Jaded

Chapter Eight

Jade uncrosses her arms, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly. "I know," she replies, her voice softer now, a hint of understanding creeping in. She allows both hands to slide beside her, a gesture of acceptance. "I just need a distraction."

Luca reaches for the popcorn, the familiar crunch and buttery scent a grounding sensation, anything to have something to do with his hands that isn't reaching for her or clenching into a fist. "You have a phone, Jade. It's not like you are completely isolated."

Jade scoffs, a dry, dismissive sound. Then, a flicker of remembrance crosses her face as she pats her clutch. Then she remembers Emmett's note. Standing up with a newfound purpose, she heads into her bedroom, her movements quick and decisive. Then emerges a moment later, holding a sleek, silver burner phone.

She copies the number Emmett had discreetly slipped onto the note.

Hi, it's Ginger. Remember me? she types, a mischievous smirk playing on her lips as she hits send.

She then heads back into the living room, the cheap-looking phone clutched in her hand.

Luca notices immediately that the phone she is carrying is not her usual one. Hers is a vibrant pink, a signature accessory. This one is silver, utilitarian, and decidedly out of place in her usual flamboyant aesthetic. "What is that?" he asks, pointing to the phone in her hand as she is sitting back down, her earlier petulance seemingly forgotten.

Just then, the phone dings. Emmett's reply is immediate: I was wondering if you would call or text me.

She quickly texts back, Got tied up. How are you doing?

She sits the phone down on the coffee table, her attention already shifting back to her wine. "It is a phone," she replies casually, taking a sip of her wine, her eyes back on the television.

"I know what it is," Luca mutters under his breath, the words barely audible. He watches her, his gaze sharp and suspicious. "That is not your phone."

Jade smirks, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "I keep a very low profile with these humans," she says, her voice laced with a hint of playful superiority. "They do not get my actual number."

Luca's face drains of its beautiful olive shade, a flush of anger and betrayal washing over him.

The relief he felt moments ago evaporates, replaced by a burning sense of being outmaneuvered.

Jade chuckles into her glass, taking a quick sip before speaking, her voice dripping with mock innocence. "You told me, 'I have a phone'."

Luca tightens his jaw, the muscles bunching ominously. He glances back to the television, the flickering images blurring before his eyes, hating himself for the damn suggestion. And for perhaps the tenth time that day, Luca found himself cursing his own stupidity.

Because somehow—

Somehow—

He had personally supplied Jade with the exact loophole she needed.

Jade texts back and forth with Emmett for a while, her thumbs flying across the burner phone's screen.

Small conversations, innocuous at first glance.

She tells him of her sleeping off most of the day from her hangover, the lingering ache behind her eyes, the metallic taste still in her mouth.

Emmett talks about his pounding headache while he had to work, the tediousness of his tasks, the frustration of being stuck.

Jade chuckles, a light, airy sound that pulls Luca's attention from his own simmering turmoil.

He rolls his eyes, the gesture small but loaded with unspoken frustration, as he gets up to refill his whiskey.

The clinking of ice cubes against the glass seems unnaturally loud in the tense silence between them.

He knows how Jade is.

He knows.

She is likely talking dirty to the man she had spent the past night with. The same man whose scent he had been forced to scrub from her duffel bag and clothes; a task that had felt like a physical violation, the same man that had, in essence, defiled Jade. His fingers tighten around the neck of the whiskey bottle, the smooth, cool glass a stark contrast to the burning rage coiling in his gut. His thoughts began to run away from him, a torrent of dark, violent impulses.

Even the thought of killing this guy, of hunting him down and ending him, ran past him–a fleeting, terrifying possibility. He shakes his head, the movement sharp, and mentally curses his father for ordering him to keep watch on Jade. Roman could have stayed here with her, while he went with the scouts. Instead, Walter had chosen him. Specifically him. Because Walter knew. The old wolf knew exactly what this proximity would do. Knew exactly what it would cost.

Roman would have survived.

Roman enjoyed tormenting people.

Roman probably would have found the entire assignment entertaining.

Luca is the future Alpha, the one destined for leadership, for strategy, for battle. Yet, here he is, a glorified bodyguard, a leash on Jade's freedom, protecting her from the consequences of her own choices.

There is nowhere he would rather be, honestly.

The possessiveness that claws at him, the need to keep her safe, to keep her his to protect–it is an addiction he can't shake.

But at the same time, it is torture.

The constant proximity, the casual intimacy she shares with others, the subtle reminders of what he cannot have.

He reclaims his seat, the couch cushions sighing beneath him, and grabs the remote, a desperate attempt to exert some control. He flips through the selection of movies, trying his best to ignore the persistent, staccato dings that are coming through her burner phone.

Each notification is a tiny jab to his already frayed nerves. He is impressed, though, a grudging admiration warring with his anger, with how far Jade was willing to go to keep the humans from being able to track her. It is a level of cunning he hadn't expected, a shrewdness that both frustrates and intrigues him.

He finds a comedy, a loud, nonsensical film that promises easy laughs, and picks it.

He needs the noise to drown out the insidious sound of the text notifications, to fill the void left by his own warring emotions.

Jade suddenly gasps, a sharp intake of breath, and covers her mouth, a wave of surprised amusement rolling over her.

She chuckles, a sound that is almost a squeal.

The muscle in Luca’s jaw moves, a single, involuntary twitch. He knows that gasp. It is one of raw surprise, of something unexpected and undoubtedly risqué. He does not want to know what Emmett had sent her. It is becoming very difficult for him to pay attention to the movie, the vibrant colors and booming laughter on screen failing to penetrate his thick shroud of irritation.

Beside him, Jade notices that Luca had gone quiet, his earlier fidgeting replaced by a rigid stillness. His shoulders are tense, hunched as if bracing for an impact, and his jaw is so tight she can see the muscles rippling beneath his stubble. She frowns, a subtle furrow appearing between her brows, and reaches for her wine, the cool glass a familiar comfort. "Is something wrong?" she asks, her voice soft, before taking a slow, deliberate sip from the glass.

"No," he answers, his dark eyes glued to the screen, his voice flat, devoid of emotion.

He is lying, and they both know it.

"Luca, I am not stupid." Her tone is firm, cutting through his denial. "I know when something is bothering you." She pushes the burner phone, still open to Emmett’s conversation, face down onto the coffee table, next to her own pink phone, which she has placed face up. It is a subtle shift, a non-verbal cue that she is done playing the oblivious game.

He narrows his gaze back to the television, pretending to be engrossed in the movie, but the words are hollow, the laughter a distant echo. "I told you. I am fine, Jade."

She shakes her head, a small, almost imperceptible movement, then looks to her phone, her pink one this time. Realization suddenly clicks in her mind, a dawning understanding that hits her with the force of a physical blow. "Are-Are you upset that I am texting—"

Luca suddenly stands to his feet, the movement sharp and abrupt, snatching his whiskey off the table and moving away toward the kitchen, a primal need for escape driving him. "I don't give a f**k what you do," he snarls, his voice rough with suppressed fury, grabbing the whiskey bottle again as if it is a lifeline.

That one statement, so dismissive, so cold, hurt. Her heart sinks, a heavy weight settling in her chest. She turns back onto the couch, back toward the television, her earlier amusement completely evaporated. She listens to him move around in the kitchen, the clatter of dishes, the running of water, sounds that now seem amplified in the sudden quiet between them.

Her phone dings again, a bright, insistent sound. Tightening her lips, a stubborn resolve hardening her expression, she picks it up and continues texting Emmett. Out of spite, fueled by his cold rejection and her own wounded pride, she makes it obvious that she is taking a selfie on the couch, framing herself with the movie screen in the background and a defiant glint in her eye. She sends it. If Luca will not admit anything, if he will not communicate his feelings or acknowledge the emotional minefield they are navigating, then she will do as she pleases.

His silent tantrum will not be coddled by her.

She will not cater to his unspoken demands.

Luca watches from the kitchen, a silent observer behind the polished marble counter. He hears the sent notification, a soft ping that lands like a stone in the pit of his stomach. He lights another cigarette, the familiar ritual a meager attempt to ground himself, and exhales a thick plume of smoke that drifts towards the ornate chandelier. He flicks the ashes into the crystal ashtray, the small, sharp sound a counterpoint to the racing of his heart. He tries not to pay her any attention, knowing she only sent the selfie to prove a point–that he is not going to react, that his carefully constructed composure is impenetrable.

Her phone dings again.

She chuckles softly, a sound that grates on his nerves as the movie continues playing, its cheerful dialogue a jarring contrast to the storm brewing within him. He hates himself for reacting to her earlier question, for making it so pretty obvious that her actions were getting under his skin. Now, she will push his jealousy, prod at his possessiveness until it cracks. But, to be fair, she has been proving him wrong a lot today, her intelligence and resourcefulness surprising him at every turn.

He glances back up, his gaze drawn unwillingly towards the living room, and finds that she is not the case this time. Her oversized shirt is gone, replaced by just her bra, the delicate lace a stark contrast against her smooth skin. Her phone is pointed at a high angle, her fingers poised to capture another image.

"What the f**k are you doing?!" he barks, the words torn from his throat, and crosses the polished hardwood floor like a flash of lightning, a predator closing in before she could take the picture. He snatches the phone from her hand.

"Luca—" she starts, her voice tinged with surprise as she leaned forward on the couch, reaching for the device.

He pulls the phone from her desperate reach, his own hands trembling with a mixture of rage and a terrifying surge of protectiveness. "I am not about to sit here and let you send these!" he growls, the words raw.

Jade leans back onto the cushions of the couch, her earlier defiance returning, a steely glint in her pale-green eyes. His face is bright red, his nostrils flared, his brows knit so tight that a vein is popping out of his temple. She has pushed him way too far. The fear that had flickered earlier leaves as quickly as it had come, replaced by a chilling anger.

"Then, admit it bothers you!" she snaps back at him, this time taking her phone when she reaches for it, her movements deliberate and challenging.

"Why admit to anything when it will not change a damn thing?" he retorts, the words laced with a weary cynicism, and walks away again, returning to the sterile sanctuary of the kitchen for his whiskey.

Jade sits her phone back down, ignoring the ding that follows, her expression hardening. She stands to her feet and turns toward Luca in the kitchen, her movements fluid and purposeful. This is the first time she has come anywhere near to being close to a confession from him, and she intends to exploit it.

He does his best to keep his gaze from meeting hers, his eyes fixed on the swirling amber liquid in his glass, but they eventually lift and lock with hers, a silent battle of wills. She does not move from in front of the couch, not right away, anyhow. She reaches for her wine glass and slowly walks into the kitchen with him, her bare shoulders catching the light. He moves out of the way for her to reach for the bottle of wine he had chosen for her earlier. Quietly, she pours herself a glass, nearly topping it off to the brim, the yellow liquid catching the light. She takes a generous swallow, her eyes never leaving his as she eyes him from the rim of her glass.

"I do not plan on having a mate," she confesses to him boldly, her voice steady and clear.

Luca knits his brows, his earlier anger momentarily forgotten, replaced by disbelief. He looks to her as though she had lost her mind, the glass of whiskey halfway to his lips. "Jade—"

She lifts her hand to stop him there, her expression resolute. "I can reject my mate. I plan to reject my mate."

Luca's jaw is close to hitting the floor, his eyes widening in shock. "Jade... You do not get another mate. Are you f*****g insane? Do you know what happens to wolves who reject their mates?"

She shrugs her bare shoulder, the thin strap of her bra slipping further. "I am already an outcast, Luca. Outside of you, Roman and Walter, these wolves are either scared of me. Or, see me as spoiled and entitled."

Luca scoffs through his nose, the sound dismissive. "You are spoiled and entitled."

Jade rolls her eyes at him, a flash of her usual playful defiance returning. "I want to fall in love on my own. I want to choose who I am to be with for the rest of my life."

Luca is serious once again, his expression grim. "Walter is not going to allow this, Jade. If he finds out I knew—"

Jade points her finger at him, her gaze sharp and unwavering. "You better not breathe a f*****g word. I swear, Lucas. I will kill you in your sleep."

Luca laughs, a short, sharp bark of amusement. "I am a very light sleeper."

Her phone dings again. They both ignore it, the external world fading into insignificance as they stand on the precipice of a shared secret.

"I am not going to say a word," he says, his voice low and laced with a newfound respect, snuffing his cigarette in the ashtray. "But you had better not throw me under the f*****g bus when this blows up in your face."

Jade smiles, a slow, satisfied smile that reaches her eyes. "I am willing to take whatever punishment is to follow. I will not be bonded to a stranger."

Luca shakes his head, a hint of resignation in his voice. "Your mate would be someone you would choose."

Jade is not convinced. She may never will be. She walks away with her wine, her gaze lingering on him. "You will not admit your feelings for me, yet you speak to me about choice."

Luca stiffens, his earlier frustration returning. "I told you—it will not change a damn thing."

She nods, walking away with her wine, her words echoing in the suddenly vast space between them. "Right. Because you feel something for me, while you speak of mates?"

Luca watches her, growing increasingly frustrated with her persistence, with the truth she is so adept at unearthing. "Can we just talk about anything else?" he questions flatly, his voice strained.

"Sure," Jade says from the living room, already back on the couch, sinking into its familiar comfort. "Tell me why you are avoiding my question."

Luca pinches the bridge of his nose, the action a gesture of pure exasperation. "Because, I do not want s**t getting weird between us. Because I don’t want to hurt you. Because confessing will only prolong my suffering. Which one do you want me to pick to shreds first?"

Jade stiffens on the couch, unable to look back to him. She had not expected that answer, the raw vulnerability laid bare. Her phone dings again, the sound jarring in the charged silence.

"God dammit!" Luca grumbles with a growl, crossing the kitchen to enter the living room once more, his patience worn thin.

Jade watches him take her burner phone and throw it into her bedroom.

She does not hear it clatter to the floor, so it had to have landed on her bed.

He slams the door and moves out of her sight, leaving her alone with the echo of his words and the persistent ping of her phone.

Silent, Jade does not move or speak as she watches him cross the room, back to the kitchen. The stark white marble counter seems to absorb the light, mirroring the cold realization settling in her chest. It is much deeper than she had thought.

She had no idea Luca felt this way.

She always thought he was uptight about her seeing strange men, seeing it as him being overly protective, perhaps even controlling, but not actually jealous. She remembers all the times she had teased him, flaunted her encounters, her flirtations, in front of him, reveling in his stoic reactions. Now, she sees it in a much different light, a harsh spotlight on her own perceived cruelty. She sees herself as the b***h out of the entire situation, a cruel instigator.

"Luca..." she starts, her voice a low murmur, a hesitant apology. She pauses, struggling to collect her thoughts, the words feeling woefully inadequate. "I-I did not know that was how you actually felt." Her head hangs low, her shoulders slightly dropping, a physical manifestation of the guilt coiling within her. She cannot bring herself to turn around and look him in the eyes; the weight of his unspoken emotions feels too heavy to bear.

"You weren't supposed to know," he mutters, his voice rough, laced with a weary resignation. He lifts his whiskey, the amber liquid a shield, and takes a long swallow, as if trying to wash away the confession. "It is none of my business what you do."

He turns his dark eyes towards Jade, who is still sitting on the edge of the couch, clad only in her lace bra and panties. When she stands up from the couch, he had expected her to get dressed, to retreat from this raw, exposed space. But she turns to him instead, her bare feet padding silently across the polished floor, each step a deliberate approach.

His eyes, against his will, wander over her creamy body, drawn to the ample flesh of her breasts nearly spilling from the delicate lace, the slim curve of her waist, the enticing swell of her hips. He swallows his whiskey, the burn a welcome distraction, and forces himself to look away, his gaze fixed on a point somewhere beyond her shoulder.

She stops in front of him, so close he can feel the warmth radiating from her skin.

She leans up onto her tiptoes, a silent invitation, and presses a gentle kiss to his lips. He stiffens against the unexpected touch, his feet frozen to the ground, his eyes widening in a mixture of shock and a dawning, terrifying arousal.

"Jade—"

She lifts a finger to his lips, a soft, silencing gesture. "Shh..." she whispers, her breath warm against his skin, and leans closer again, her lips finding his.

Luca lets go of everything the second time she kisses him. The carefully constructed dam of his control shatters. Both hands scoop up to her cheeks, pulling her deeper into the kiss, a desperate, clawing need overriding all his previous reservations. His tongue sweeps against hers, a collision of unspoken desires–hungry, passionate, greedy. Jade moans softly against him, melding her half-naked body to his, his unyielding chest pressing to hers. One hand wanders to the small of her back, anchoring her, while Luca’s other hand drops to her breast, kneading the soft flesh with an almost possessive gentleness. He turns her around, his movements urgent, and presses her against the cool marble counter top before both hands lower to lift her by her bottom, settling her onto the edge of the counter.

Her legs spread to him as he moves between them, returning to the kiss, their bodies now a single, urgent entity.

As Jade’s fingers begin to unbutton his black shirt, fumbling with the buttons, Luca immediately tears himself away, a ragged gasp tearing from his throat.

Jade sits on the counter, panting, her chest heaving, not understanding what is going on. The raw passion of moments ago has evaporated, replaced by a bewildering void. "We cannot do this, Jade," he grumbles, his voice strained, already fumbling with his buttons, his gaze fixed anywhere but on her.

She frowns from the counter, the heat of his rejection a cold shock. Slowly, she slides down, suddenly very aware of his sudden, brutal withdrawal. The raw desire that had consumed them has vanished, leaving behind a chilling awareness of his refusal.