It does the fucking opposite.
I back up half a step, running both hands over my face. My beard rasps against my palms as I exhale slowly, thinking through every possible way to handle this
The quiet after her weak excuse is a dull blade. My wolf howls at it, demanding I tear the door off its hinges and drag the truth from her lips. Every part of me aches to fix her, to touch her, to strip the sickness from her skin. The disappointment of her lie settles bitter in my gut, but I order myself to hold steady. Forcing honesty never works and shoving my care on her will undo whatever fragile ground I’ve managed to gain.
So, I wait, muscles coiled, reminding myself that trust will only be built by giving her a choice. Even though every part of me demands I take it.
“Will you come out here so I can talk to you?”So I can see with my own two eyes that you’re as okay as you’re telling me, I silently add.
There’s another pause. Then the faucet clicks off, followed by the faint rustle of fabric hitting tile. “Umm…yeah, okay,” she mumbles. “Just give me a second.”
Relief moves through me, loosening something that had been locked tight. She didn’t tell me to leave, didn’t shut me out. She’s letting me stay. I step back another pace or two so I’m not plastered to the door like a psycho when she opens it.
Still, I can’t help wondering how she’d react if she opened her bedroom door one night and found me slumped in the hall, sleeping against the wall outside her room instead of in my own bed. My room sits directly across from hers, but it might as well be on the other side of the world for how far away it feels.
The door eases open after another stretch of rustling, and Noa steps out. She doesn’t look at me, her gaze skimminganywhere else—the walls, the floorboards, my shoes. She keeps her head bowed, hoping I’ll miss the truth written all over her. But it’s unmistakable.
From a distance she looked unwell but up close, the sight is like hot iron stabbed between my ribs.
Her skin is washed out, dulled into an ashen shade that makes her look fragile in a way she never should. But it’s the circles under her eyes that stop me cold—deep-purple shadows so dark they look like someone’s taken a swing at her.Her lips are just as pale and chapped, robbed of the plump softness I’d felt press against mine during our stolen moment. And her hair, usually long and loose, is pulled back into a messy ponytail. Whether from sweat or the water she’s splashed there, I don’t know, but the shorter stands of her bangs cling to her damp brow.
I move before reason can stop me, closing the space I’d only just tried to grant her.
My hands claim her face, palms bracketing her cheeks as I tip her chin upward and strip away the shield she just attempted to raise between us.
Noa now has nowhere to turn but to me.
She inhales sharply, the sound a bittersweet melody of agony and pleasure, and she stiffens, turning into stone in my grasp. For a heartbeat I think she’s going to pull away. Then slowly, she surrenders. Inch by inch, her body gives in until all that’s left is her melted into my tender grasp. Her eyes close, the fight drains out of her, and the sigh that slips free nearly shreds the control I’m clinging to.
An instinct I don’t fully understand niggles at the back of my mind, driving me to act. Fast. Violently. It’s like a piece of my brain knows what to do, how to fix this, but the rest of my mind and body are still in the dark. Still lost on how to chase the shadow away from her eyes and ache from her bones.
Thumbs tracing the apparent bruising beneath her eyes, I battle the impulse screaming at me to gather her up, carry her across the hall to my room, and bundle her up in a bed that smells like me. And fuck, the way she reacts to my touch…that sharp intake of breath that is need and pain tangled in one. I’ve caught it before, when my hand slid across her back at breakfast days ago. Maybe it’s just wishful thinking, but if I didn’t know better, I’d think she’s as starved for me as I am for her.
“Sweet one,” I murmur, her moniker tangled in the gravel of my exhale. It’s part plea, part demand. “Talk to me.”
The moment fractures. She stiffens, bracing herself, throwing up what’s left of her defenses. But she doesn’t shake free of my hold. Her face stays in my hands, and that alone feels like a victory I shouldn’t cling to as hard as I do.
“I just…” She clears her throat, words catching like she’s choking on the very idea of giving me a sliver of truth. At last, she forces them out. “I don’t feel very well.”
There’s a painful pang behind my ribs, her admission like claws dragging.
“I know you don’t.” My fingers tighten on her clammy skin before I can stop them. “I can see it. Please, just tell me what to do. How to help you.”
I’ll do anything, just tell me what I can do, Noa.
Her eyes open, locking on to mine, and all the conflict reflected in them is laid bare. For a breath, I think she’ll let me in, but then she speaks. Hope fades just as fast as it dared surface.
“I’m not ready.”
Three words layered with meanings she doesn’t have to spell out.Not ready to trust me. Not ready to let me shoulder any part of what’s breaking her. Not ready to believe I’d treat her heart with the care I should have the first time.
Something inside me tears at that. My wolf gives voice to it, a low, broken noise I don’t let past my teeth. But I force myself to nod, to accept what she’s willing to give even as it strips me bare.
“Okay,” I tell her softly. “I understand.” It’s both a lie and a truth because while I understand, I also I hate it.
She holds my gaze for another long moment, her eyes dipping briefly to my mouth. For one stupid second, I almost let myself close the gap and steal the kiss I’m starving for. Just a small taste, a reminder she’s still mine. But then she pulls back, wincing as she does, halting the impulse before it can fully take root. The loss of her skin against mine is immediate. Cruel. My hands fall uselessly at my sides, the distance she puts between us cold.
Noa clears her throat before asking, “What did you want to talk about?”
