Newt wished he had that kind of attitude. His life was more like following the rules so his father wouldn’t disparage him for the gazzionth time.
“Your pack seems different.” Newt picked at his nails. “They seem like they actually care about each other.” Honestly, and with a wince to judging an entire species, Newt would’ve thought wolves were rough, aggressive, and just took what they wanted. Savages.
He’d never been so glad he was wrong.
“They do.” Vaughn set the brush down but didn’t move away. His hands rested lightly on Newt’s sides, their warmth seeping through the borrowed shirt. “It’s not perfect, but it’s pack. Something real you can hold on to.”
Real. Newt wouldn’t know about holding on to anything since his father hadn’t given him anything to hold on to.
The pull toward Vaughn intensified, a gentle but insistent tug that made Newt want to close the small distance between them. To turn around and press his face into Vaughn’s chest. To stay.
But staying meant lying. Staying meant breaking laws that carried a weight most refused to pay. Staying meant betraying his family, no matter how suffocating they could be.
“I should go,” he whispered, even as he leaned back slightly, his shoulders brushing against Vaughn’s chest.
“Should you?” Vaughn’s breath warmed the crown of Newt’s head.
No, his heart answered. But his mouth said, “Yes.”
Neither of them moved.
“At least stay until morning,” Vaughn ran his fingers through Newt’s hair. “The vampires might still be out there.”
It was a reasonable suggestion. Practical. Safe. And completely at odds with the tension crackling between them.
“Just until morning,” Newt agreed, knowing he was making promises he shouldn’t keep. Promises that might get his freedom yanked away. But every fiber of his being begged for him to spend more time with Vaughn, to bask in his presence like a wilted flower that needed the sun.
He couldn’t understand his father. While Newt was happy with his simple life, Hershel Twistboot was always talking about how much better off their family would be with wealth, with prestige. How amazing it would be to learn more advanced magic.
Honestly, Newt had no idea how his father had arranged a marriage with an upper-class family. Rich people looked at lower-class citizens as if they were filth. Dung on the bottom of their shoes. While they lived in gorgeous homes surrounding the castle, the lower class were scattered around the vast countryside in small villages.
Couldn’t let them have large ones or they might rebel.
But Newt loved bargaining at the farmer’s stands, loved the smell of sizzling fat from meat on a grill. The joy of laughter as the children ran around and the smell of the countryside.
Not Hershel. He constantly complained of the smell, the poor quality of food, of anything that reminded him how simple they lives were.
Newt’s mom always stayed quiet, as if she knew pointing out the good things about their lives would fall on deaf ears, but he knew his mother loved their way of living as much as Newt did.
Vaughn’s fingers lightly traced the damp strands. “Your hair’s almost dry.”
“Your brush has magical properties,” Newt joked weakly.
“Or maybe it’s just the company.”
The simple statement knocked the air from Newt’s lungs. He turned slightly, just enough to see Vaughn’s face, to check if he was joking.
He wasn’t.
His eyes held the same mix of longing and hesitation that Newt felt twisting in his own chest. This close, he could see the tiny flecks of amber in Vaughn’s brown eyes, could count each individual eyelash.
“I don’t normally break into people’s houses.” Laughter faltered, catching on itself, as though it wasn’t sure it was allowed. “Just so you know.”
“I don’t normally invite home intruders to stay the night,” Vaughn countered, his thumb grazing the side of Newt’s neck.
The touch was featherlight but electric, sending a current through Newt that made his toes curl against the carpet. He should pull away. Should thank Vaughn for the shirt and the hair brushing and the sanctuary from vampires, then find his way back to the forest and figure out how to get home.
Instead, he leaned into the touch, just slightly.
