Page 75 of Touch of Evil

Dan gives it some thought, not that it slows him down. “Not necessarily. Sometimes it takes an intimate moment to trigger a wolf’s recognition. Did anything different happen last night? I mean, before you actually slept together?”

“She kissed me like she always does,” I reply.

“On the cheek?” he asks.

“Well, she tried. But then she accidently touched my lips with hers and then I…”

Oh shit.

Chapter Twenty-One

Emme

I place the last plate in the dishwasher and hit start. It’s almost midnight and Bren never showed.

I walk into the family room, glancing toward Taran and Gemini’s bedroom and then to the stairs where Celia and Shayna are likely asleep beside their mates.

Dinner was nice, as nice as it could be. As usual Shayna did most of the talking, and while my family sensed something was wrong, they gave me the space I desperately needed. It won’t last. Before long, the questions will come and I’m not certain I’ll be ready with answers.

I lower myself to the couch, resigned to spend another night binge watchingThe Marvelous Miss Maiseland gushing about her clothes.

No. That’s a lie. There’ll be no gushing, not tonight.

What I’m hoping is that there won’t be any tears.

Last night was something. And now it’s gone.

The doorbell rings and my heart leaps out of my chest.

It’s Bren. It must be.

I scramble for the door and open it, choking on my hello.

Bren stands in front me with a bouquet of flowers wrapped in paper and tied with string. He’s in a dress shirt and his best pair of jeans. I beam. Danny must have picked out his clothes.

“Hi,” I say.

My smile fades when I see just how miserable he appears. He hands me the flowers.

“All the magazines said I should bring these,” he mumbles. “Except forBetter Homes and Garden. They tried to get me to grow them first. But there was also an article on how to arrange them. If you have a cup or something, I guess I can give it a shot.”

I shut the door behind us and hug him. “Bren, why do you look so sad, love?”

He coughs, at least, I think he does.

I glance up, the extent of his heartache dulling his magnetic soul. This is so much worse than I thought.

“Don’t call me that, Emme.” He looks in the direction of the wooded path, but I doubt he really sees it.

“I’ve been driving for hours,” he admits. “Left my place an hour before I was supposed to be here.”

I clutch the flowers, crinkling the paper. “Why didn’t you come?” I ask.

Bren’s blue eyes, the ones that always reflect his humor, the ones so filled with passion earlier today, and the ones that fill me with joy glisten with grief. “I can’t do this, Emme. Not to you, not to me. I just can’t.” He bows his head. “Trust me when I say, you deserve a lot more than me.”

He turns away, his feet heavy as he makes his way down the steps. It’s good in a way. He doesn’t catch the way my tears soak the petals or sense that awful burn collecting in my throat.

He also doesn’t catch the small smile I manage.

Bren may not be ready for me. But the world is ready for us.