Vamp, Wolf, or Shifter 2: The Prophecy

Caught Up in the Moment

Cooper’s POV

I’ll admit it: what I did was a little creepy.

I was a little creepy when I made Marie tell me the truth about true mate rejection, too. Why am I acting so creepy?

Honestly, it’s because the more time I spend in her presence, the more I realize what a fool I’ve been these past two and a half years not to fight for her.

I’m not in her presence now, unfortunately. If I could have it my way, I never would have left it. Unfortunately, agreeing to let a mysterious clan of wolves and vamps stay under my roof comes with its share of responsibility, and I had no real choice but to head back to the Estate and help everyone get sorted.

Max is pissed, for the record—like, really pissed.

“Alaina f*****g Hayworth?” he demanded when I pitched him the plan over the phone. “I don’t know which was worse—when she was Aidan’s sworn enemy or when she conveniently turned her coat and become his ally! And now you’re saying she’s turned again?”

Technically, we already knew she’d shifted her loyalties back in our direction; if she hadn’t, she would have attacked us sooner.

It is a little confusing, though, when you take into account that we were all once on Aidan’s side and then turned our own coats.

Anyway, I explained to him that she didn’t even really seem to be in charge, and that the guy who was in charge had the potential to start Battle of the Blood: the Sequel, and that seemed to do the trick.

All in all, I spend about two hours at the Estate—long enough to help the valiant volunteers pack their things, move out of their rooms, and head to their cars. Once the rooms are cleared, I call Marie to give Nolan the go-ahead.

“You could have called Quinn,” she grumbles after I deliver the news. “It’s her whole operation.”

“I didn’t want to call Quinn,” I say stubbornly. “I wanted to call you.”

She hangs up on me, of course. But that’s okay.

“You’re being an i***t,” Max tells me as I head for the door. “All this for a she-wolf you’ve barely thought about since the breakup?”

I love Max, but he really should know better. Just because I haven’t talked to him about her doesn’t mean I haven’t been thinking about her. Frankly, Max is so filled with fury and vengeance these days, it’s hard to talk to him about anything.

I don’t tell him that, though. Instead, I hug him.

“I love you, man,” I say.

And I head for Marie’s.

- - - - -

She isn’t wearing the leather shirt anymore, I observe when she opens the door for me. Instead, she’s donned a baggy Black Flag tee and a pair of men’s boxers.

“If you expect me to find this look less attractive than the last one,” I inform her, “you’re quite mistaken.”

She scowls at me again. She really has the sexiest scowl.

She really has the sexiest everything.

“The room’s over there,” she says, backing up to let me in and pointing to the guest room. “There’s a guest bath right next to it.”

I step inside and close the door behind me, but make no move to enter the room. I set my small bag down next to the door. “I remember.”

Her scowl deepens. “I doubt that. You were here once or twice at the most.”

“Four times,” I correct swiftly. I didn’t forget. I haven’t forgotten a single thing about her or our limited time together. “I remember the pink hand towels in the guest bath with the dogs on them. I remember the framed photo on the mantel in the living room with the photo of you and your parents. And I remember the rowing machine in the spare bedroom that you never used—though clearly you’ve been using it lately.”

For a second, I see the effect of my flattery run through her eyes. Just as quickly, though, it turns to disgust. “You’re such an asshole.”

“For flirting with you?” I ask, laughing. “I think there are bigger crimes.”

“For flirting with me when you know what it means to me, Coop!” she shouts. “For thinking you’re allowed to charm your way into my pants just because you’re bored or lonely or whatever you are and you know that I’ll be an easy lay because of my stupid, uncontrollable fixation with you!”

Well, s**t. When she puts it like that, I am an asshole.

It’s not remotely fair, though. She has it all wrong.

“Marie,” I say. The amusement has drained from my voice. “You broke up with me.”

“Because you were in love with my Luna!”

I groan, lifting my hands to my hair and tugging. “Jesus Christ, Marie. I’m not in love with Quinn! I haven’t been in love with her in ages. If there was any overlap at all, it was over before I ever even kissed you. Why is that so hard to understand?”

For a few seconds, she remains silent. My words have gotten to her, I can tell. She’s accepting the possibility that they might actually be true.

“Then…” The word comes out a whisper. She’s scared. I reach out to take her hand, but she pulls away. Her eyebrows narrow. “Then why didn’t you fight for me?”

It’s the same question Max brought up when I left the Estate. Well, technically he didn’t ask me a question, but his words implied the same thing: that I never thought about her after the breakup. That I didn’t care.

I’m not sure I’m ready to admit the real reason. I’m not sure she’s even ready to hear it.

“You wanted nothing to do with me,” I say instead. “You avoided me at all costs. You stopped going out in public. You even convinced Quinn not to spend time with me.”

“I didn’t do that,” she says immediately. “I would never do that, Coop. Quinn stopped calling you because you stopped calling her. She was afraid that being around her was too hard for you.”

I didn’t know that. It gives me a whole new appreciation for my old friend.

“That’s not quite it,” I tell Marie, shaking my head. I didn’t connect the dots until now, but it makes all the sense in the world. Quinn saw me and Marie together; she knew how much I cared for her. “She was afraid that being around you was too hard for me.”

She parts her lips to speak, but nothing comes out.

“I’m sorry, Marie,” I say, taking a step forward. This time, she doesn’t back away from me. I’m suddenly overwhelmed by the smell that’s haunted me for two and a half years—that warm, sweet smell of vanilla, chamomile, and hay. “I should have fought for you. But I’m ready to fight for you now.”

I can see those dark, dreamy eyes of hers starting to glaze over, but the fear is still there, keeping her from giving in. “But why?” she whispers. “Because you remembered what I looked like?”

I realize with a sinking heart that this is how Marie has been conditioned to feel by all the dogs around her for years now. We never talked about it back when we dated—there was so much I wanted to ask her, but I didn’t want to scare her or do anything to ruin what we had going.

Didn’t work, obviously.

The point is, she did tell me back then that she had lost her virginity, and that really got me thinking. It must have been with someone in the pack, right? Someone who knew she wasn’t their true mate, but f****d her, anyway, because she’s pretty much the hottest girl on the planet. And that, in turn, messed with her head.

She definitely is the hottest girl on the planet, but that isn’t why I’m ready to fight for her again. And I need her to understand that.

I lift my hands to her cheeks and cradle her beautiful face in my hands. She flinches, but she doesn’t stop me. Her eyes are glazing over even more now.

“Because I remembered how much I care about you, Marie,” I tell her softly.

But I can barely get the last word out before she crashes her lips against mine.

I haven’t kissed many girls before. Three or four, including Quinn. Some were better than others at kissing, but none of them came close to kissing me like Marie does.

It could be the true mate thing. Quinn wasn’t a bad kisser, by any means; she just didn’t have the fire or passion that burns through Marie’s lips, hands, and pretty much every other part of her. That could be the difference—Marie is significantly more into it than the rest, thanks to her “uncontrollable fixation” with me.

God, those words hurt. She said them like she’d do just about anything to not have the fixation.

I spent a long time feeling grateful for the mating bond. I mean, sure, I struggled a bit with the fact that she was a wolf and I was a vamp, but once I figured out how goddamn incredible she was, I changed my tune pretty quick. How lucky was I, I kept wondering, to have found this amazing of a girl who’s pretty much genetically guaranteed to love me more than anyone else in the world?

The longer I’ve had to wrestle with it, though, the more I’ve come to resent it. Thanks to it, she doesn’t feel like her love for me is a choice. Thanks to it, she feels like fate has taken away her free will and forced her into something she would never have otherwise chosen.

Am I supposed to feel good about that?

But I digress. Back to the kissing thing.

Whether it’s the true mate thing, her Angelina Jolie-esque puffy lips, her sweet, minty breath, her flaming hot she-wolf skin, or something else entirely, Marie is a really f*****g good kisser. As soon as she brings those lips to mine, I’m a f*****g goner. I let out an inadvertent groan of pleasure, and my hands find the small of her back and press her against me, and within those two seconds I’ve become stiff as a board, and feeling that makes her give an inadvertent whimper of pleasure that’s so goddamn hot, I have no choice but to hoist her up onto me by the thighs and carry her to the nearest stationary object, which happens to be her kitchen table.

She doesn’t exactly seem to mind.

Her hands are everywhere—in my hair; up the back of my shirt; on my face. They feel so good against my skin, and all I want is to touch her everywhere, too, but I swear to God, if I touch those perfects breasts again, I’ll never be able to recover, so I settle for her stomach.

God, it’s tight. Her skin is so soft, but the muscles beneath it are so firm. How much has she been working out? God, I’d like to see her naked…

I never saw her fully naked the first time around. I did see her breasts, though. I touched them, too. They’re the greatest breasts on the entire planet. Huge, but firm, and they defy gravity like you wouldn’t believe. I wouldn’t have even bought that they were real if not for the fact that I’ve seen and kissed every inch of them and confirmed that there are no scars.

Also, Marie isn’t the type to get a boob job.

I can’t stop thinking about her breasts. I can’t stop thinking about her ass. I can’t stop thinking about her eyes as she stares up at me from beneath those thick, smoky, black lashes—the very definition of bedroom eyes—

“f**k, Marie,” I groan, pulling away from her to take a breather. I press my forehead against her neck as I gasp for ragged, choppy breaths. “I want you so bad.”

She stiffens, which instantly makes me stiffen—and not in the good way that I already have.

Without her having to utter a word, I know what she’s thinking.

I’m not the first guy who’s said those words to her. I’m probably not even the second or the third. And none of them wanted more from her.

“Hey,” I say softly, lifting my head from her neck to look her in the eyes. I try to take her face in my hands again, but she flinches so hard, I lower them. “I don’t just want you, Marie. I want to be with you.”

But she’s shaking her head. She doesn’t believe me.

“Get off me,” she says, refusing to look me in the eye.

I do as she instructs—not that I’m really on her; she’s the one on the table, and I’m still standing.

“I wasn’t going to go there,” I promise her. “I would have waited. I was just caught up in the moment and saying things.”

She nods, but she still isn’t looking at me. It’s a nod of appeasement, not of belief.

My heart is breaking for her even more than it’s breaking for myself. How many guys have used her for s*x? Does she really think I would ever join that list? Does she not remember that I was the one who insisted that we wait?

“I’m going to go to bed,” she says, turning away from me. “Have a good night, Cooper.”

And with that, she leaves me to wonder how the hell I’m supposed to navigate the intensity of my feelings for a girl who doesn’t believe they exist.