Your Turn
606 Words
Chloe looked at the hand offered to her. Just moments ago, it had been tipped with lethal claws; now, the nails were trimmed and blunt.
"Are all Lycans like this?" she asked, sighing as she rested her wrist in his palm.
At the touch of her skin, Silas’s fingertips gave a microscopic tremor. He hovered his other hand over the scratches, hesitant to touch her. The dim light turned his grey-silver lashes translucent, casting long shadows over his cheeks.
"It’s not that bad," Chloe said, trying to lighten the mood. "It won't ruin the image of the perfect husband."
Silas’s ears shot straight up. He ducked down to rummage through the car’s medical kit with a clumsy, frantic energy.
"Hold still," he commanded, opening a tube of cooling gel. His pinky finger twitched as he applied it.
Chloe flinched at the cold, and Silas immediately tightened his grip—firm, yet incredibly gentle. It was a side of him she hadn't seen.
"Did I hurt you?" he whispered, his breath ghosting over the sensitive skin of her inner wrist.
Chloe shook her head, her cheeks warming. Silas’s touch was impossibly soft, moving over the scratches like sparks—fleeting but leaving behind a trail of heat.
"Lycan saliva... it actually has healing properties," he said suddenly, his focus entirely on her arm.
The temperature in the car seemed to spike. Silas’s ears fluffed up, and his tail went rigid against the seat.
"Would you...?" Chloe asked, her voice trailing off.
"No," Silas coughed, his pupils dilating. His thumb absentmindedly grazed her wrist bone. "At least... not now."
His tail puffed out into a bottle-brush of fur. He pulled his hand back quickly, muttering that she was finished. His tail-tip lingered on her pinky finger, and he had to awkwardly jerk it away.
"Let me be clear," Silas gritted out, trying to regain his dominance. "Even if human weddings mean nothing to the Pack, the world sees you as the Lady of the Sterling House. You're human; you follow human laws. Know your place."
Chloe frowned at the sudden change in tone. "And you're a Lycan; I suppose you don't follow any laws?"
"I follow mine," Silas snapped.
Chloe sighed. "Fine. Whatever."
"Now," Silas said, extending his own arm. There was a faint scratch on his forearm. "It’s your turn. Give me the medicine."
"Did you..." Chloe started, her voice slowing. "Did you just scratch yourself?" He had seemed perfectly fine in the bakery. Had he really given himself a wound just to get her attention?
"I’m not that childish," Silas snorted. "But as you humans say... it's the hidden arrows you have to watch for."
He was clearly talking about Julian Thorne.
"Julian isn't like that," Chloe defended. "I only got the antidote because of him."
"You think I would have died without that antidote?" Silas’s temper flared again at the mention of the other man. "Just give me the medicine."
Chloe didn't want another fight. She took the ointment and gently applied it to his arm. Silas’s breathing turned heavy. When she mimicked his earlier movements, rubbing the gel in gentle circles, a low, guttural growl vibrated in his chest.
"Chloe." He used her full name, leaning in until they were inches apart. "I just remembered. There's something I haven't finished."
Chloe looked up into his glowing eyes. His tail lashed around her waist, pulling her flush against him. The scent of pine and iron swirled around her as his heat surged.
"My mate," he rasped, his breath hot against her face. "She needs my mark."
Chloe gritted her teeth. "Wait, Silas... isn't this enough?"
- Writer
