Page 80 of Rocky Top

Just that.

His rough fingers slid down to mine, interlacing, grounding.

“Stay,” he said, voice low.

“I can’t,” I said,even as I didn’t move.

He nodded like he understood, even though I knew it killed him.

“I’ll be here,” he murmured, pulling away, hands dropping to his sides. “Every time you wanna run, I’ll still be standin’ right here.”

I left before I could change my mind.

That night, I curled up on Eliza’s couch and watched Emma sleep on the monitor, her little arm thrown over her stuffed fox like she didn’t have a care in the world.

“I used to think I knew what I wanted,” I said quietly, the words slipping out without thought.

Eliza sat cross-legged at the other end of the couch, drink in hand. “And now?”

“Now I don’t know if I want to be human, or if I ever really was.”

She tilted her head. “You were always more wild than the rest of us. Maybe this just brought it to the surface.”

I laughed, soft and bitter. “Wild? I was the girl who cried at Disney movies and made homemade candles to sell on Etsy.”

Eliza gave me a look.

“Oh, miss was a virgin before she met a foxy biker. You’re saying I was wild in another sense. I get that. I’m experienced. ButI’m a Rocky virgin.”

“That’s not what I meant. I meant, you’re a wild free spirit. And now you’re the girl who survived a supernatural attack, got bit by a wolf, and didn’t burn down the world after. Not yet.”

I looked at her, eyes wide.

She shrugged. “That sounds pretty badass to me.”

I snorted. “You’re insane.”

She grinned. “So are you. Welcome to the club.”

I curled deeper into the blanket and let her words settle.

Maybe I wasn’t ready to face what I was becoming.

But I wasn’t running either.

And that, I figured, was a start.

Chapter 21

Rocky

I was halfway through patching up my old shovelhead when the rumble of a familiar engine cut through the Tennessee heat. The low growl of a Harley, smooth as sin and twice as cocky. I wiped the grease off my hands, squinting toward the road as a sleek, black Dyna pulled into the lot, kicking up dust like it owned the damn place.

The rider swung off with an ease that spoke of years in the saddle. Tall, blond, and grinning like the devil himself. My baby brother, Villain.

“Well, ain't this a sight,” I muttered, tossing the rag onto my seat.

Villain sauntered over, his cut bearing the Nashville chapter's colors, the Sergeant at Arms patch prominent on his chest.

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