I cross my arms and stand in the center of the room. “How so?” I have to hear this. It’s news to me that to faint in the middle of an important werewolf ceremony-whatever will score ‘brownie points’. This should be good.
“You stood up to Nataša,” Isaac says, pushing the chair cushion back down and moving toward the bed. “Nataša, I’m sure, even respects you more because of what you did. She may be a hardass, but one thing she responds negatively to is weakness. Fainted or not, you showed strength.” He raises upright fully from being bent over looking under the pillows. “I knew she wouldn’t hurt you.”
“Oh, really?” I’m not sure I fully believe him; or rather I’m not so sure he fully believes it himself.
He comes over to me, his eyes smiling softly with devotion.
“Yes, really,” he says, cupping my elbows again, my arms still crossed over my stomach. He draws me closer and brushes his lips across mine and my lashes fall and my arms unfold slowly. “And, I uh, have to say…what you did was a huge turn-on.” He takes my bottom lip carefully between his teeth until I give in fully to the kiss, pressing myself against his body. His fingers spread to hold my head in his hands, his thumbs resting on my cheeks. He’s always so gentle, yet so dominant with me that it makes me mad for him.
This is what got me into trouble three months ago.
It takes everything in me to resist him. Absolutely everything. And during the week before every full moon, when Isaac’s hormones are in overdrive, it makes it that much harder to abstain. He has never crossed the line and the second I back out, he always backs down.
It’s when my body doesn’t want to back down that makes Isaac more dangerous. When his human and animal instincts know that I want him even if I’m only pretending not to.
Like the night three months ago.
Like right now.
Full moon is still nearly four weeks out…maybe I can prolong this moment for a just a little longer and get away with it.
I kiss Isaac harder and feel his chest melt into me. His hands slip underneath my bottom, lifting my body up, my legs wrapped around his waist. He breathes in more deeply, his mouth still crushed against mine.
For only a moment the kiss breaks and I hear him whisper playfully, “I’m onto you,” and he pecks me softly once. Twice.
My lips graze his. “How so?” I whisper back and graze them again.
He nudges his mouth underneath my chin and I lift my head and close my eyes as the warmth from his lips trails down my throat in little kisses. “Like jumping off a cliff into water,” he says and my whole body quivers as the tip of his tongue gently traces a path along the side of my neck. If my eyes could open right now, my vision would be fuzzy. My breath comes out in a soundless shudder.
I tighten my legs around his waist and go to lay my head on his shoulder, but he pulls away from my neck and smiles at me, easily finding the demure tone that my face carries.
He’s seen it before.
“I’m sorry,” I say and this isn’t the first time I’ve apologized for this, for running toward the edge of the cliff again and again, but stopping just in time because I still haven’t found the courage to jump off.
Isaac kisses my forehead, letting his lips linger there for a moment and then he carries me over to the chair. Leaning over, he sets me down and then kneels on the floor between my legs, resting his hands on my thighs.
“You promised you wouldn’t say that again,” he says.
I start to look away, but I don’t.
“When are you going to believe that it doesn’t bother me?”
I gaze down at him, trying to find the right words.
“I just know that most guys I’ve ever known hate it,” I finally say, even though we’ve vaguely had this conversation before. “I was called a tease once or twice.”
Isaac shakes his head, partly at how inexperienced guys can be, but also because sometimes it still bothers me and apparently it shouldn’t. The truth is that I never cared what any other guy ever thought of me. It’s Isaac’s opinion that makes me second-guess myself sometimes.
He lets out a sharp breath and takes hold of my hands. “I’m going to be blunt so maybe you’ll believe me this time.”
I’m only a little worried.
“If you had given in to me sooner,” he says, but then backtracks. “Let me start over—If you were anyone else and you gave in to me sooner, it would be a complete turn-off and we wouldn’t be together to be having this conversation.” His expression is very matter-of-factly.
“It’s one thing I really don’t get about human guys,” he goes on, “that screwed-up mentality some of them have. They have no patience. I mean damn, it makes me crazy that you get me all worked up like that and decide, ‘ummm, maybe later’, y’know? But crazy in a good way, because when it does happen…well, you get the idea.”
I’m blushing now and looking away from his eyes this time because I think I might burst into laughter if I look.
Of course, that’s exactly his goal.
“Look at me,” he says and I do, but his face is serious again. “I will wait forever for you and I mean that.” His eyes are smiling again and I prepare for what he’s about to say because I’m getting that playful feeling from him. “But believe me,” he goes on, “the way you are when we’re alone like this…I-dun-no, Adria.” He’s grinning hugely, his eyes drifting toward the ceiling. “I doubt ‘forever’ will come before you decide to take complete advantage of me.”
My mouth falls open and I suck in a quick breath.
He’s grinning from ear-to-ear.
“Take advantage of you?” I say, unbelieving, but loving every second of this.
“You scare me sometimes, girl,” he says, the grin getting darker, more playful. “Sometimes I worry you’ll throw me down and not let me up. I’m kinda…traumatized.” He’s trying so hard not to laugh.
I shove him playfully. “You’re so full of shit!” I say and we both laugh.
Isaac scoops me up into his arms again and holds me straddled around his waist. With my hands dangling over the back of his shoulders, I give him one last hard, quick peck on the lips and then slide out of his grasp.
I can’t do this forever; play the sexually timid virgin card. I don’t want to! I’m afraid of him, yes, but nothing can change the fact that I still want him.
I thought he would distance himself from me all over again a week before every full moon like when we first met. I thought he would hate himself for losing control that night three months ago in Vaughan Woods and nearly killing me. I prepared myself for a little bit of blame, but months later and he has hardly talked about that night at all. And I’ve avoided going too deeply into what happened because of my own guilt, because I screwed up. And I always thought his silence indicated a hidden disappointment and maybe I should just leave it alone.
But not anymore.
The silence has begun to feel like the first layers of a divide between us. My humanity is enough of a divide.
“I guess it’s a good thing we’ll be back from Portland before the next full moon, huh?” I say, opening another tightly sealed can of worms.
He goes back to whatever he was looking for earlier, now sifting through a box of unpacked stuff sitting on the floor next to the nightstand.
“I guess so,” he answers not looking at me.
“Isaac,” I say, raising my voice only enough to let him know that my words are important and I need him to hear them, “We need to talk about March.”
With his back to me, I see his head tilt upward and he sighs deeply, pulling both hands to the back of his head. He holds them there, his fingers interlocking.
“Please,” I say, desperate and nervous he won’t want to.
Finally, his arms fall back to his sides and he turns around to face me.
I wait, hoping he might be the one to start even though I know it should be me, and when he doesn’t speak up, I say, “I know I shouldn’t have—”
He puts a hand up and walks toward me. “If we’re going to talk about it then you have to agree, no apologies, okay?”
I simply nod my answer. I’m surprised that already it’s turning out exactly the opposite of how I expected it.
He motions to the bed. “Let’s sit down.”
I walk over and we sit on the side of the bed together.
“I admit that night was a close call,” he says, “but it didn’t end badly.”
“But it could have,” I remind him.
“Yes,” he says, looking right at me, “but it didn’t.”
I’m not following him. Something is off and I detect it immediately. I’m not the oblivious human girl I was before I met him.
I fully expected Isaac to trust himself less with me, that he would tell me that because of that night, he can never forgive himself. I still expect him to look me in the eye and tell me that if I ever try to pull something like that again that he will never forgive me.
But I’m not getting any of that from him.
“Isaac,” I say and I hesitate, “how can you be so confident?”
He doesn’t answer and I still can’t read him. It’s starting to make me anxious. He looks away from me in some long distant thought and then turns back to me again. “It’s just impossible.” He pauses, averting his gaze so that he isn’t looking me directly in the eyes. “There’s no chance of it happening.”
I look at him in disbelief, but I realize I’m staring right through him instead.
I snap back into the moment, “What do you mean?” I say. “Isaac…Look what happened to Sebastian. And the night in March…,” I sigh heavily, almost swallowing the words down. “Okay, it’s my turn to be blunt—it worries me that you’re so sure of yourself.”
He stares at the floor now, letting his folded hands suspend between his knees, his back arched forward.
“I don’t know how to explain it to you,” he says, “but I want you to be ready on your own time. Not on mine. And that’s why I don’t talk about it or try to convince you of it.”
I look down, absently staring at the zigzag pattern of colors that make up the rug beside the bed. “Because then you think I’ll feel more pressured?”
He crouches in front of me, placing his arms across my thighs like he did when I sat in the chair.
“I never want you to feel pressured to do anything,” he says, his face severe and yet still so beautiful.
“But why would you think that?” I say, though I’m already feeling somehow I know the answer to this.
“Adria,” he says, “you still worry I’m going to think you’re a tease. Add this detail and you’ll drive yourself crazy always wondering if I’m frustrated with you.”
Why is he so good to me? I think to myself.
I don’t know what to say to him because words really can’t express how I feel right now. I can’t say out loud that he just melted my heart, or that I think I’d die inside without him in my life because last time I checked, I sucked at poetry and we aren’t Romeo and Juliet.