20. Eli

Ican't say I've never called into work. I have, quite often, over the years. One of the benefits of living the way I do is that there's usually another job to be had fairly easily, and I manage to live pretty cheaply. But I do feel bad texting Adam and telling him that I can't come in tonight.

I feel like I've been punched in the chest. Like someone has ripped my still-beating heart out and stepped on it in front of me. It sounds immensely fucking dramatic, but it's the only way I can think of, in the minutes after I wake up, to describe the pain in my chest.

Over a woman I've known in passing for two weeks, and intimately for a grand total of forty-eight hours.

It's fucking insane.

If Wisteria were a shifter, I'd know exactly what happened. I'd know without a doubt that it was that goddamn mate bond, the one I've been afraid of my whole life, the one that some people think is a myth and others know for a fact is true, the one I've always heard is so rare it hardly ever happens.

But I know it's real, because I've seen it. It tore my first pack apart. My family.

It got my mother killed.

But it's impossible with a human. Just like so many other potentially intimate parts of a shifter's romantic relationships.

My entire body tightens, remembering last night. What I wanted to do–how powerful that urge was. More powerful than it's ever been before.

I could feel my wolf, begging to be let out. Demanding. I've never almost lost control of a shift, not since I've been an adult. But I felt my nails shift into claws, felt my teeth lengthen. I've half-shifted on purpose before, for women who were into it. But never by accident. Never without meaning to.

The worst part is that Wisteria wasn't afraid of it. She liked it. Not in the fetishistic way that others have, but in a way that felt natural. Like she was into it not because it was a shifter thing, but because it was a part of me.

Like she wanted my knot for the same reason.

I grit my teeth, thinking of how close I came to trying. Something I've never done before, not even with a partner who could have taken it.

I had wanted more time with her. I'd thought, the moment I kissed her, that I would want another night. I'd considered, for the first time in my life, whether I wanted to make it into something more. Not a relationship, but something that would last until I moved on to another town. Just her and I, for a little while.

And then I almost hurt her, and I knew it wasn't possible. Not when I can barely seem to control this feeling around her.

My phone buzzes, and I reach for it. It's Adam, responding to my text telling him I can't come in.

I don't know what kind of ‘sick' you are, but I don't think I want to. It's fine, tonight shouldn't be all that busy, anyway.

I know he probably thinks I've decided to spend all day in bed with Wisteria–not that he thought to ask her name last night. I also know he wouldn't understand what's come over me any more than I do.

Reaching up, I press a hand against my chest. The way it aches, I'd expect it to feel physically bruised. But it's all on the inside, a feeling that I can't begin to understand. Not over someone I've known so briefly, no matter how much I liked her. No matter how good she was in bed.

I manage to drag myself into the shower, forcing myself under the hot water even though I don't want to wash her scent off of my skin. I don't want to lose that last trace of her, and when I do, the last of that sugared tea smell disappearing into the steam, my chest constricts painfully.

For the first time in my fucking life, I miss someone I've fucked. I miss her.

I stumble out of the shower, that ache in my chest expanding. The scent of her drifts towards me from the sheets, and I fall back into bed, tangling myself up in the sheets as if I can soak the feeling of her back into my skin. I press my face into the pillow, inhaling her scent–and freeze.

What the hell?

Like the growl last night when I spoke to Adam, like the frenzied urge to knot her, this is out of character. This is mating behavior for a shifter, not just simple lust. This is the kind of obsession that overcomes a wolf when he finds his mate.

It's not possible. It's not.Not with a human.

Adam's voice drifts back into my mind, asking if she could be a witch. But I can't bring myself to believe that, either. She'd have to be the world's best manipulator, based on everything I know of witches. The best fucking liar I've ever met.

I think of her, gentle and sweet, the smile on her face, the teasing lilt of her voice, and I feel sure that she isn't. I think of the genuine hurt on her face when things fell apart last night, and as that wrenching feeling tears through my chest again, I feel sure that she isn't.

Hell, maybe this is just what happens when you fall for someone. It's not like I'd fucking know.

I close my eyes, breathing in the scent of her still on my sheets. And I fall asleep again, all my dreams full of her.

The shrill,insistent vibration of my phone against the wooden nightstand next to me drags me out of my dream–one full of Wisteria, of her mouth and hands and her sweet, soft body moving against mine. I wake up with my chest aching and my cock throbbing, reaching for her in the dim late-afternoon light and finding her gone.

My phone vibrates again, and I roll over, groaning as I reach for it. It's undoubtedly Adam–the bar is probably busier than he expected, and he's calling to tell me to get the fuck to work.

I don't even bother looking at the screen, I'm so sure of it. "I told you I'm sick," I growl into the phone, my voice hoarse enough from sleep that it actually could be true.

"Whoever you think this is, you're wrong."

It takes me a minute to place the voice coming over the line. My hearing is sharp, my memory good, but through the clearing fog of sleep, I'm confused at first. And then I remember the job I did just before coming here, the people who hired me, and the voice becomes clearer.

A feeling of trepidation washes over me. "I don't know what you want, but I don't have it. I washed my hands of that when I got picked up for somethin' I didn't know I was runnin'." I pause. "I didn't snitch, if that's what you're worried about."

There's a moment of silence, and then a low chuckle. "Nah, if you'd snitched, we'd have found you already. But you booked it out of town awful fast, Evans. Didn't even see if we had another job for you."

"Figured after I got caught, you wouldn't want me workin' for you again." I try to keep my tone casual, despite the creeping feeling of unease crawling down my spine.

"You don't get to just get out unless we say. Just because you didn't realize what you were hauling doesn't mean you just get to skip town. You weren't told on purpose. You shoulda come back, told the boss what happened, asked for your next steps."

I feel my jaw tighten. "Look, I'm a freelancer. Our contact should have told you that. If he didn't, that's on him, or hell–maybe I didn't make it plain enough myself. But I come into town when I please and leave when I please. I don't work under anyone's thumb. Whatever our business was, we're done with it now."

Another chuckle, as if I've said something especially funny. "We'll see about that, Evans."

The line goes dead before I can say anything else. I stare at my phone for a long minute, debating trying to call the number back and finish the conversation my way. But I have enough experience with these kinds of jobs to know it probably goes to a dead end. A burner already tossed or crushed.

Which begs the question how they got my personal number. I used a burner with them, too, same as any illegal job I take. Hell, some of the legal ones as well, just because I like my privacy. Very few people have my personal number. Really just Adam and Wisteria, at this point. Maybe a couple others, if I scrolled through my contacts to remind myself.

My chest tightens all over again. Wisteria. After that call especially, what I want is for her to be here, to roll over and lose myself in her scent and her softness, the sweet taste of her and the exquisite pleasure of her body that's somehow better than anything else I've ever experienced.

But that call is also a reminder of who I am, and why I'm all wrong for her. Why I'm wrong for anybody. Why, even if I hadn't felt that frightening urge last night to do something that could have really hurt her, letting this go further would have only caused more pain in the end.

My stomach growls, reminding me that I burned a hell of a lot of calories last night and haven't eaten all day. I pry myself out of bed once again, with the intent to go downstairs and get something to eat. For a moment, as I drag on a pair of sweatpants, I wonder if I should pack up my things and get the hell out of Bayton. The urge prods at me–that habit that I've kept up for so long now, to clear out of a town as soon as something goes wrong there. What happened with Wisteria feels like it qualifies as something wrong.

But I can't do that to Adam. I don't have so many friends in this world that I can afford to fuck over the one good one that I do have, especially not when he got me out of a bind so recently.

I'm going to have to man up and deal with it–handle being in a town so small, near a woman who makes me feel things I've never felt before.

As long as she doesn't come into the bar, I'll be fine.

I tell myself that, but I know it's not true. I've been through a lot of shit in my life, and I've always come out on the other side.

But for the first time, I'm not entirely sure that I'm going to be fine. I think this hurt might stick with me for a long, long time.

Maybe forever.