I’m livid all over again, nostrils flaring, fangs aching from Tigerlily’s sweet scent wafting through the air. She’s definitely close—still in the library, just as Sam had advised.
Already tasting her on my tongue, I rush up to the grand doors and throw them open with thoughtless force. The girl is unshakeable as always, doesn’t even flinch from her place at the bay window, tilted almond-shaped eyes the only thing that acknowledges my presence as they cut toward me in a glare.
“Can I help you?” she asks, returning her attention to the book in her hands.
The snip in her tone only adds fuel to the fire. With thundering, hulking steps, I close in on her. “You can, actually. Did you not hear me calling for you?”
“No, I didn’t. In case you’ve forgotten, I don’t possess supernatural hearing.”
“How could you not have heard it? I yelled it at the top of my lungs!”
“Seems you didn’t hear me. Just a simple human here. Doesn’t matter that you yelled it—this place is massive. Then again,” she turns back toward me, defiance etched on her pretty face, “I don’t answer to you, so perhaps it’s more a case of simply not giving a shit.”
My reaction is instantaneous.
The roar that rips free from my chest is positively volatile. In a flash, I’m yanking her onto her feet by her silken ebony locks, pressing her back to my front. She cries out, the book fumbling from her grip as I give another brutal yank, revealing the bronze column of her neck.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
There it is—the hitch in her indomitable facade. She can pretend to be the Chief’s fearless daughter all she wants.
A wild pulse never lies.
Tigerlily simpers in my grip, choking on countless pleas and objections. She knows what’s coming; she also knows this could be vastly different if only she listened.
Given the shrill of her scream as I latch onto her neck, I suspect she’ll beg for the full extent of my proposition soon.
Quite soon.
♫ Lost Boy - Ruth B. ♫
It’s quiet.
So utterly quiet and serene.
The clear night sky twinkles with stars, incandescent rays from the moon pouring in through my bedroom window.
Peter lays on my chest, passed out like a light.
And me? I lay still, contentedly so, raking my fingers through his light caramel locks as I watch his back rise and fall with each breath. I can never manage to sleep in these moments. I love them too much.
Long for them too much when we aren’t together.
Not to mention, I wouldn’t fare well if I happened to doze off and my mother came in for whatever reason. She doesn’t care much for Peter, let alone approve of our friendship.
If she knew it exceeded platonic lines, that I’ve given him my heart—and my body—she’ll likely enlist my father to aid her in plotting a horrific death at the hands of the Faes.
So these moments right here, I take great care in hiding them. I know it’s wrong, know I should respect her wishes and keep him out of our home. But I’ve been the respectful, good-mannered daughter my entire existence and, quite frankly, I’m tired of it. Whether she likes it or not, I will be with Peter. Will continue to honor and love him.
Don’t misunderstand me—her advice is appreciated, something I know she offers because she loves me and wants the best for me, but I’m not a child.
I’m a woman. The choice is mine to make. Not hers nor my father’s.
Mine.
I just have to figure out how to get out of this house first...
“Peter,” I whisper reluctantly, squeezing his bicep. “Peter, wake up.”
Groaning softly, he stirs in my grasp and cracks his chocolate brown eyes open. “Huh?”
I have to bite my lip to contain the mewl trying to break free as he rests his chin between the valley of my breasts and gazes up at me. He looks more boyishly perfect than usual.
Sleepy eyes.
Mussed up hair from my restless fingers.
“It’s almost morning. You have to go.” I don’t want him to leave, but it’s getting awfully late—or rather, quite early. The sun will rise soon and mother is always up with the first golden rays peeking over the horizon.
“Did I sleep through again?” he rasps, pushing up onto his elbows.
I nod and smile softly, spreading my legs wider to accommodate him. Peter smirks knowingly. His eyes shine deviously as he crawls over me and fuses our lips together, the tip of his hard length probing me immediately.