I made kept his gaze locked on mine for a beat too long. Was this how we were now? Did the mate bond snap into place that fast? Hours instead of days like normal relationships?

His smile was easy and revealed his charisma, while the relaxed, boyish humor only emphasized how harshly he controlled himself around others. The image he presented was of a man too powerful to fail, but what I saw was a man caught up in fate. A man who could soon be destroyed by it, because of me.

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