24. Eli

Ididn't mean for us to fall asleep. But out there in the woods, in the silence and peace underneath the stars, feeling Wisteria's warmth against me and a bone-deep satisfaction like nothing I've ever known before, I did.

We both did.

I'm not quite certain what time it is when I wake. There's an odd quality to the air in that space between midnight and the early morning, when the rest of the world is asleep, and I can feel it when I open my eyes. Next to me, Wisteria is still asleep, her head pillowed on my chest, lightly snoring.

For the first time in my life, I've fallen asleep next to a woman.

It should make me panic. Somewhere in the very back of my mind, it does. It's another sign that something is off, that this woman is getting under my skin in ways that no one ever has, and that I never intended to allow. But in the moment, what takes precedence is how good it feels.

It's a different kind of pleasure. One that has nothing to do with lust. One that I'm unfamiliar with, and that–now that I've experienced it–I don't want to let go of.

At least not yet.

Gently, I run a hand over her hair. "Wisteria." I murmur her name softly, and I feel her stir, her eyes blinking open. "We fell asleep."

"What?" She swallows, blinking again, and then her eyes open wide. "Shit. We did." She pushes herself up, brushing tangled hair out of her face. "Sorry–I didn't mean to."

"You don't need to apologize. Neither did I." I sit up too, stretching to work the kinks out of my back. "Do you think you can ride back with me?"

Wisteria laughs softly. "What else are we going to do? Sleep out here all night?"

I can't help but chuckle at that. "I've done it before."

"Of course you have." She smiles at me. "I think I can manage the ride back."

We get our jackets–Wisteria is shivering, and I feel a pang of guilt for falling asleep with her out in the damp and the chill. Shifters almost never get sick, but she could, and I'm going to feel like shit if she gets sick because of me.

"I'll drink some hot tea when I get home, and I'll be fine," Wisteria says, almost as if she read my mind. "I am ready to be in bed, though."

Just the mention of a bed sends a flicker of lust through me, though I push it down. I don't want her to think I expect more, after what she did for me tonight. If she wants to go home and go right to sleep, I'm not going to say a word against it.

We walk back to where I parked my bike, and Wisteria puts her helmet on, getting on behind me. "The chill alone will keep you awake," I tell her wryly. "But if you start to feel like you're gonna get sleepy, tap my leg. Same if the speed gets to be too much."

The feeling I have when we start to ride down the mountain is like nothing I've ever felt before. It was something else, bringing her up here, having her on the bike with me while I took her to one of my favorite spots. I've taken a few women on the bike before, so it wasn't entirely new. But this–

Riding at this time of night might be my favorite thing in the world. I feel the most at peace, the most free, just me and the world around me, silent and entirely mine. I've never wanted to share this part of the night with anyone.

But having Wisteria's arms around me, the warm pressure of her body against mine, moving with me as we ride back to Bayton–it feels good. It feels right.

And I feel, for the first time in my life, as if I have something I might not want to let go of.

We ride all the way back to her house. I stop in front of it, letting the bike idle so she can slip off. She hesitates as she undoes her helmet, as if she wants to say something and isn't sure she should.

"What is it?" I look at her curiously. "Is somethin' wrong?"

Wisteria bites her lip, shaking her head. "No. It's just–aren't you going to come in?"

Don't do this.A warning shrills in the back of my head, telling me I'm about to cross a line that I've kept carefully marked off for myself, that I'm hurtling past every boundary I've ever had. Falling asleep next to her was one thing, but this–

"If I go in with you, I'm gonna end up spending the night." I take a breath, and Wisteria hurriedly cuts me off.

"Oh! I understand. I mean–if that's too much–of course. We can just see each other later, or not–"

She's babbling again, tripping over her words, and something about it cuts me to the quick. I kill the engine, swinging off the bike so I'm standing in front of her, and reach for her hands as I curl mine around them.

"Is that what you want, Wisteria?" I ask quietly, looking down into her soft hazel eyes. " Do you want me to stay?"

She hesitates for the barest fraction of a second. And then she nods.

"Alright, then." I pocket my keys, and adjust the bike so it's out of the way. "Lead the way,."

I see Wisteria's teeth sink into her lower lip, but she takes my hand, leading me through the gate in front of her house and up the stone path, up the stairs that we toppled onto earlier tonight. I follow her into the house, and I smell the soft scents of herbs and cinnamon, and something that smells like vanilla.

She shrugs off her jacket, hanging it up. "The bedroom is this way," she says softly. "Unless you want a shower, or–"

I shake my head. "All I want is to be in bed with you right now, darlin'."

Her cheeks flush, and she nods. Her hand is still entwined with mine as she leads me down the hall, into her room.

I've never been in someone's bedroom before. In the past I've always taken women back to where I'm staying, whatever motel I've bedded down in for the time being. This feels different, intimate–seeing the dark purple bedding that Wisteria must have picked out, the jumble of personal items on her nightstand, the closet cracked open to show her clothes hanging up. I know now that she's neat, not messy, except for the pile of clothes thrown over the back of a chair that she must have gone through to decide what to wear tonight. I know she leaves her shoes out, neatly arranged in a line next to the closet. I know she's reading the first Game of Thrones book, sitting next to a pair of earrings and a scrunchie on that same nightstand.

It should make me want to run, that I know these intimate things about her now. But all it does it make me want her more. She's real to me, in a way that no one else has ever been. And I want to keep discovering more.

"We can just go to sleep, if you're tired–" Wisteria bites her lip, looking nervously between me and the bed. "I'm sorry. I don't bring many people home. And I haven't since I moved here." She takes a breath, and I can feel the anxiety shimmering off of her, the uncertainty.

I step towards her, my hands on her waist. "What do you want?" I ask quietly. "There's no wrong answer, Wisteria. Tell me what you're thinkin' right now. Whatever it is."

This is uncharted territory for me. And for the first time in my life, instead of running, I keep forging ahead. Because this feels too good to stop.

"I want–" Wisteria takes a slow, deep breath. "I want to get undressed, and get in that bed with you. And I want to see what happens from there. I want–" She swallows hard, as if bracing herself to tell me the truth. "I want slow." She reaches up, brushing her fingers over the stubble on my jaw. "I want gentle. I want to feel you–all of you."

"I think I can do that." My hands on her waist curl into the silk of her shirt, tugging it up and over her head. I feel her breathe in as I run my hands over the softness of her skin, drawing her closer.

We undress each other piece by piece, unhurried, stealing kisses in between. It's different than anything I've ever felt, the desire simmering beneath my skin, ready to spill over into urgency, but held back for the moment. I don't want to rush her. I don't want to rush myself.

I want this to last.

I'm achingly hard by the time we're both naked, our clothes in a pile on the floor, both of us moving towards the bed. Wisteria pulls back the covers, arching against me to give me one more kiss, the stiff heat of my cock trapped against her belly before she moves away and gets into bed. She holds out a hand, inviting me in.

I follow, because right now the only thing in the world I want is to be as close to this woman as I can be.

She turns to face me, her hands brushing over my jaw, my cheekbones, sliding into my hair. She kisses me, soft and slow, and in every other moment when I've been with someone like this, this is the moment when I would speed it up. When I would take what I want, without intimacy, without gentleness.

But not tonight.

Tonight, I kiss her back, the same way. I let my hands slide over her body, learning her curves all over again. I roll her onto her back, mapping those same paths with my lips and tongue, down to the sweetness between her thighs. I kiss her there the way I kissed her mouth, slow and languorous, feeling her muscles wind tighter and tighter beneath my hands until she finally arches and cries out, her sweet taste spilling over my tongue as she comes for me.

I slide two fingers inside of her, feeling her velvet warmth clench around them, and make her come again.

Only then do I slide back up the bed, turning her so that we're lying face to face. I tug her leg up over my hip, bringing her closer, fitting us together like a puzzle piece as I slide my aching cock into her, and groan at the depth of pleasure that washes over me. Wet, slick heat, better than anything I've ever known, her mouth locked with mine as I thrust into her, and I feel her soft folds brush against my knot.

I've never been so fucking thankful that she made me come once already. Even with that, I'm too close to the edge the minute I feel her moving against it, coating the taut flesh with her slick, urging me deeper. And I want to give her all of it.

I remember, dimly, that I told her earlier in the throes of lust that I wanted to knot her. A thing I've never said to a woman before.

Another first. They're piling up tonight, and yet I still pull her closer, my hand on her hip, in her hair, thrusting into her again and again as I whisper her name and she moans mine, until I feel her tighten around me and come for me again.

Only then do I thrust into her as deeply as I can go, feeling the edges of my knot strain at her slick entrance, savoring the feeling of her rippling around me for one tense moment before I pull out and pull her close. I trap my cock between us, hand gripping the full curve of her ass as I press my mouth to her shoulder, rocking into the softness of her stomach as I start to come.

I feel it spurt over her skin, over her belly and up to her breasts, painting her with my cum. My hips grind against hers, thrusting, wishing with everything in me that I were coming inside of her instead, filling her up with every drop. And I feel my wolf rouse inside of me, stretching, pushing at muscle and bone.

Fuck. Mate. Knot. Breed. The wolfish instinct tangles with a rush of emotion, and I hold her tighter, my teeth grazing against her shoulder as the orgasm shudders through me, keeping myself from slipping back inside of her.

"Eli–" Wisteria breathes my name into my ear, her body still quivering with the aftershocks of her pleasure. She moves slightly away from me as she feels me go still, and lifts the blanket a little, her lips pressing together as she looks down at herself. "Oh my god."

"Shit." I feel my cheeks heat, a reaction I've rarely ever had in my life. "I'm sorry. I–"

"No, I like it." She looks up at me, her lips curling upwards, her eyes full of curiosity. "Is there always so–much?"

"Not always. But with you–" I resist the urge to pull her close again, my cock already twitching against my belly. "You make me come harder than anyone ever has, I think. And now we're gonna have to go clean up, at–" I glance at the clock next to her bed. "Shit. Two in the mornin'." I rub a hand over my face. "Thank fuck I'm workin' the night shift tomorrow."

"I'm going to text Penelope and tell her I'm coming in late." Wisteria yawns, pushing the covers back. "Perks of being the boss."

We don't end up back in the bed until after three a.m. The shower turns into more, with Wisteria stroking my cock back to full hardness and then turning around so I can fuck her from behind, an offer I can't bring myself to turn down. I'm awash in pleasure, more satisfied than I've ever been in my life, and yet I'm still as constantly hard as a young wolf at the full moon.

I'm not complaining, but that faint corner of my mind that isn't completely lost in her keeps whispering that this all doesn't make sense.

That I can't make sense of myself, when I'm with her.

We fall asleep in her bed, exhausted. In the morning, I wake to the feeling of her mouth on my cock beneath the sheets, and when I push them up, she looks mischievously up at me from between my thighs.

"I always wanted to do this," she says, her tongue flicking over my swollen tip, and takes me in her mouth again.

An hour later, somehow, we make it out of bed.

"Penelope is never going to let me hear the end of this," Wisteria says a little while later, in her kitchen as she's making coffee. I'm sitting dazedly at her kitchen table, watching as she gets things out of the refrigerator to make us brunch, wondering exactly how I ended up here.

I never spend the night. I don't have breakfast the morning after. I don't go back to women's homes at all, let alone sit in their kitchen and chat idly while someone cooks for me.

I don't feel the things I'm feeling right now, ever. Because right now, all I can think is when we're going to do this again.

"How long have you known her?" I take the cup of coffee Wisteria hands me, after she asks me how I take it. I tell her black, but when she sets a container of fancy cinnamon coffee-cake flavored creamer down next to me "just in case," I pour a little in. It tastes sweet and rich, and I add a tiny bit more, just because I like the flavor.

"Just since I moved here." Wisteria pours her own coffee, glancing back at me. "How do you feel about French toast?"

I can't help but chuckle at that. "The same way I feel about anyone who wants to make me a home-cooked meal. If you put it front of me, I'll eat it."

Wisteria smiles. "Good. I think you'll like it."

I watch as she moves around the kitchen, another intimacy. The sight of her is burned into my mind now, wearing a long t-shirt with her hair loose around her shoulders, the morning sunlight spilling over her. Something I'll remember, months or years from now, and wish I could go back to it. A bittersweet ache fills my chest, a longing for something I haven't even lost yet.

Because I will lose her, in time. There's no question about that.

There's a quiet that hangs over us as Wisteria makes breakfast, the only sounds that of the skillet sizzling and the coffeepot bubbling as it makes another pot. She puts slices of French toast on a porcelain platter edged with small hand-painted flowers, and sets it in the middle of the table with a matching plate for each of us, glasses of orange juice, two small glass pitchers of syrup.

"One is lavender syrup," she says, pointing at it. "I made it. The other is regular maple." She laughs, a little self-consciously. "You definitely don't have to try the lavender, if you don't think you'll like it."

I can feel her nervousness from across the table. I take the pitcher of lavender syrup, pouring it over my serving of French toast. "I'm always down to try somethin' new."

Wisteria laughs nervously. "Like spending the night?"

Ah.I pause, sitting back in my chair to look at her. "I wouldn't have done that if I didn't want to. You don't need to worry about anythin' in that regard."

She nods slowly. "I just worried–I thought you might have morning-after regrets." She lets out another small, nervous laugh. "I'm always a regret, I think. And no one has ever woken up with me in the morning before. They're always gone by then."

The feeling that hits me is strange. An ache in my chest for her, at the sadness I hear in her voice, but not only that. I feel an odd anger towards anyone who ever did that to her–towards myself, even for doing the same when I ended things so abruptly. And a protectiveness that I've never felt before.

I don't look out for anyone else. I look out for myself, and only myself. But with Wisteria–

For the first time in my life, I feel the urge to take care of someone.

I swallow hard, cutting a bite of the French toast. I can't think too hard about it, or I'll start to run scared, and that's when this could all fall apart. When I could become just another in a line of men that have hurt her.

I don't want to be that. I've never cared before–but I care now.

My train of thought is abruptly interrupted by the taste in my mouth. I wouldn't have thought I'd like it–but it's sweet and herbal all at once, a unique flavor–and one I don't mind a bit. "How did you learn to make this?" I ask her curiously, and Wisteria gives me a small smile, although I still see a trace of nervousness, a slight hesitation when she answers.

"It's a family recipe," she says finally. "My grandmother perfected it, and passed it down."

"Is your family close?" I look at her curiously, feeling a pang in my own chest for the first time in years.

"We were. Everyone else is gone now. It's just me." Wisteria looks down at her plate, her shoulders suddenly slumping a little, and I realize I've touched on something sad.

"We don't need to talk about that," I tell her quickly. "Nothin' sad. I don't wanna bring you down. We can talk about somethin' else–for instance, how good of a cook you are."

Wisteria looks up, giving me a soft, watery smile. "Well, that's because of my family, too," she says with a small laugh. "But it's alright. I've come to terms with it."

I don't want to pry any further, even though I'm curious. I have the feeling her house is an inheritance–I see touches that make me think someone older owned it before her, things she hasn't gotten around to making her own yet.

As we finish up, Wisteria checks her phone. "I do have to go in to the shop at some point," she says apologetically. "I'm sorry. I'd like to spend more time with you, but–"

"It's alright," I tell her quickly. "I need to go back to the Lodge and shower, get ready for work tonight."

Wisteria nods, swallowing hard, and I see another wave of sadness cross her face, albeit one that I can tell she's trying hard to hide. I know she's steeling herself for me to tell her that this is it, that things are getting too intimate, for me to run away after what happened last night.

But everything in me is screaming not to do that. To run towards her. And for now, at least, I'm done trying to fight it.

At least until it's time for me to move on.

"I want to see you again." I stand up as she does, moving around the table to stand in front of her, one hand on her hip. The morning light is falling across her face, highlighting the soft freckles on her nose, the kitchen warm with the scents of sugar and coffee. "What if I come over, and we make dinner, like you said when we ended up on those steps out there? And then–" I reach up, brushing a thumb over her lower lip. "I think I like the idea of that."

Wisteria's eyes go wide and soft. "I do too," she whispers. "Any ideas what we should make?"

"I'll think of somethin'. I'll even bring the ingredients, if you promise to do the cookin'." I grin down at her. "I've never learned to do that, but you seem to be an old hand at it."

"I try." A smile starts to spread over her lips, one that I can't help but think I'd like to get to see again and again. "When?"

"I'm off Wednesday night. How does that sound?"

Wisteria nods. "Okay," she says softly. "That feels like a while. But I need some time to focus on the shop anyway. We're supposed to be opening tomorrow."

"You'll do just fine." I reach up, threading my fingers through her hair. "Every time I go in there, you look like you know exactly what you're doin'."

Wisteria's smile broadens. "I needed to hear that," she confesses. "I'm glad it was from you."

I bend down, kissing her softly. "It's another date, then," I murmur against her mouth, and I feel her curl her hands into the front of my sweater, pulling me closer for just a moment before I let go.

By the time I walk out of her front door, I'm already thinking about the next time I'll be back.

—

Adam interceptsme the moment I walk into the back door of the bar for work, later on that night. He all but blocks my path, a know-it-all look on his face as he crosses his arms over his chest. "I met that girl you told me about the other night, here at the bar."

I frown. "Oh?"

"Yeah. That night you called off. She came by, asking for you. Eli, she's–" He breaks off, his eyes narrowing. "Shit. You saw her again, didn't you?"

I briefly consider lying, but I don't think I'll manage to get away with it. And besides that, I'm too focused on the fact that Wisteria came by the day after I told her we couldn't see each other again.

I'm not sure whether to feel like shit that I hurt her bad enough for her to be that torn up about it–enough to come and confront me, I imagine–or glad that she clearly felt as much as I did that day. That it wasn't just me, showing up at her shop like a lost puppy. She came looking for me, too.

It's not that I ever thought it was one-sided, but that tells me for sure that it isn't.

"She's, what?" I cross my own arms, looking at Adam, and he rubs a hand over the back of his neck.

"She's–shit." He hesitates, glancing shrewdly over my face before shaking his head. "I was going to say she's looking for you. But seems like I don't need to. Seems like the two of you already caught up."

"Is it that obvious?" My frown deepens, and Adam rolls his eyes.

"It'd do you good to look in a mirror more often than just when you need to shave." He taps the side of his throat. "You were in someone's bed last night, and from the look on your face when I said her name, it was hers."

Shit."Well, at least that'll keep the ladies from hittin' on me tonight." I start to push past him, but Adam blocks my way.

"I wanted you to work here because you bring the ladies in, Eli." He glares at me. "What's going on with you? I've never known you to pass up a woman who wants to take you to bed, but that redhead in here a few nights ago was all but pushing her tits in your face, and you told her no. Watched her leave with a whole pack of shifters when you could've had her to yourself. That's not like you. And to keep seeing a woman who's clearly clingy–"

"She's not clingy." The last word comes out on a growl, and Adam raises his hands, taking a step back.

"Shit, Eli. I–" He takes a breath, once again hesitating, as if thinking something over. "I don't think I should be getting into the middle of this."

"The middle of what?" I frown. "No one asked you. Not to be rude, or anythin'. But my love life doesn't have anythin' to do with my work here." I shake my head. "If nothin' else, it'll keep me off the waitresses, just like you asked."

Adam chuckles dryly. "There is that. It's just–shit, Eli. I've known you a long time. You've never taken up with anyone for more than a night. And now–" he pauses. "What is it about her?"

I let out a slow breath, trying to think of how to put it into words. If I even want to. It's one thing to talk about a woman I fucked, with a friend over beers. It's another to say out loud what I haven't even fully been able to come to terms with myself.

"She's sweet," I say finally. "It's–shit." I shake my head. "I don't know exactly how to explain it, Adam." She talks so fast sometimes that she trips over her words, and instead of getting irritated, all I can think is that I could listen to her talking all night. She clearly had a rough time before she moved here, but she looks at the world like she's excited to see the sun rise every morning. She's somehow tough as nails and sweet as sugar, all at once. And for the first time, I've woken up next to a woman, and wished I could do it all over again the next day.

But I don't say any of that, because even just thinking it makes my chest tighten, my pulse throbbing in my throat with sudden panic. I certainly can't say it aloud to Adam, who would no doubt look at me like I've lost my goddamn mind.

Truthfully, he's looking at me like that anyway.

Adam whistles under his breath. "You've got it bad." He shakes his head. "I really never thought I'd see the day."

There's something in his expression that unsettles me, as he says it. Like he wants to be happy for me, but something is holding him back.

Like there's something he's not saying.

I cock my head to one side, frowning. "What's goin' on, Adam? I would've thought you'd be happy I might've found someone to settle me down a little. Hell, I might stay past January, if things keep up like this."

Truthfully, I hadn't consciously thought about it until the words came out of my mouth. But it's as if, in some deep-seated part of myself, I had thought about it. And when I say it, it feels obvious. If Wisteria and I keep having nights and mornings like the ones we just shared together–why wouldn't I stay?

Adam presses his lips together, frowning. And then he shakes his head. "No, you're right. I'm nosing around in things that aren't any of my business." He shrugs. "So long as it doesn't affect the bar, what does it matter to me?"

I hesitate. There's still that feeling that something is off. "You're my friend, Adam. I'm not tellin' you to shut up and leave me alone. Far from it. I guess I'm just a little on edge about things bein' different, that's all. Takes some gettin' used to. But you're just about the only friend I have. I'm sorry if I came off a little rough."

Adam chuckles. "Rough is your middle name, Eli. But it's alright." He pats me on the shoulder, moving around me to head towards his office. "The bar's calling your name. I'll catch up with you later tonight."

And then he's gone, disappeared into his office, and I'm left with the feeling that something's not quite right. That he feels some kind of way about what's going on with Wisteria and I, and he's not telling me why.

I'm just being paranoid.Between that ominous phone call, and the shift in my relationship with Wisteria, it makes sense I'm on edge, jumping at shadows that don't really mean anything. This is all new territory for me, and I still haven't completely figured out what it means if I'm falling for Wisteria.

All the complications that come with that haven't disappeared. They won't disappear. She's human, and I'm a shifter, which means there's things we can't ever have together.

Things we'll have to talk about, if there's a possibility of this working out.

One date, and I'm already thinking about a future. But hell, maybe that's the way it works. Maybe it just takes one person to upend the way I've spent my whole life.

And maybe I should be more upset about that than I am, but I just can't bring myself to feel that way.

I pull out my phone, glancing at it before I head behind the bar. There's a text from Wisteria: have a good night at work!:) and I feel an odd tug in my chest, seeing it. Another new thing.

I'm not even sure how to respond. I stand there for a good few minutes, debating the merits of you too!--which is stupid, she'll be at home, not work–or I'll try, which feels blunt and likely to hurt her feelings. Is ‘thanks' an appropriate response?

I might have managed to pull off the date, but I don't know how to do what comes after. Small talk, casual texts, sweet flirtation–I've never tried any of that. And I have a feeling I'm probably overthinking it.

I'll do my best. Looks like it's gonna be a busy one.

There. I start to put my phone back into my pocket, and feel it buzz in my hand. A response from Wisteria, probably, and I can't resist pulling it back out to see what she said.

But instead, it's a number I don't recognize.

We're keeping an eye on you, Evans. You can't run from this one.

Something cold slithers through my chest. Even with the unknown number, I know it's the same person who called me a few days ago. It's too much of a coincidence to believe otherwise.

My jaw tightens. I've spent my whole damn life going from job to job, place to place, and I've never had to deal with the fallout of what I've left behind. Now that I've found a reason to want to stay a little longer, the possibility of something I've never had before–now this shit is going to catch up to me?

I delete the message, shoving my phone back into my pocket. I refuse to let it.

They'll get tired of hassling me soon enough. In the meantime, the last thing I want to think about is the past.

For the first time, I feel like I have a chance at a future.