⋆ Chapter 2

What is this bullshit?

“Did you buy my favorite velvet cake, cook me a steak that’d make Gordon Ramsay weep, and eat me out so good I came twice—just to dump me? Was that what this was?”

I sprawled on Xavier’s couch, legs flung over the armrest, my office skirt crumpled on the floor like a sad little surrender flag. My blouse hung half-unbuttoned, barely covering my panties, and my shoulder-length brown hair clung to my sweaty neck in a tangled mess.

I still buzzed from the double-orgasm high, eyes locked on him.

Xavier stood there, looking at me like I’d accused him of kicking a puppy.

“Dump you? Tilly, I’m not dumping you. What the hell are you talking about?”

“Oh, don’t play dumb,” I shot back, swinging my legs down and sitting up so fast my head spun. “You had that look, Xavier. Spill it, or I’m chucking a cake at your head.”

Rubbing the back of his neck, he stepped closer, all earnest eyes that made me want to punch him and kiss him at the same time.

“I wasn’t gonna wait ‘til morning to tell you,” he started, hesitating like he was picking words off a minefield. “I have to go to London because... it’s family stuff. Pack stuff.”

I blinked at him. “What, did your werewolf cousins lose their favorite chew toy?” My voice dripped with sarcasm—the kind I wielded like a shield when I was pissed. “And you’re telling me this now? Ten minutes after you had me screaming your name?”

“It’s not like that.” He stepped closer, hands up like I was some feral cat he was trying to coax off a ledge. “It’s duty. Something came up with the pack, and I couldn’t dodge it.”

“How long?” I stood, barefoot on his hardwood floor, hands on my hips. My blouse flapped open, but I didn’t care—I was too busy glaring holes into his stupid, handsome face. “Give me a number, Xavier. A day? A week? A freaking decade? Or was I just supposed to sit here twiddling my thumbs while you played Alpha overseas?”

He flinched, running a hand through his hair, and that pause—God, that pause—set my blood boiling.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, voice dropping like he was ashamed of it. “It depends on—”

“Depends on what?” I snapped, stepping into his space, close enough to smell the musk of his skin and the faint trace of paint from earlier. “Your secret lycan pack rules? The full moon schedule? Or…” I paused. “…is it me? Is this because I’m human and you ‘re too furry to deal with a girlfriend who doesn’t howl?"

“Tilly, stop.” His hands landed on my shoulders, warm and firm, and I hated how good it felt when I was this mad.

“This isn’t about you being human. It’s about keeping you safe. I can’t tell you mor right now. I just need you to trust me.”

“Trust you?” I shoved his hands off and laughed—a short, bitter bark that tasted like bile. “I so don’t trust you right now.”

His face crumpled, those eyes going soft and wounded, and damn it, it stabbed me right in the chest.

“I love you,” he said softly. “I’m not leaving you, Tilly. I’m asking you to wait.”

“Wait?” I snatched my skirt off the floor, clutching it like a lifeline. “Wait for what? A postcard from Big Ben saying, ‘Sorry I bailed, here’s a scone’? You don’t even know when you’ll be back. You can’t even tell  me why you’re going. I’m not some loyal mutt you can pat on the head and leave behind.”

“Please—” He reached for me, fingers grazing my arm, but I jerked back.

“Don’t ‘please’ me, Xavier.” My voice wobbled, and I hated it—hated the way my throat tightened, hated how the tears burned hot behind my eyes. “You don’t get to give me the best night of my life—cake, steak, two orgasms—and then pull this. I’m not waiting around, wondering WHEN you’ll show up again. We’re DONE.”

“Tilly, no—” He stepped forward, desperation carving lines into his face, but I was already stomping toward the door, shoes dangling by their straps, my blouse flapping like a drunk butterfly.

“Please don’t forget to put your skirt on,” he called, voice half-pleading, half-exasperated, like he actually thought he was helping.

I spun on my heel, grabbed my skirt off the floor, and glared at him. “Oh, wow! Screw you, Xavier.”

That did it. Anger flared hotter, and I stormed out, slamming the door so hard the frame rattled.

In the hallway, I yanked the stupid skirt back on, muttering under my breath. “Telling me to put my skirt on like I’m five.” Then I shoved my feet into my shoes. The door stayed shut behind me.

Outside, the cool night slammed into my overheated skin. My chest heaved, and before I could stop them, tears slipped down my cheeks.

“Two orgasms and a gut punch,” I muttered, swiping at my face. “Un-fucking-believable.”

I didn’t look back. Couldn’t. Xavier was still in there, probably staring at the door like a kicked dog, but I wasn’t turning around to find out. My legs carried me forward—past his stupid loft, past its stupid books and stupid paint cans. I had no idea where I was going. Maybe Georgia and Ralph’s. Maybe the office roof with a bottle of cheap wine.

All I knew was my heart was a mess, my head spun, and the guy I loved had just ripped me open.

Then I felt it. That creeping sensation, like ice dragging down my spine.

Across the street, just beyond the skeletal arms of a tree, a shadow stood. Still. Watching.

I stopped. Squinted. "Hey! Excuse me!"

Yeah, I was this pissed at Xavier—I’d fight a stranger in the dark if I had to.

But the shadow didn’t move. It didn’t flinch. And yet, every hair on my body lifted, a deep, primal warning screaming in my bones.

I swallowed hard, turned on my heel, and walked—fast.