Page 6 of Heal Me (Immortal Vices and Virtues: All Hallows’ Eve #5)

Gideon

S he ran.

Not in the frantic, prey-scent way most did when they sensed the hunter behind them. This was tighter, quieter—a retreat designed to look like composure.

But I felt the difference.

The mate bond didn’t lie.

The crowd swallowed her quickly, silver and shadow flashing where that damned Fae tried to pull her into a turn.

Penny’s scent threaded through the noise and heat anyway, stubborn as the woman herself—warm skin, winter air, a whisper of wildness that called to every inch of my restraint.

I could have followed her then. Could have cut between bodies and had her in my hands again before her next breath.

I didn’t.

Not because I couldn’t.

Because I had been waiting years for something worth keeping, and she was the first thing that had made me think about what it would cost to ruin it too soon.

She slipped from the Fae’s grasp, shoulders tense, scanning for an escape. The motion bared her throat to me for half a second—just enough for the light to catch on the pale scar running across the base of it. Thin, deliberate. Old.

My jaw locked.

I knew the mark.

The Crimson Roses had always favored ripping their prey’s throats while they fed, a barbaric and dishonorable action that made me glad every last one of them were ash in the ground. I swore to myself that if any of them still drew breath, they wouldn’t for much longer.

Penny vanished behind a velvet curtain at the edge of the hall. I started toward it, and that was when the house moved.

It was subtle at first: a shift in the air, a warping of space that made the shortest route feel wrong. The walls leaned in with a slow, deliberate confidence, closing off side corridors, guiding my steps without force but with the certainty of a hand at my back.

Old magic. Older than the foundation. And it was smiling at me.

I could have broken it. I could have forced the path I wanted. But the path it wanted led to her.

So I let it.

The air thickened with cedar and faint perfume before I saw the door—narrow, shadowed, as if it had been waiting for me to notice it. My hand closed around the latch, and the hinges yielded without a sound.

Unaware I was already there, she stepped in before me, all quick breaths and frayed edges. The door clicked shut behind her, the latch locking itself with a quiet finality.

She turned.

And I let her see the truth in my eyes before I said a single word.

She froze, one hand still on the door handle, like she could pretend she’d meant to find me here.

“Don’t let me stop you,” I said, leaning back against the coats. “If you’ve come to hide, this is as good a place as any.”

Her eyes narrowed. She didn’t answer—just turned back to the door and gave the handle a sharp twist. It didn’t budge. She tried again, harder this time. Nothing.

Then she murmured under her breath, voice low and clipped, fingers sketching the subtle shapes of a spell.

My mouth curved. “Witchcraft?” I asked. “Or are you just cursing me in something flowery?”

She didn’t look at me. “If I were cursing you, you’d know it.”

I believed her.

The brass handle warmed faintly under her touch, the air in the closet prickling with the soft charge of magic. For a moment, the lock resisted with a stubborn little tremor, and then the magic guttered out like a candle in the wind.

Penny’s shoulders stiffened.

“Hmm.” I pushed off the wall, the scent of her hitting me in waves—wild and sharp under the faint trace of whatever perfume she’d worn to disguise herself tonight. “Either you’ve gotten rusty,” I closed the distance by a single step, “or the house just likes me better than you.”

She shot me a glare over her shoulder, blue eyes bright with irritation. “It’s a house. A house can’t have personal preferences. This is stupid Fae magic, and that fuckery lacks taste.”

“Maybe. But it has good instincts.” Another step. Close enough to hear the change in her breathing. “And right now, they’re in my favor.”

She turned back to the door, trying the handle again like brute force would do what magic couldn’t.

I could have stopped her hand, but I didn’t. Watching her fight the inevitable was half the fun.

“You know,” I said, letting my voice drop to that low, deliberate place I’d used on the dance floor, “there’s an easier way to pass the time in here.”

She didn’t ask what it was. But the way her wolf scent spiked, she already knew.

Her third attempt at the lock ended with a faint spark and the stubborn click of it refusing to open. She muttered something sharp under her breath—probably a spell, possibly a curse—and braced both hands on the door.

“You know,” I said, “for someone who claims they don’t want to be here, you’re not trying very hard to leave.”

Her shoulders stiffened again. “Maybe I don’t have enough magic for?—”

“You have enough.” I closed the distance, my tone warm and slow. “You’re just aiming it in the wrong direction.”

She still didn’t turn. I lifted my hand and let my fingertips brush her arm, light enough to test the boundary. “Look at me, mi reina .”

Her breath hitched, but she turned—slowly, like she was afraid to give me her full attention.

I caught her wrist gently, sliding her fingers from the latch until they rested at her side.

Then I stepped in, setting my palm to the wall above her head, leaning just enough to match her gaze without crowding her.

Her eyes locked on mine, sharp and wary, but the wolf was there, too—restless, answering the bond we both felt.

“This is…” she started.

“A terrible idea?” I finished for her. “Maybe. But we’ve been circling it since the second we touched, and you know it.”

Her pulse jumped in her throat. I didn’t press, didn’t close the gap—just let the heat build in the space between us.

“You could open that door, querida ,” I murmured, “or you could stay and see what we do when there’s no one else watching.”

Penny’s fingers curled against the doorframe like she could anchor herself there.

“I don’t even know you,” she said finally, voice tight.

I let my palm slide down the wall until it hovered just above her shoulder. “Then this is how you start.”

Her eyes narrowed, but she didn’t move away. “Fate hasn’t exactly done me any favors.”

“Fate’s an excuse,” I murmured, leaning just enough for her to catch the heat in my gaze. “We both know this isn’t luck or chance—it’s choice. Right here. Right now.”

She huffed a sharp breath, looking anywhere but me. “And you expect me to believe you’d never hurt me?”

I let the question hang for a beat, then closed the gap by half an inch. “Not unless you asked me to.”

Her wolf surged at that, scent spiking sweet and wild. Penny’s human side seemed to scramble, searching for something else to throw between us, even as her fingers curled into the lapel of my jacket.

“This is still a bad idea,” she murmured, more to herself than to me.

I smiled—not the polite one I gave strangers, but the slow, deliberate curve that was just for her. “Maybe. But you’ve been standing here long enough to prove you want to see how bad it gets.”

Her pulse thundered, and she didn’t even notice her other hand had left the door until it brushed my chest. I caught her wrist lightly, not to stop her, but to keep her there.

“Last chance, mi reina ,” I said, voice dipping low. “Tell me to open the door… or tell me to keep it closed.”

Her breath trembled, but no sound came out, as if she couldn’t make herself lie to me—not again.

And the second those blue eyes locked on mine, the rest of the room, the whole godsdamned world, ceased to matter.

The wolf in her was there, right beneath the surface—restless, bristling, answering the bond like it couldn’t help itself.

And I knew I wasn’t going to waste another second pretending I didn’t want to feed that.

“Good,” I murmured, letting my gaze drop to her mouth before climbing back up to her eyes. “Look at me, mi reina . Keep looking at me.”

Penny tilted her chin stubbornly, like she meant to challenge me, but she didn’t break eye contact.

“That’s it,” I said, voice dropping to that deep, deliberate place I’d used on the dance floor. “Breathe for me. Slow.”

She tried—gods, she tried—but her next inhale stuttered, and the sound went straight to my cock. My fingers flexed against the wall, the urge to touch her everywhere sharpening by the second.

“You’re wound so tight,” I said softly, leaning in just enough for her to feel my breath. “I can smell it on you. The need. The fight. Do you know what that does to me?”

Her throat bobbed, but she didn’t answer.

“It makes me want to strip every last ounce of control from you until you can’t think about anything but my hands on your skin,” I went on, letting the words curl like smoke between us. “Until all you can do is beg me for more. Is that what you want?”

Her lips parted, but no sound came out. She was trembling—just enough that if I pressed my body to hers, I’d feel it.

“You could say no,” I murmured. “You could tell me to step back, and I would. But you won’t, will you? Because your wolf already knows. She’s been aching for me since I walked into that ballroom.”

Penny’s fingers twitched like she meant to push me away. Instead, they curled into my lapel, dragging me a fraction closer.

My mouth brushed hers, not a kiss—just a taste, a promise. “That’s it,” I breathed. “Give me that, querida . Let me see what you look like when you stop pretending you don’t want me.”

Her breath came faster, chest rising against mine, and I let the silence stretch long enough for her to feel how steady I was—how certain—before adding, low and certain, “Tell me. Tell me to touch you.”

Her eyes searched mine, sharp and wary, but the wolf was there, too—hot, wanting. “Touch me,” she whispered.

I smiled—measured, feral. “Gladly.”