REACTIONS

In Evans's arms, I had begun to nod off. I batted my eyelids slowly until they closed. He is pulling me toward his body as I barely wake up. I feel calmed down by the electricity that runs between our skin.

However, this time, reality does not strike you in the face. He does not abandon me like he did the last time we got to the cabin. Beyond my previous experience, he carries us through the door, up the stairs, and down the hallway. He enters a different bedroom; it is essentially the opposite of the one I had slept in, with white trim and black walls.

The plush carpet feels nice under my bare feet as he settles me down in the centre of the room. He begins sifting through dressers and pulling out clothes.

Shortly after, he approaches and opens a door located on the distant end of the space. As I get closer, he extends the handful of clothes toward me.

"It should have everything in it."

After that, he practically rams the clothing up against my chest and leaves the room.

It ends now, his most recent winning run. On the other hand, it did last longer than the others.

I enter the restroom and shut the door. Since his shirt was the only item I needed to cover myself, undressing was easy.

He would give me some clothes, which I quickly went through and laid down on the counter. His signature scent permeates both the black v-neck and the grey sweatpants.

For the remainder of the day, Evans kept quiet, leaving me by myself. Naturally, quitting was not an option either. He was pacing around the house restlessly, while I played solitaire for most of the time with a deck of cards I would find. He spent a lot of time outside, observing the forest. I had a suspicion that Astrid had agitated him, and that he was expecting him to pursue us with more wolves.

For the day, I had made the living room my home. It feels like a classic hunting lodge. High windows let in plenty of natural light, and there are numerous animal mounts throughout. The focal point is a massive moose head that is suspended over the imposing stone fireplace. To complete the appearance, the wooden floors have been stained and varnished dark.

There was a strangeness about the room even though it was beautiful. Likely to prevent dust buildup, every piece of furniture had plastic wrapping around it. It was mind-blowing. Did he discover the house empty and abandoned? Or did he possess it and reserve it for unique events like kidnappings? A portion of the big leather couch was exposed, giving me enough space to sit and sink into it.

For the millionth time, the same words cross my mind as I reach forward to move another card on the coffee table. "Tried stealing my pack. In exile, it must be lonely.

It has consumed all of my thoughts.

banishment. A term I would hear far too frequently these days.

Evans returns, as indicated by the door's opening and closing as if on cue. After spending about an hour there, he would depart once more. He spends the entire day in that pattern.

My existence seems insignificant as his presence moves behind the couch across the room. I find that annoying. I desperately want to forget the feeling of fear that makes my chest crawl. I have not objected to his being brought back here. And I do not want the opportunity to remain silent once more. Unlike him.

Do you want to participate in the game? I ask, anticipation and anxiety building in my stomach, "I am tired of beating myself."

In hopes that he would stop walking, I waited a few seconds. My mouth's saliva turns cold.

Not at all... No worries, everything is OK. He is not ignoring me; rather, he is considering a response. All is well.

When there is no response, I try again: "Are you scared of losing? I suppose that makes sense to me." The panic is intensifying every millisecond. I try to talk myself out of being serious, but my hands are twitchy as I reach for another card.

One foot out of the room, he is almost gone now.

I have not heard from him. He is not looking back.

In a desperate last-minute moment, I blurted out his name, practically yelling, "Evans."

He halts and turns to face me while standing in the doorway.

"What brings me here?" "If I am such a damn bother to you, then just let me leave," I ask, sensing the silence in the room growing. I get angrier the more I talk. The person who was supposed to be my partner brought me here against my will and now acts as though I am a bother to him.

He slowly turns around. When his dark eyes look at me like daggers, I flinch.

His voice is so venomous that I have to suppress a whimper-another example of mate bonding.

"Why? So you can get back with him? "Good luck picking him up off the ground," he says, his hands flexing as they did the first time I saw him.

He wishes to hit something or fight someone. Anything that allows him to vent his rage.

My brow furrows tightly, and against all of my instincts, I raise my voice at him, "What the hell are you talking about?"

The sudden shattering of glass causes me to jump back, with the arm of the couch jutting into my back. I quickly notice the scattered vase fragments on the floor.

Alternatively, you could throw something. That is also effective.

"Say you are not his Luna." He is shaking as he gets closer, but his voice is as steady as a kill shot, deadly and sure.

The only thing that separates us now is the length of the couch, and that is insufficient. I can feel his wolf emerge, the same lethal aura that rolled off of him before Astrid got in his way.

The fear begins to dissolve. Is that what was bothering him? Is that what caused him to hate me all day?

The thought of him being possessive makes my stomach flutter with excitement. At this point, one word could tip him over the edge. It would be like throwing a bone off the cliff and having his wolf drag him away after it. So I will go with four.

"Why? Do you feel envious? My lips curl up in amusement.

"Fucking right I am," he responds immediately and unequivocally.

I blink, my smirk fading, "Wait... what...?"

His admission that he cares about me was the last thing I expected.

He takes a step closer, the couch serving as a pathetic excuse for an obstacle. My back arches, and the arm rest prevents me from scooting any further.

He will soon be right in front of me, giving me barely enough room to breathe. His arms encircled me, one on the armrest and one on the back of the couch. The close proximity feels like a punch in the gut, forcing all of the air out of my lungs. When I inhale again, my nose fills with his alluring scent.

I swallow, hoping not to show my regret on my face.

"Please respond." His expression is unreadable, but his voice is a death warning.

I respond with something that sounds more like a question than an answer. "Uh... Technically...?"

A deafening and murderous growl erupts from his throat. The leather squeals and tears under his claws. I push myself deeper into the cushions, wishing it would have mercy and finish swallowing me whole.

"You know, this couch looks really expensive, and I am not going to pay for it to be reupholstered, so-"

"Has he touched you?" He inquires through clenched canines, cutting off my nervous ramble. His mouth opens and closes again, as if he wants to say something else but cannot.

My unfocused gaze drops to his chest. "No."

He leans in closer, the tip of his nose caressing my jaw as he breathes in the scent of my skin. His voice is so low and soft that it chills my veins and causes me to shiver.

"He will never do that now."

My fingertips ache with the desire to touch him. To feel his body flush against mine in a tight embrace. I want to watch his muscles flex beneath his tanned skin and study his scar more. The collar of his shirt teases me, gravity pulling it down as he bends over me, allowing me a fleeting glimpse.

His eyes, which have become an impossible shade darker, have swept across every inch of my face. My forehead, cheekbones, and nose, finally landing on my lips.

His mouth is slightly parted, with his tongue unconsciously flicking out to moisten his own lips.

I reach up with caution, curling my fingers gently around his wrist. When he does not move away, I start running my hand slowly up his arm, feeling the exquisite raises and dips of his muscles.

He is making a rumbling yet soft sound, similar to a canine purr. By the time my hand reaches his shoulder, he appears to lean in closer.

My fantasy is cut short before it even begins when he abruptly moves away, standing up straight. The sight of his fading figure is like a bucket of cold water over my head.

He is about to leave, but I do not want him to. No, not right now.

"He wants me to marry him," I blurt out. He halts in his tracks, every muscle in his body visibly contracting. A human may not notice the smallest details, but a werewolf certainly does. The sound of his knuckles cracking makes me nervous.

"It was arranged by his father. I would not have had any choice. The party you... crashed... was the bonding ceremony." When I stop talking, I feel as if I could drown in the thick silence in the air.

There is no growling. There is no snarl. There is nothing.

"Evans?"

He flinches slightly when he hears his own name. Then he shakes his head and walks out the room.

I am suddenly no longer heard. My chest feels as though my heart has dried up. I would always imagine it wilting like a blossoming flower. However, this time it feels even worse. It was far worse.

I lay down, burying my face against the cool leather, after one last glance at the cards on the table.