Kelly Meding - Wrong Side of Dead

“I’ll get them,” Phin said. “As well as some weapons. We’ll return in ten minutes.”

“Okay.”

They left together, and Wyatt and I were alone. We sat in silence for a moment.

“Think you can stand?” I asked.

“Yes.”

Using the wall for support, he slid up it until he was on his feet, the gown still twisted awkwardly around his hips. I’d asked him before how he felt, and one of his answers had been “aroused.” Standing up, it was obvious he still was, although he didn’t seem aware of it. He’d also said “hungry” and “angry,” which meant he was likely still those things, as well, deep down below the wall of calm he’d built to contain the wolf.

I wanted to reach out and tug the gown down, but was too afraid of startling him. So I stood up slowly, careful to avert my eyes. “Wyatt, you’re kind of hanging out.”

He blinked, confused, then looked down. He pulled at the gown so quickly he almost ripped it. Red spots flamed his cheeks. “Dammit,” he said.

“Should I be flattered?”

As soon as the teasing question passed my lips, I regretted it. Instead of smiling, Wyatt only looked more miserable. He adjusted the gown, but wouldn’t look at me. “Don’t be,” he snapped. “Considering the circumstances, it’s pretty fucking inappropriate.”

“What circumstances? The fact that you didn’t die today, like everyone was telling me you would? That you’re alive, and you haven’t hurt me, and you’re sane enough to beat this?”

“There’s no beating this, Evy. It’s part of me now. I can feel the wolf prowling around. It wants to fight. It wants to fuck. It wants you.”

Something in my chest tightened, as much at the implicit threat as the misery in his voice. “I don’t care what the wolf wants, Wyatt. All I care about is what you want.”

“I want to be able to trust myself alone with you.”

“We’re alone now.”

His eyes flickered toward me, then back to a spot on the floor. “Why do you think I’m staying over here?”

Oh boy. “So you’re saying what? If I walked over there and touched you, you’d lose control, throw me to the floor, and rape me?”

He flinched, and his entire body seemed to wilt. “I don’t know.”

God. The fact that he was entertaining such a scenario knocked the wind out of me. He knew what I’d been through—seen the results with his own eyes as he watched me die my first death. The idea of doing what a goblin had done to me, what a pùca had tried to do, had to be killing him inside.

I was desperate to prove him wrong, to show him he could control the raging instincts of the wolf, but what if he was right? If he did hurt me before someone stopped him …

Fuck no. I had to believe in him, or no one else would. He absolutely didn’t believe in himself, and no one else had as much to lose as I did.

“Did you or did you not sacrifice your free will to bring me back to life?” I asked.

He didn’t respond right away. He didn’t look at me, either. Finally, he said, “I did.”

“Did you or did you not take a bullet for me and die for your trouble?”

He still paused, but the second reply came a bit faster than the first. “I did.”

“Did you or did you not save me from an exploding Halfie in a parking garage, love me no matter what bullshit you learned about my past, support my decision to save Phin by going with Thackery, and combine your Gift with mine to create a truly impressive display of human magic by summoning half a car through a wall?”

His head turned in my direction, gaze still on the floor.

“Yes. I did.”

I took a chance on two steps forward. He tensed but didn’t draw away. Three long strides separated us. With my heart in my throat, I said, “You know I used to fuck around, Wyatt. I was no angel. I liked sex and I had a lot of it. Mindless, emotionless sex. Even, for me, our one time before I died.”

His entire body flinched, and I hated that, but it was true. As nice as it had been, sleeping with him three months ago had meant a lot less to me than to him.

“But that morning in the boys’ apartment, before I went to Thackery, was different. It was beautiful and it was real. So did you or did you not become the first and only man I’ve ever made love to?”

That got his attention. His head snapped up, eyes meeting mine. Wide with surprise and understanding, he opened his mouth, but didn’t speak. He shifted until his body angled toward me, hands loose by his sides. I wanted to leap across the space between us and pull him into my arms. To feel him around me, holding me again. Physical proof that he was alive, heart beating, blood pumping.

I stayed still. He had a question to answer.

He took a step, then another, tentative and calculated. Three more small steps and he was in front of me, breathing hard, eyes brimmed with unshed tears. He raised a trembling hand; I forced myself to relax, let him do this. He brushed the pad of his thumb across my cheek, down my jaw. Warm breath gusted across my lips, and I breathed him in—the unfamiliar scent of earth, a tang of blood.

He closed his eyes and pressed his forehead to mine. His skin was damp, hot, almost feverish. The hand on my jaw loosely cupped my cheek. He didn’t kiss me. He simply stood there, touching me, breathing me in. Working whatever inner demons he was fighting into a rational calm, despite our proximity.

I almost didn’t hear him whisper, “I was.”

“You are,” I said.

“I want to be, always.”

“I want that, too.”

He turned his head and pressed his cheek to mine, breath tickling my ear. His skin was rough with stubble, his hair damp. The sweet hint of cinnamon I’d always associated with Wyatt was gone, replaced by something else—foreign and still somehow familiar. Our bodies remained apart by a few meager inches. It was too far …

“I love you,” he said.

“Me, too.”

He nuzzled my cheek, and I broke first. I turned my head until our noses touched, mouths aligned. The cuts on his lips terrified me on one level, but deep down I knew I’d be okay. I’d survived the bites from Wolf Boy a month ago; I’d survive a kiss from Wyatt. But he needed to initiate it.

The hand on my cheek slid around to the back of my neck, a loose hold.

Please …

The gentlest brush of his lips sent my heart galloping. It was all I needed to capture his mouth in a desperate kiss. All of my love and need tried to show itself, and he responded in kind, kissing me hard. Nothing existed except our questing mouths and our bodies pressed together, hearts beating, hands holding and pressing. Somehow I ended up with my back against the wall and I didn’t care, because it was Wyatt holding me there.

I wanted him in a way I’d never thought possible, and I didn’t care that it was the wrong time, place, circumstances—wrong everything. He was hard against my hip, my jeans the only real barrier between us. It had been almost two months since we’d been together in any meaningful way. Hard, fast, and dirty had been part of my old life, but goddamn I’d take a little of that right now.

Except Wyatt was my gentle. Wyatt was my slow and nice. If we had sex like this, up against a wall in a haze of desperation, he might regret it after. Might blame the wolf for his lack of control. He did self-hate way better than I did, and I wasn’t about to give him another excuse.

I also wasn’t about to drag him into the city without taking the edge off, first.

My hand slid between us, beneath the gown, to grasp his erection. He gasped into my mouth. I managed an awkward stroke, and my own arousal surged at the deep (and very human) growl that it elicited from Wyatt. He thrust into my hand, mouth still working mine. My lips tingled; our kiss tasted faintly of blood. Harder, faster.