It’s hard to imagine when we’ve never been in this position before.
Every time Iris and I touch, there’s a reason.
Every time she entrusts her body to me, there’s a reason, and that reason has always been to feed her.
But now…we’re kissing for no reason. I’m in her bed for no reason. And yet, neither of us is on the verge of spontaneous combustion as we thought we’d be.
We’re not alone, and it didn’t kill us.
I’m about to start shaking her when she releases the breath she’s been holding and sags in my arms.
“What are we doing?” she asks.
“I don’t know,” I admit. I have no clue what this is. “But we’ll have to stop if you’re going to freak out every time I kiss you.”
She hides her face in her hands, shaking her head.
“I-I…I’ve never done that before,” she murmurs.
“I know. Me either.”
She rears back, frowning in confusion, and I sigh as I search for the words to explain myself.
“I only ever do this when I need to…feel something.”
I cringe as the words leave my mouth. I know how they make me sound. As if I simply wander around fucking every woman I find that’s willing. At one point, I might have, but that was long ago. And nowadays, nothing feels as good as Iris.
Iris nods, a pained expression on her face as she stares into my chest.
“So, does that make me your first kiss?” I ask.
For the first time since she woke today, she laughs, and the sound feels like a symphony in my ears.
“Fuck you,” she says, swatting me in the chest.
“Maybe if you say please.”
Her dark eyes roll as she giggles.
“I’d rather starve,” she says.
And a smile cracks open on my face so wide I worry all my feelings might pour onto the bed in a sticky mess. She’d probably love that.
“Too bad, I won’t let you.”
She squirms on top of me, fighting to be free, but not in earnest. Instead, she spends wasted energy wriggling and pinching at my sides like we’re six.
I return the favor, wrestling her back down into the sheets and pressing kisses to whatever part of her I can find. She isn’t wearing much. My Deadheads tee that she never returned, and a thin pair of shorts, so I manage to land a few good ones before she bucks me off.
“Where were you?” she asks, rolling to her side and propping her head up on her fist. “I thought you’d been drinking.”
She pushes my hair away from my forehead, pressing gently on a tender spot above my right eye.
I haven’t seen myself tonight, but I wouldn’t be surprised to find a bruise there in the morning.
I can feel a few cuts mending themselves together beneath my jeans, and at least one other bruise on my back. But whatever I find will surely be nothing compared to the full moons of the past.
“The Manor,” I answer, and even though I can hear Mother’s voice telling me to stop there, I continue because I want her to know. “Cross wolves shift differently under the full moon. Our power is so strong that it can be dangerous. Not just for others, but for ourselves. Most of us choose to be chained for the evening. But coming out of a full moon shift can be rough.”
