Page 117 of Pucking Feral: Part Two

That hesitation tells me more than any words could.

"Shit," I growl under my breath, turning away from her, dragging my hands through my hair.

I should deny it.

Should tell her it's just biology. That she isn't beholden to it, even if there's some bullshit on a cellular level that's making her body think she wants an alpha that doesn't even deserve to breathe the same air as her, let alone have her sitting on his bed, however innocent the gesture is.

But I'm fucking tired.

Tired of pretending I don't notice every time she looks at me. Not only notice, but hinge on every moment it happens because my world has revolved around her since I first laid eyes on her, standing in the swirling steam with a bright red fire extinguisher raised over her head like a fierce goddess about to slay a dragon with a sword.

"The pack is waiting," I say instead.

It's not an answer. We both know it.

I move toward the door.

Ivy cuts me off.

She's faster than I expected, slipping between me and the exit like she anticipated exactly what I was going to do. Which she probably did. I'm apparently not nearly as subtle as I've always thought I am.

She stands there, chin tilted up, those ocean eyes steady on mine. The hallway light bleeds under the door, catching the edge of her jaw, the dark strands of her freshly dyed hair.

"We should start from scratch," she says.

I stare at her.

"Forget all of it," she continues, like this is a perfectly reasonable thing to suggest. She gestures between us, a small motion that encompasses the dark room, the closed door, the impossible situation we've found ourselves in. "Pretend we're meeting for the first time. Right now. In this room."

I feel it happening to me. That predator stillness, the one that makes people instinctively step back. The dark shadow that slips over, around, and through my being like it's wearing my skin.

She doesn't step back.

I cross the room in three strides.

My palms hit the door on either side of her head, caging her in.

"I'm not like your mates, Ivy." My voice is low and rough, my breath ghosting against her throat. Goosebumps prickle across her pale skin. "I'm not good."

It's the truth. I contain every last one of the bad traits of this pack—danger, chaos, coldness, aggression—and absolutely none of the good.

And I'm giving her one last chance to tell me it was all a lie.

But Ivy doesn't flinch or look away.

Her pupils are blown wide, dark pools swallowing the ocean blue. Her chest rises and falls faster than before, but it's not the sharp, panicked breathing of prey cornered by a predator.

"This is one hell of an introduction," she says with a soft, breathless laugh.

Then her eyes drop to my mouth.

I break.

My mouth crashes into hers before I even realize what I'm doing.

The kiss is desperate. Furious. All this time spent wanting something I can't have compressed into a single point of contact. There's nothing gentle about it. My teeth catch her lower lip. My hands stay braced against the door, digging into the wood because I'm drowning and if I touch her I just might fucking die.

She kisses me back.