I shake my head. I’d like to explain but can’t talk. My throat won’t cooperate.
He reaches down and ruffles the fur on my head. “That’s OK. I get it. I’ll be here if you need me, OK? I’ll wait right here. If you’re not back by midnight, I’ll come looking.”
I nuzzle against his leg in thanks and then turn in wonder toward the door. A wispy trail of purply red heads straight out the door, and I follow it onto the drive. It smells like honey and bourbon, and I know exactly where it leads.
I twist, letting out a sharp yip to thank Riley, and then I take off at a run, relishing the way my paws scurry over the pavement so quickly. Hundreds of different scents cross the trail as I follow it down the street, but I ignore them, focusing on what’simportant. The scent of my mate is tinged with sadness and something sickly I can’t name. I hurry up the hill and toward the outskirts of town, following the path he took, wondering what he was looking for. Or I start out wondering and then the flitter of a bird in a nearby bush catches my attention, as does the brush of a cool breeze through my fur.
Soon I’m trotting on light feet, thinking only about the moment, following the scent because I need to but not worried about what I’ll find when I get there.
I trot into a clearing where the ground is leveled out and covered in gravel, and it takes me a moment to recognize where I am. I’ve been here before, but it looks so different than approaching by car.
The eco-cabins.
I think that’s good. He didn’t run too far.
Nose to the ground, I follow the thickening scent right to the open door of one of the cabins. Bastien’s scent is mixed with the faint feminine scent of the woman we met and the harsher, masculine musk of the werewolf owner. I pause, but it’s Bas’s scent which is strongest.
A sad laugh from inside the cabin makes my ears swivel forward. “He told me you’d come, and I didn’t believe it.”
I creep forward, low to the ground, instincts telling me something isn’t quite right. Bas is lying on the bed, in his human form and wrapped only in a towel. As I get closer, he sits and his eyes widen. “Ver? Look at you. You did it.” He slings his legs over the end of the bed, leaning forward to stare at me.
He lowers his hand, and I slink forward to touch my nose to his skin, lapping at the salty flavor before his hand cups my cheek and his thumb brushes over the fur on my jaw.
“You’re beautiful.”
I want so much to talk to him, but I can’t form words as a fox, and for a moment I worry I won’t be able to shift back.
He sighs. “It’s OK, Ver. You don’t need to say it. I understand.”
A profound relief washes over me, and then I tilt my head to study his face more closely. That’s not happiness on his face. It’s resignation.
The shift happens so quickly my bones ache, and I stumble forward on two unsteady legs until he’s forced to catch me. “Why did you say I can’t leave? Back at the house, you said I can’t leave you, but I’m not going anywhere.” I hold his face in my hands and stare into his eyes. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”
His brows draw down over his eyes for a moment, and he searches my face. “Vera, you shut me out. What else could that mean?”
Oh shit. No wonder he thought I was leaving. “No, it’s not like that.” I reach for the bond and find a wall like a muscle I didn’t know I was clenching. It takes me a moment to figure out how to release it, and when I do I feel the rush of my thoughts and emotions flows from me like water from a dam.
Bastien’s’ brows shoot up, and he lets out a little huff of breath.
“I’m not leaving,” I whisper as I climb into his lap.
His hands slide up my thighs, but his gaze is locked on mine. His lips part. “Y-you’re not.”
“I just didn’t want to overwhelm you with something else to worry about after all the shit with your parents.”
“Of course you’re not.” His arms wrap around me tightly, and he drops his head to my shoulder, overcome with emotion. “Gods, Ver. I’m sorry I doubted you.”
I hold him, running my hands through his hair, soaking in our combined scents. “I told you, there’s nothing to apologize for. I’m sorry for scaring you.”
He looks up then, expression rueful. “Aren’t you upset about what I did?”
“Bas, it was nothing. You’re not him. You’re nothing like him, OK?” I place one hand on each of his cheeks, cupping his face, fixing him with a firm look. “Trust me.”
He lets out an unsteady breath. “You’d tell me if I was, wouldn’t you?”
“Of course, but I won’t need to. You’ll never be him.”
He holds me close for another long moment, and we breathe together until his steadies to match mine. Then he lifts his head. Our lips are close. Something hot and hard brushes against my inner thigh then rises to press between us.
