Page 15

15

F aye

I’m looking in the mirror, trying to get my eyeliner the way Addilyn showed me, when there’s a knock at the door. My heart immediately jumps into my throat, and I jump so hard that the eyeliner tracks across my face, swiping up onto my forehead.

“Gods,” I mutter, heart racing as I grab a wet cloth and move to the door. It could be anyone on the other side—it could be Kurt, here to hurt me when none of the other men are around. Except, the guard is still there. Standing silently. Probably wondering why the hell Ezra and Cayson ordered him to watch over me.

Or he’s not there. Kurt distracted him, or killed him. Now, Kurt’s just waiting on the other side of the door to hurt me.

I swallow hard. “Hello?” I ask, hating how shaky my voice sounds.

“Faye,” a voice says, and I’m surprised at the little jolt of self-consciousness I feel when I realize it’s Xander standing on the other side of the door.

I think of earlier, when he rode up with the other ferals. As startling as it had been, he wasn’t necessarily scary. His long black hair, his brilliant blue eyes, the muscles that cover his broad chest… Xander wasn’t scary, he was attractive. I was attracted to him. I wasn’t even sure, until Cayson and Ezra, that I could find men attractive. That that part of me existed.

My mind goes to later. To how he and the others worked together to send the bear in the other direction. It wasn’t just impressive that he could work so well with the only two men I trusted in the world. There was some part of me that just knew the four men would protect me. I didn’t know him or Maverick, and I certainly had some serious trust issues, so feeling this way was scary.

I close my eyes, wondering why he might be at my door. Xander is nothing like Cayson and Ezra—who are always polished. Even Cayson, despite his bad boy charm, has perfectly styled hair every time I see him. Xander is still dusted with the dirt from riding, and his long hair is wild in a way that only comes from exposure to the elements. Yet, some deep part of me wants to run my hand down his chest and let my fantasies open to a world where Xander really is my mate.

“It’s Xander,” he says, his voice soft, uncertain.

Something in my stomach tightens, and I clear my throat as I scrub at my face, trying to clear the eyeliner away. “Oh,” I say, checking my reflection in the mirror to see that I’ve fixed my eyeliner. “It’s you.”

I open the door slowly, then stand back, staring. I’m surprised that he’s just as good looking as I remember.

The guard is right behind him, frowning. “Miss Faye?”

I swallow hard. “He’s alright. Thank you.”

The guard gives a sharp nod, making the sharp lines on his face stand out even more, then backs up and returns to his place on the wall.

My gaze returns to Xander, unsure of what to expect. Wondering why he’s visiting me at my room. When he leans against the doorway, my mouth goes dry. He’s standing there, an expectant, excited look on his face, a full basket of berries in his hands. He holds it out to me, and I look between the berries and his face, which is so full of hope I can’t entertain the idea of rejecting this gift, even if I have no idea what to do with a basket full of wild berries.

“Thank you,” I say.

“For the others,” he mumbles, clearing his throat, then lifting his chin to meet my eye. “For the ruined basket. To replace it.”

And I get the feeling that this man doesn’t say much. That his words are as precious as the gift he brought. Something straight from his soul.

I bring my free hand to my heart to try and soothe the feeling there. The warmth that’s spreading in my chest. This man is… sweet. The scare from the bear was so bad that I forgot all about the basket I’d squished beneath me, but he hadn’t. I lift my hands, noting how they’re still stained purple, and when I glance at Xander’s hands, I realize they’re bloody and dirty.

“Oh,” I say, reaching out and taking his forearm. Touching him is like holding my hand to a flame—I feel the energy and heat immediately, and it makes me want to yank my hand back, but I don’t. “Come in, let me clean you up.”

He seems confused. “It’s okay. My family lives on a farm on the outskirts of a city, with other ferals. I’m used to hard work. And pain.”

I shake my head. “Still. You’re hurt.”

He nods, his expression uncertain.

Xander looks like an alien on a new planet when he wanders into my room, glancing around nervously like he’s not sure if he should be in here with me. Something in the back of my mind reminds me that this is dangerous—he’s a feral staking a claim on me, and I still haven’t thought of a way to explain what’s going on between Ezra, Cayson, and me. Heck, I haven’t even told him about Kurt.

How do you tell someone who thinks they’re your mate that you’re not looking for one at all?

I gesture for him to sit at the chair by the window and turn to the sink, rinsing a cloth until it’s warm and wet. Turning back to him, I settle in the chair across from his and work on his hands, dabbing and wiping to clear away the dirt and blood, frowning at the damage.

“Did you cut your hands on the berry bushes?”

“Yes,” he says, and it comes out as more of a grunt.

Then, why didn’t he stop? Why was it so important for him to get these berries for me?

“You probably could have borrowed some gloves,” I say, laughing lightly as I look back to him, but his eyes are focused on our hands and every point where they make contact.

For some reason, I feel a blush rise to my cheeks, and I try to ignore his hands, how I can feel his rough skin under the pads of my thumbs. How we both have worn hands, a similarity between us that’s hard to explain.

“I don’t like gloves,” he says, finally looking up at me, and those blue eyes hold me enthralled. “Ruins the feeling.”

Goosebumps break out over my skin, and I hurriedly return my attention to cleaning his hands. Because if I look him in the eyes, I’m not sure what I’m going to do, but I know it won’t be anything good. This man knows how to weave a spell over me, and I’ll be damned if I let it pull me under.

Once I’m finished cleaning them with the cloth, I move across the room, depositing the cloth in my hamper and taking the first aid kit from under the bathroom sink. I work on the deepest of the cuts, applying ointment and bandages. It’s partly for show—surely, as a feral, Xander’s cuts will heal by the time the sun sets. But it only feels right to patch him up when he went through all of this just to get me some berries.

Glancing at the basket, I wonder if I could bother the cooks to make some jam, or maybe a pie. That would be a nice way to return the favor. Yes, I think I’ll make them into something for him. A gift, even though I’ll have to make it clear that it’s not intended as a romantic gift.

“Faye,” Xander says, and it startles me again, making me jump as our gazes catch. Suddenly, the room feels too small, too warm, like I’m pressed right up against him. “Do you feel nothing?” And his meaning couldn’t be clearer.

He moves our hands gently, which just makes me more aware of the faint, pulsing connection between us. Like our hearts are syncing to the same beat. It’s like he’s trying to show me something, that connection, and he’s succeeding. But that probably isn’t the mating bond—it’s probably just a tender feeling between two people sharing a space, caring for one another. Or maybe I’m just more aware of him because I understand more about men, women, and sexual energy.

“I want to be honest with you, Xander,” I say, taking a deep breath. “I’ve been through a lot of…stuff. And I think that’s affected me and my ability to form connections with others. I’m not even sure… what I feel with Cayson and Ezra.”

“What stuff?” he asks quietly.

It used to be that talking about what happened to me was the hardest thing in the world, but after telling Ezra, it feels like it comes easier. Like in baring myself to Cayson and Ezra, I’ve opened up places inside of me that I thought would stay locked away forever. To my surprise, even though I’ve only known him for a few hours, it starts to come out.

“A few years ago,” I say, wringing my hands together, “my brother was… murdered. It was not a good time, and nobody was willing to help me. Everywhere and everyone I turned to just pretended like it didn’t happen, like my brother didn’t matter, and I was alone. The rest of my family had already passed. He was all I had left.”

“I can understand,” he says, his eyes on the ground. “I lost my best friend.”

“Oh,” I say, reaching for his hand again, holding it carefully. “I’m so sorry.”

“I am too.”

My chest fills with the kind of sorrow and grief you can only know when you’ve lost someone close to you. But more than that, I feel that connection between us growing. Is this what it is to feel like someone understands you? I’ve never really felt this until recently.

Before I know what’s happening, I’m leaning closer to him, my eyes flicking back and forth between his eyes and his hands. I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know why I’m doing it, but it just feels right.

This close, I can feel him breathing, can smell his underlying woody smell. He leans forward, his expression astonished. Hopeful. Then, our lips are pressed together, and I’m surprised and uncertain all at once.

As I relax, I become more aware of him. His lips are warm and hard, molding to my own like he’d been built just for me. When I soften against him, breathing hard, he presses forward, his hands fluttering around my jaw so tenderly it makes my heart skip a beat. How can such a big man be so gentle?

He kisses me hard, just a little rougher, and I’m practically falling forward, trying to get closer to him. I want to wrap myself in his scent, in the strength of his body. He makes me feel alive in a way that only Cayson and Ezra have ever made me feel.

My thoughts start to spin. I’m kissing Xander. I’m kissing a feral. And we’re alone in my room.

The instant the thoughts enter my mind, I stiffen. What am I doing? I don’t want a mate. I’m trying to get these men to believe me that there is no connection. And more than that, I’ve put myself, foolishly, into a dangerous position.

Pulling back, I stand up so abruptly it sends my chair toppling to the ground. Xander looks startled, but I can’t think about what he looks like, or I’ll start kissing him again. Maybe I’ll just fall into his arms and get him to look at me with that surprised, happy look again.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I’m not looking for a mate.”

“But we–”

I shake my head. “It was a mistake.”

The crushed look on his face makes my heart ache.

“It’s not you, it’s me. Okay? You did nothing wrong.”

As he stands, I usher him to the door, closing my eyes as he passes me. I don’t want to keep seeing that broken look on his face. I don’t know what I’ll do if I see it again.

I feel weak, but he just nods, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he steps through the threshold.

When the door closes, I take a deep breath, feeling terrible for reasons I don’t understand. I don’t know Xander. He’s a stranger to me. I should just be thankful that, after being so reckless, this situation didn’t end badly. Not that I thought, deep down, that Xander could hurt me.

When my gaze settles on the basket of berries, something warm settles in my chest. Xander may not be my mate, not really, but he sure is sweet.