Page 25 of Fetch Me A Mate
"I'm right here."
Thunder crashed again, and the inn shuddered around them. But in the circle of firelight, with rain lashing the windows and candles flickering in the drafts, the storm felt distant.
His wolf paced restlessly beneath his skin, silver eyes fixed on their mate. The animal was done with distance, done with careful control, done with pretending the bond between them didn't exist.
Take her,the wolf demanded.Claim her. Make her understand what she is to us.
Rowan's hands morphed into fists, fighting the urge to reach for her. One touch would be his undoing. One kiss would shatter every wall he'd built between them.
"You should go upstairs," he said, his voice rougher than intended. "Get some sleep."
"Should I?" Diana tilted her head, studying his face in the firelight. "Is that what you want?"
No.The word blazed through his mind, his wolf's voice and his own speaking in perfect unison.Stay. Let me hold you through the storm. Let me show you what you mean to me.
"It's what's smart," he said instead.
"Smart." She laughed softly, but there was no humor in it. "I've been smart my whole life, Rowan. Smart and careful and always keeping my distance. You know where it got me? Alone."
She rose gracefully to her feet, and for a moment he thought she was going to take his advice. Instead, she moved to the window, pressing her palm against the glass as lightning illuminated her profile.
"I came to Hollow Oak because I was tired of being alone," she said quietly. "Tired of never belonging anywhere, never mattering to anyone. And now I'm here, in this beautiful old building with a man who looks at me like I'm the answer to a question he's afraid to ask."
She turned back to face him, and the raw honesty in her expression nearly undid him completely.
"So no, Rowan. I don't think I'll go upstairs. I think I'll stay right here and see what happens when the wolf stops running."
Outside, the storm raged on, but inside the circle of firelight, everything had gone perfectly, dangerously still.
Rowan's wolf pressed against his ribs, silver eyes fixed on their mate, waiting to see if he would finally stop fighting fate.
13
DIANA
Outside, the storm raged on, but inside the circle of firelight, everything had gone perfectly, dangerously still. Diana’s words hung in the air between them, a dare she hadn’t known she possessed until she’d spoken it. Rowan stood frozen by the hearth, the firelight carving sharp angles into his face, his pale eyes glowing with an intensity that stole the breath from her lungs. The battle inside him was a palpable thing, a pressure she could feel in the room, a war between the man who ran and the wolf who stayed.
He was the one who moved first.
He crossed the space between them in two long, silent strides. His callused hand, scarred from years of hard labor, came up to caress her jaw. The touch was surprisingly gentle, his thumb stroking the line of her cheekbone as if memorizing her shape. Her empathic sense, which had been buzzing with his conflict, was suddenly flooded with a feeling so pure and potent it made her knees weak: adoration. Raw, untamed, and utterly terrifying in its depth.
Then he lowered his head, and the kiss started cautious. It was a question, a testing of boundaries, the barest brush ofhis lips against hers. She answered by leaning into him, her hands coming up to grip his flannel shirt. That was all the encouragement he needed.
The kiss went hungry fast.
His other arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her flush against his hard body until there was no space, no air, no thought between them. His mouth slanted over hers, demanding and possessive. She learned the scent of pine smoke and winter rain from the inside, a taste of the wild that was purely Rowan. She moaned into his mouth, a helpless sound, and his wolf answered with a low growl that vibrated from his chest into hers.
He broke the kiss with a gasp, his forehead resting against hers. His breathing was harsh, ragged. “Diana. We can’t.”
The words were a bucket of ice water, but the fire he’d ignited refused to be extinguished. “Why not?” she whispered, her voice shaky.
“It’s a mistake.” He pulled back, his hands dropping from her as if she’d burned him. The loss of contact was a physical ache. He turned, his broad shoulders creating a wall between them, and strode toward the darkness of the doorway.
Her heart fractured. He was leaving. After all that, he was choosing to run.
“Rowan,” she called out, her voice breaking.
He stopped in the threshold of the parlor, his back still to her. Lightning flashed, silhouetting his powerful frame for a split second before thunder crashed, shaking the old inn to its foundations.
