Page 13 of Grand Romantic Delusions and the Madness of Mirth, Part Two

“Those were the longest six months of my life,” I confess. “Without you. And I knew why. I didn’t want to acknowledge it. Because you’d … moved on, and that was right. That was the right thing to do. To keep it clear between us. I could be friends with Armin, but you’re a fucking princess! And I —”

“That’s not how I ever saw it.” The post-orgasm contentment leeches from her tone as I piss her off. Again. As always. “You think I thought I was somehow better than you? Better than everyone else?”

“That’s not what I meant,” I say lamely. “Of course you didn’t —”

She huffs.

But she doesn’t push my hand away from her pussy. She doesn’t move her perfect fucking ass away from my hard cock.

“I should just keep my mouth shut and fuck you again,” I croon into her skin just behind her ear.

She shudders, then quietly giggles.

That laugh is like a hit of ecstasy. It filters through into my chest, surrounds my heart, and … and …

“I’m yours,” I say, more stupid tears dripping down my face. “I’m yours, Mirth. I’m sorry I fucked it all up. And I’m sorry I haven’t been with you … helped you through losing Armin.”

“We could have … should have helped each other,” she says sadly.

I slide my hand away from her pussy, wrap my arm around her hips, and rock her against my chest. She turns her head, pressing her face into my neck.

“Let me try now?” I ask.

“Okay,” she says.

She doesn’t tell me she loves me. Or that she belongs to me as much as I do to her. But she’s giving me a chance. And that’s more than I thought I’d ever have with her again.

I feel her smile against my neck. “Now that we aren’t actually fucking, it’s a little weird to have my pants around my ankles and you completely naked.”

I chuckle. “Is your pussy getting cold, Mirth? I’m happy to warm it.”

She snorts a delicate laugh. “Your mother promised me pancakes.”

“Well, that’s a mood killer.”

She laughs again. Then I let her go just enough to get her clothing straightened, even as mud crusted as it is. My jeans, shredded by my transformation, aren’t remotely salvageable, so I don’t bother dressing. I’m not fucking walking back to the house in only a sweater and boots.

Naked, I carry everything clutched in one hand and capture Mirth’s hand in the other, guiding her back toward the house. We retrieve her abandoned backpack, Armin’s urn still safely tucked within it, at the edge of the pond.

Armin could be just as impetuous and self-destructive as me. But he wouldn’t have been pleased with me fucking his beloved sister in the woods.

I laugh, covering the sob still lodged in my chest.

Mirth twines her fingers through mine. “Armin?” she murmurs, as if she can read my mind. And since my soul is carved from hers, maybe she can.

“Yeah. I was just thinking … he’d beat the shit out of me, with his actual hands, if he saw us now.”

Mirth hums, not denying my assessment. But then she grins, looking at me with a delighted — and yes, satisfied — smile. Her eyes are bright purple. “He’d get over it. He’d never deny me anything I truly wanted.”

Me. She wants me. My heart swells painfully, hurting with how much I love her. “I want you,” I say, instead of blathering more declarations that she’s not ready to match. “In every way, every day.”

She flushes prettily. “You just had me.”

“I always want you.”

She leans into me, tilts her head up, and brushes the lightest of kisses against my lips. Her sweater gapes open at the neck, and my gaze snags on the bruise darkening her shoulder. From my bite. Possessiveness and smug arrogance floods through me. Again.

It isn’t a claiming mark. I would have needed to break the skin, and Mirth would need to bite me in return for me to claim her as one shifter claims another.

Not that I know if that sort of essence connection would even work between an awry and a shifter.

But I brush an answering kiss over the bruise nonetheless — along with a soul-deep, silent promise — then nip lightly at her ear.

Just to get one of those sweet, quiet giggles from her.

Her eyes glinting purple, energy threading between our clasped hands, Mirth keeps flicking her gaze to me as we walk back to the house. I meet that gaze steadily every time she looks — not that I’ve looked away from her for more than a moment since she goaded me into fucking her.

I want her to know I’ll always be here. Any time she looks for me, looks my way, I’ll be here.

Thankfully, I find clean sweatpants in the mudroom. They’re black like I prefer, even if a little tight. All the shifters in residence — my mother and sisters — are slighter than me, even in my still-near-emaciated state.

Mirth hangs her backpack on one of the empty coat hooks, pouting at me playfully as I pull up the sweats to cover my still fucking half-hard cock.

I’ve got her pinned back against the wall, inhaling her little gasp of surprise, before I realize I’ve moved.

“Wolf,” she teases, nipping on my lower lip and recognizing who was momentarily in control even before I did.

“Since I so easily captured you again,” I rasp into her neck, palming her ass and lifting her up to wrap her legs around me, “I might as well take full advantage.”

“Easily?” she teases. Joy practically sparks off her, embedding into me wherever our skin touches. “Maybe I should play harder to get.”

I laugh almost involuntarily. Then, once again distracted by the mere sight of it, I languidly lick the bite mark on her shoulder. “I’ve missed you, love, so much that it —”

“Oh, good! You found each other. Mirth, did you want …” My mother walks around the corner, her jaw dropping open as she lays eyes on us.

“Maple syrup?” Mirth chirps playfully. Smiling, and still radiating that gentle joy even while pressed against the wall with her limbs tangled around me.

“Oh …” My mother’s smile dies. Her tanned skin pales. Her bright-blue gaze flicks to me, then to Mirth, and back again. She clenches her hands at her sides. “Bolan … this is … not … what is happening?”

Mirth, now frowning — though not as deeply as I am — presses against my shoulders. I step back just enough to let her slide down my body, but I keep her tucked against me. I’m not certain I’m actually capable of letting her go right now.

My mother’s lips twist as she takes in our shared disheveled state. I haven’t torn any of Mirth’s clothing, but she’s covered in dirt and other leafy detritus. Then my mother’s nostrils flare — smelling us on each other.

More pissed at her reaction than embarrassed, I open my mouth to tell her off. Because yeah, while I might be shit at staying connected to my own fucking emotions, I know how to be angry, and she’s just adding to the things I’m fucking irate about when it comes to her.

Apparently heedless of my ire, my mother snarls— then suddenly darts forward to yank the neck of Mirth’s sweater to the side.

To better see the bite mark.

“What have you done?” my mother snarls. Again. At me. As if I’m some young pup.

“I’m pretty certain I don’t have to explain how sex works to you,” I drawl. “Mother.” I tilt my head, all belligerent. “Or consent, for that matter. But I’m also pretty certain you need a lesson in truth telling.”

My mother blinks at me, momentarily thrown by my seemingly random accusation. Then her expression firms, eyes narrowing, lips pressed together. “Do you know what you’ve done?” she hisses. “You do not bite one of the awry. You can’t just fuck —”

Mirth wraps her hand around my mother’s wrist — skin-to-skin.

With a sickening whoosh through my stomach, I realize that my mother still has Mirth’s sweater clutched in her hand. She’s still pulling it to the side to expose her neck and shoulder.

No one touches Her Royal Highness without permission.

If Roz had been anywhere nearby, my mother would already be on the ground.

My mother’s gaze slowly shifts to where Mirth is now holding her. I see the same realization dawn across her face. Then a flicker of fear in the depths of her blue eyes.

“Is it me specifically?” Mirth asks quietly. “Or all of the awry you hate?”

My mother takes a shaky breath. “That’s not … I could never hate you, Mirth. I’m not … I’m just shaken … I love you, darling.” She deliberately peels her fingers back, releasing her hold on Mirth’s sweater.

But Mirth still holds her wrist.

My mother swallows harshly. “I just … your friendship was already …” Her gaze flicks to me, now filled with a remorse I don’t understand. “It’s always going to be a parent’s instinct to protect … but if Bolan has hurt you …”

A terrible yawning pain opens up within me. I’ve mistaken my mother’s reaction. “You think —”

“He hasn’t,” Mirth says firmly. Then her voice cools to skin-blistering levels. “He wouldn’t. He’s mine. Whether or not you approve.” She releases my mother’s wrist.

My mother instantly snatches her arm back, cradling it against her chest. I’ve always found Mirth’s energy enticing. But obviously my mother feels much differently.

“You’re both adults,” she says. “I can’t tell you what to do, but this choice is reckless. Bolan, your father died protecting —”

“I’m confused,” I say, drawing Mirth tighter against me when she tries to turn away and reach for her backpack. To leave. “Are you concerned that I raped Mirth, or that she has purple eyes?”

My mother’s nostrils flare. “Neither. Of course not! Don’t try to twist this, Bolan —”

“Into what?” I ask mockingly. I’m suddenly so fucking angry that I want to snatch Mirth up in my arms, leave the fucking house, the fucking property, and never look back. “The truth?”

“You know I love Mirth. As I loved Armin. But they are … their friendship has always been … dangerous. For us all.”

Mirth flinches.

I stifle a growl, but it still rumbles unvoiced through my chest. “The friendship you benefited from, you mean? You never turned down all the gifts —”

“Gifts!?” My mother sneers. “Blood money for your father.”

“No. I believe that blood money … for him doing his sworn duty … came in a lump sum before I ever met Armin or Mirth.”