Page 8 of Pack Ruin
Oh shit.Had my wolf scratched him while I was blacked out, and scarred him? Ruined his face? I was the only creature in the world who could cause lasting damage to this male, without using silver. If I had, I would never forgive myself.
“Bearman?” I whispered.
He didn’t answer.I held my breath as he crossed to the window and opened the curtain the smallest bit, his hands trembling visibly. My head wasn’t hurting now, but the light made it hard to focus on his face when he turned.
Steeling myself, I reached into the bond again and sent a wave of what I hoped was reassurance to him. I blinked, waiting for my eyes to adjust. I was ready for scars, or something like that. I assumed my wolf had scratched him while I was out.
But his face hadn’t changed. Or so I thought.
His eyes were closed at first, but when he opened them, I gasped aloud. It took me a second to remember how to speak, and only one word came out. “How?”
He wasn’t disfigured. He was… transformed.
Before I knew what I was doing, I’d crawled out of bed on weak legs and crossed to him, my hands on his arms, then hisshoulders. He was so tall, there was no way to look directly into his face unless he kneeled. He’d closed his eyes again, and his brow was furrowed in what looked like—feltlike—fear.
I had a horrible thought. “Can you see?”
“Yes. That hasn’t changed.”
Thank goodness.I pulled him down gently until he was kneeling in front of me, then used my fingers to trace gentle circles on his face. “Why won’t you look at me?”
His eyelids fluttered open again, and for a long moment, I stared, keeping my own expression soft and accepting. His eyes had been chocolate brown before, gorgeous deep pools a richer shade than his hair, and I’d loved them. Now, they were pure white.
No, not quite pure.I moved his face up to the light. “They’re the same color as the moon.”
The irises were whiter than the sclera, almost glowing like the moon when it was full. There was a narrow darker line between the sclera and iris, and the pupil was still present, though it had faded to a pale silver-gray. He swallowed hard, trembling even more now that I could really see them.
“Brand, they’re beautiful.” It was true. They were magical, almost hypnotic.
For a moment, he slumped and buried his face in my stomach, his broad shoulders heaving as he breathed deeply.
“How, Bearman?” I asked again. He stood and lifted me into his arms, not answering. Instead, he carried me back to the bed, curling up behind me, his chest to my back.
“I don’t know. My grandmother says she read about a shifter who had eyes like this in one of our histories. She’s been in the library since we arrived, trying to find the reference.” He nuzzled my shoulder, nipping at the ends of my hair.
I pulled away and turned to face him again, taking in the changes in his expression. His eyes were odd, almost eerie, now.But looking into them… settled something deep inside me.I’d only ever felt this way when I stared at the moon, on nights when I’d found a safe hiding place, knowing I’d make it until dawn without being found by the Hunt.
“Do you hate them?” Brand asked roughly.
“I love them,” I replied instantly. “They’re part of you, and I told you before—I love you, Brand. Maybe more now.” I felt disbelief in the bond, and swallowed hard. I wasn’t good at talking about my feelings, but for my Bearman, I’d find the words to make him understand. “I know you said love wasn’t words. But you’re the only one I’ve ever said those words to, other than my mother and Del. I loved my mother, even though she wasn’t sane. She was broken before I was even born. I loved Del, and he was missing a leg. Why would you think I would love you less, just because your eyes have changed?”
I scooted up and kissed both eyelids, gently, then pulled back. “I waited my whole life for someone who would prove to me that not all males who wanted me were the same. That not all of you would hurt me, given the chance. I’m grateful every day that you claimed me, even though I was unranked. Maybe those eyes are the moon’s way of saying ‘you’re welcome.’”
“Ah, my love.” He brought me up to his face, kissing me tenderly. “You teach me every day how to be strong. Thank you for the reminder.”
Suddenly, his eyes were the least important thing about him. I felt his length hard against my leg, and reached down, lifting the nightgown out of the way.
“Flor, what are you—” he began as I rolled over until I was sitting on top of him. He only had on sweatpants, easy enough to push down.He helped me, his bright, magical gaze on my face filled with wonder as I ran my fingers through the hairs on his chest, soaking in his warmth.
The white gown mirrored the shade of his eyes as it pooled between us, concealing the places where my bare thighs surrounded his hips. One of his hands moved up from my knee to my thigh, and then over one hip, finding my core. Those strong, thick fingers moved from my opening to the place that already ached for his touch. He circled there for a moment, until my breathing grew choppy and my vision hazy.
I pushed myself down on top of him, closing my eyes as I slipped over him in small movements, taking him inside me.
Accepting him.
The stretch of him was every bit as intense as it had been before, but this time, it echoed the gentle, persistent ache in my heart. “You are mine, Brand Becker. Mine to love, and comfort, and hold, no matter what. I will never let you go.” The ache grew lighter, even as the spirals of pleasure grew more intense.
“My love,” Brand managed to say, before his voice broke.
