Broken Kiss (a Teen Wolf story)

Part 31

            She was losing him. She was losing him, and she didn't know why. She recognized what he was doing. Deflecting. Avoiding. But she didn't know what had triggered this wall he'd thrown up around himself. There was no blood on his hands, nothing around him that scratched at her banshee instincts. He hadn't killed anyone, hadn't come close to hurting anyone tonight. And she hadn't given him cause to think she'd doubted him.

Oh, she'd wanted to chase him down. She'd been nearly at the door, dragging clothes on over wet skin – what did it matter since it was still pouring outside – but she'd stopped. She'd taken a moment, thought it through, and stopped. Chasing him would show she doubted him. And she didn't, not now.

Except here she was, struggling to get him to meet her gaze. His blue eyes looked everywhere but at her. Withdrawing. Deflecting. Working to make her angry.

"What is going on with you?" she asked, starting to feel cold even though she'd just warmed up.

"I need space," he said. "Away from all these...restrictions."

"What, this house?"

"No," he sneered, glaring at her. "Not the house. All the demands that go with being allowed inside the house."

He bit the words off but instead of baring his teeth at her, his head swung to the side. Exposing his neck for a mere instant. And that's what she focused on.

He'd talked her through the nuances, the hundreds of rules and physical cues he'd grown up with. She couldn't imagine being a child and having to navigate a family of werewolves, all the sounds and scents, the hierarchy and the violence, all while having to pass as human most of the time. But she recognized this. It was a show of vulnerability, an offering of himself.

Based on his current behavior, if he'd recognized the urge, he would have quashed it rather than allow her to see it. He'd been fine until she'd let him go. And she had let him go, thinking it was better to pretend he hadn't than show him that she was scared and angry. A single decision to suppress her emotions rather than reveal him, and he took it as a denial.

Wolves liked the chase and, when it was welcome – a pursuit outside of a hunt – they liked for it to go both ways. He was lashing out because she hadn't followed him. It would have been cute – saccharine sweet precious – if the thought that, even after everything, their relationship was so tenuous that a single slip could end it.

She could toss her hair and flounce. She could say something cruel to push him into snapping back, just to make him look at her. Both reactions were there, waiting to be launched. She'd done things like that before, testing the boys she'd dated. Hoping for what reaction, she wasn't sure. She knew what she wanted from Peter, and it wasn't to test him.

Instead she ran a hand through her hair and let it fall back from her face. She swallowed, then she smiled a smile full of all the confidence she didn't feel right then.

Never frown, someone might be falling in love with your smile.

His next words could hurt. He could easily push past her and walk out. But she was never going to look back at this night and wish that she had tried harder. Any regrets would have to be his. If he wanted a chase, he'd get one. And she would be damn sure he understood that he was caught.

Lydia moved toward him with slow, sure strides. And if there was a little sway in her hips, that didn't hurt, did it?

"It's dangerous to play with wolves, Lydia."

"I'm an omen of death and consul to the underworld. I can be a little bit dangerous, too. You're not afraid of me, are you?"

His eyes finally met hers, a bright ribbon of smoking through his irises. His wolf, rising to meet her challenge. It was now or never. She licked her lips, then let him see her teeth. His eyes turned brilliant, cold blue.

"Am I giving you enough space now, Peter?" Her thigh brushed against his, and his brows drew together as he watched her.

"What about now?" She slid her body against his.

A low sound rumbled in his chest, not exactly a growl. A sound of pleasure from the wolf, but he wasn't touching her back. The man was still undecided. She needed all of him, from the fragile parts of the man to the unyielding strength of the beast, from the shrewd mind to the tender heart, here with her now. And there was one very good way to get a werewolf's attention.

She bit him. Rose up on her toes and braced herself against the countertop with her fingertips. Her teeth dug hard into his corded neck. He jerked, his arms snapping around her body. His hands fisted into the fabric of her shirt, rough fingertips pressing into delicate skin. She breathed him in, listened to the sound of his labored breathing as his hands clenched and unclenched.

She had his attention, but knew – instinctively – that she didn't quite have him yet. Not completely. She bit down harder, and rasped her tongue along his skin. His head tipped back farther, and his hand slid upwards until he cupped the back of her head. Urging her closer without demanding it. Turning his head so that she had complete access to his neck, so that he was wholly exposed.

It felt as if he was capitulating, surrendering. She wanted to back off, to release him. But that wasn't quite right either. She didn't know this part, didn't know what a wolf would do – to claim and to soothe. His entire body was trembling and she could feel the flux in the air around him as he struggled to stay fully human.

She shook her head twice, until her eye teeth tore the hot skin beneath them. He reared back, tearing loose from her, and then his mouth was on hers. He lifted her, swung them both around until her back was against the wall and his body pinned her there. Her legs wrapped around his hips. Their hands roamed and gripped at each other's flesh.

Lydia pulled back finally, hot and needy but needing to see his eyes.

They were dark now, heavy-lidded with desire and something else.

"How much space do you need?" she asked, half-dreading that he'd laugh this off as a last hurrah before he ran.

He tilted his head until his forehead rested on hers. His thumb brushed a strand of hair from her cheekbone. Their bodies were entwined. Their breath mingled.

"I never want to be farther from you than I am right now."