Chapter 432: Out of reach
Chapter 432: Daphne
I place the little girl in the bed I am guided to—a small, narrow bed pushed against the wall, with a worn blanket and a stuffed wolf that has seen better days.
I tuck the blanket around her small body, smoothing her dark hair from her face.
I think it is now time to talk. To catch up. To figure out what comes next.
I close the door behind me, pulling it until it clicks softly.
Someone jumps into my arms.
Obviously, I catch her.
But she is just kissing me.
Her lips are on mine before I can react they are warm, urgent and desperate. Her hands are in my hair, pulling me closer.
Time for catching up can wait.
"Wait—" I pull away, breathless. "She is sleeping."
I gesture toward the closed door, toward the child who is finally resting peacefully.
"She will not wake," she murmurs, her lips already finding my jaw. "When she is asleep, she is gone to the world."
I stumble toward what I think is the bedroom. The cottage is small, the hallway narrow, and my sense of direction is currently compromised by her lips on my neck.
I stumble my way to the bedroom. I do not know how I make it, but I do.
The hands in my hair are borderline painful. Claws? Are those claws?
Or right.
Werewolf.
Interesting.
She pulls away.
"Kissing you feels even better than I remember," she says.
Hearing her remember makes my heart skip a beat. She has never remembered before. Not like this. Not so clearly.
"You remember?"
She nods.
I swallow my saliva.
"Me?" I ask hesitantly.
"Yes." Her green eyes hold mine. "Your eyes. Your smile. The waters. Some bits about life before the waters. It is not clear, but I remember clearly."
She cups my cheek. Her palm is warm against my skin.
"I am sorry for leaving before you," she says. "I am happy to see you again."
She places her forehead against mine.
I am choked up. I do not know what to say. Words feel too small, too clumsy.
"Can we keep the talk for later?" she asks.
She moves out of my hands. Her shirt goes over her shoulder, landing somewhere on the floor.
"I really need you right now."
My eyes look down. Then back up.
She’s shirtless in front of me. Her nipples are a pretty color — darker than I expected, tight already. Faded lines run along the sides of her breasts and down over the soft of her stomach.
I can literally feel my mouth water.
"I can do that."
I stand here like a fool while she works the button of her jeans. The zipper runs. Denim shoves down one leg, then the other. Underwear follows. Both hit the floor. I’m still watching.
She straightens barefoot, red hair loose, and drags one hand through it like she is settling something inside herself. Nothing left on her.
All of her out in the open — the dark red between her thighs, the marks, the green eyes watching my face for a flinch I refuse to give her.
"Do you not like me?"
"What?" The word comes out raw.
Genuinely fucking confused.
"Because I’m not hairless. Like when I was of the sea."
Year Lorelei had been smooth as glass, yes — but that was the water in her, half fish and all tide. This is Elara. Wolf.
They are the same, but they are not the same.
"My beloved." I start toward her. My coat hits the floor behind me without any care.
"If you really remember me, you would know there is no form you could take that I would not love."
I walk toward her, shrugging off my coat. I reach her, pull her by the back of her neck, and kiss her—hoping this kiss will resolve her worries.
Soon, the kiss is no longer resolving worries. She kisses me harder, her hands gripping my shoulders, pulling me closer.
As we kiss, we fall to the bed.
I hear the sound of ripping.
I stop.
It is the back of my shirt. In pieces.
I pin her hands above her head. I look down at her claws—extended, sharp, glinting in the dim light.
I do not hate it.
I meet her eyes.
"Alright then," I say.
She gives me a wide fangy smile. The points of her canines catch what little light is left in the room. Her wrists flex once under my grip, not testing the hold so much as tasting it.
"Wolves like it a little rough," she says. "Like animals."
I raise an eyebrow.
"Do you like it a little rough?"
"I want you to make me hurt."
"I do not have the body part."
I kiss her again.
I bite down on her lower lip—hard. Testing just how much pain she can endure.
I draw blood.
The taste of copper floods my mouth.
I pull back, worried. But she arches her back and moans.
Well, shit.
I guess she meant it when she said rough.
I look at her. Her green eyes are dark, her lips swollen, a bead of blood at the corner of her mouth. She is not afraid. She is not hurt.
She is wanting.
"Again," she says.
I do not hesitate.
I kiss her again. Harder this time.
She meets me with equal force.
I release one of her wrists only long enough to rip the rest of my shirt open and drag it off my arms. Buttons skitter somewhere on the floor. I throw the shirt aside without looking.
She watches me. Her green eyes track the movement, the bare skin, the way my chest rises and falls.
"Better," she says.
She places an arm around my bicep, her fingers tracing the muscle there.
"I have always wanted to do this," she says. Her eyes sparkle.
"Always?" I ask.
She nods. "In my dreams. I would see you. I would reach for you. But you were always just out of reach."