The Primes Reckoning

A GLIMPSE OF HER WORLD

DRAKE

Vera stands in my hallway, her hair falling in loose waves around her shoulders. She wears a black crop top that shows a strip of her stomach, jeans that hug every curve, and her lips are painted red.

I know it’s her before I open the door. The scent of honey and rain. There's a hint of something else I can’t name but it hits me through the wood, and my wolf sits up, instantly alert and hungry.

“Hi,” she says softly. Her eyes meet mine for a half-second, then drop. But those red lips aren’t shy. They called on me boldly.

I grab her wrist and pull her inside, one hand yanking her close as the other slams the door. Her back is against it before she can blink, my body crowding hers, her breath hitching in that way I’m already addicted to.

“Drake.”

I cut her off with my mouth.

God, she tastes like cherries. Like everything I’ve been starving for since the moment I saw her through that lecture hall window.

Her lips parted immediately. She makes a small sound that only urges me on. I feel it everywhere. My tongue sweeps in, claiming her mouth the way my wolf has already claimed her in every way that matters.

Her hands come up to my chest, fingers curling into my shirt, pulling me closer. She arches against me. I feel the warm skin of her stomach where the crop top ends and resist the urge to rip it off. Her breasts press into me through that thin fabric.

I can’t think straight or remember why I should stop this, why I should take things slow. My wolf isn’t helping; he thinks I’m moving too slowly as it is.

My hands roam up her sides, under the crop top, feeling the heat of her skin. She’s so soft. So warm. She moans into my mouth and grinds against me, and I lose the last thread of control.

We break for air, both gasping.

Her eyes are dark, pupils blown. Lips swollen and redder now. Mine.

“Drake.” My name on her lips is like a prayer.

I kissed her again. Harder. My fingers find the hem of her crop top and I yank it up, over her head, tossing it somewhere behind us without looking.

She’s wearing black lace underneath. A bra that barely contains her, intricate patterns framing the swell of her breasts.

I like it.

I like it a lot.

Too much. And my body agrees with me.

My hand cups her breast through the lace. Her n****e hardens against my palm instantly, and she gasps, hips bucking against mine. My other hand slides around her back, fingers finding the clasp, ready to undo it.

Then her phone buzzes loudly from her back pocket.

I ignore it. It buzzes again.

And again.

“f**k,” I growl against her mouth.

My hand leaves her breast and dips into her back pocket. I’m going to grab it, turn it off without looking, throw it across the room. Get back to what matters.

But her eyes catch the screen.

She snatches it from my hand so fast I barely register the movement.

“I’m sorry.” Her voice is breathless. Flushed. “I have to take this.”

She slips away from me. From the wall. From my hands. She moves to the far end of the living room, back to me, phone pressed to her ear.

Jealousy claws at my chest. Who the hell is so important she’d stop this?

I could listen. I’d catch every word from across the room. But she stepped away for a reason. She deserves that privacy.

Doesn’t mean I have to like it.

I stalk to the farthest corner, lean against the wall with my arms crossed, and sulk like a goddamn puppy.

Ten minutes.

She’s on the phone for ten minutes.

When she comes back, I know something’s wrong.

Her shoulders are hunched. Her face is pale beneath the flush I put there. The fire in her eyes is gone, replaced by something hollow.

“I’d like to go home now.” She won’t look at me. She hasn’t put her top back on. I doubt she’s even realized.

“No.”

The word comes out harder than I meant. She flinches.

I softened immediately. “Vera, what’s wrong?”

She shakes her head and tries to step past me.

“Talk to me.” I pull her back gently.

“My mom.” Her voice cracks on the word. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Is she okay"

She nods but won’t look up. I see her shoulders shaking. Her heartbeat spikes, increasing fast, with rhythm almost not human.

And then I see it happening. Her breath comes too fast, too shallow. I lift her chin, but her eyes go unfocused, staring at something I can’t see.

“Vera.”

She doesn’t respond.

“Vera, look at me.”

Her hands are shaking. Her whole body is shaking. I’ve seen panic attacks before. I know the signs immediately. I run an underground network for abandoned wolves in the city, young wolves who’ve seen too much, some bearing the physical marks of their trauma.

But this is different. This is her body turning against her, drowning her from the inside.

I drop to her eye level, taking her cold hands in mine.

“Breathe with me.” I demonstrate. Slow inhale. Slower exhale. “Just once. You can do that.”

Her chest hitches. She tries.

“Good. Again.”

We breathe together for what feels like hours. When she finally comes back to me, her face is wet.

“I’m sorry.” The words shatter.

I squeezed her hands. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

I wish, so badly, that I’d ignored my gentlemanly act and eavesdropped on that call.

The one time I tried to be good and it bit my ass. My wolf is restless. Who dared to hurt our girl like this?

I pull her down to the floor with me. Gently. Her back against the window, me facing her, legs tangled.

Hours pass, and she eventually falls asleep.

I carry her to the bed and lay her down. I start to step away, but she reaches for me in the dark. Find my hand and hold on.

I must have fallen asleep eventually, because the next thing I know, sunlight is creeping through the windows and Vera is curled against my chest like she belongs there.

I’ve been asleep for maybe thirty minutes.

The door bursts open.

My father stands in the doorway, eyes widening as he takes in the scene. Vera in my bed, under the covers with her head resting on my chest. Her crop top is still on the living room floor.

“Drake.” His voice is ice. “What the hell is this?”