Chapter 14: Sizes
1044 Words
Elara pov
Draven’s breathing had been off for the past ten minutes, but I didn’t realize how bad it was until he pushed away from her like I was fire.
“Elara,” his voice came out hoarse, almost broken. “Go. You need to go. Now!”
I blinked, confused. “What? Why? Draven, what’s wrong?”
He dragged a hand through his hair, pacing… no, stumbling, like he couldn’t keep his own balance. Sweat rolled down his neck, his jaw clenched tight enough that a pulse beat hard under the skin. His chest rose and fell too fast, he tips his shirt, his apps glistering in the moonlight
The moonlight outside the window had turned a deep red, casting the room in a bruised glow.
“Not now,” he muttered, voice cracking. “I forgot the date. Elara, please run.”
Her heart began to beat faster, but not out of fear. Out of concern. “Hey. Look at me. Talk to me. What’s happening?”
He tried. He really did. But the words hitched like breathing burned. His hands trembled. His skin flushed hot. His eyes lifted to hers, and they were no longer the familiar shade I knew. They had darkened, deepened, turning into something primal, hunger-filled, desperate.
“Draven…” I stepped closer before I could think.
“Stop.” He backed up so hard his shoulder hit the wall. “I’m losing control. Elara, I am begging you, leave me.”
His voice broke again, this time on a ragged gasp. I reached for him anyway, worried he was poisoned, overheated, something. But as her gaze moved over him, I froze.
The shaking hands.
The labored breath.
The tension wound so tight through his whole body it looked painful.
Me eyes dropped lower, and the realization hit me so hard I drew in a sharp, I couldn't believe it.
No poison, No illness. The blood moon, how had I forgotten.
Heat.
His heat.
My mind reeled. I'd heard of it. A Werewolf surge. A force that devoured all restraint. Dangerous and consuming. And he'd forgotten it was coming.
He squeezed his eyes shut, pressing the back of his head to the wall, trying to force distance between them, even when every muscle in him pulled like he was fighting chains.
“Elara,” he whispered, voice rough and wrecked, “I don’t want to hurt you.”
I swallowed, breath catching. I should run. I should listen. Every warning sign was there.
But I didn’t move.
I stayed .
Right in front of him.
Because he looked terrified.
And Draven never looked terrified.
“Look at me,” I said softly.
His eyes opened. They were wild, glowing, and full of a hunger that could swallow worlds. After everything he said about me made me feel wonderful, I can't leave him now.
“I’m not leaving you.”
And that was the moment the last thread of his control snapped.
His eyes had changed colour, red crimson, he looked at me ready to devour every last bit of me
The air changed before he touched me.
One moment I was just standing there, trying to understand what was happening to him, and the next something warm, heavy and head-spinning rolled through the room. Like the atmosphere thickened. Like breathing became too much work.
Pheromones.
His pheromones.
I’d heard the word before, in theory, in passing… but I had never felt it.
It smelled… god, how do I even explain it? Warm cedar. Smoke from a late night bonfire. The kind of scent that sinks into clothes and refuses to leave. And under it was something deeper, something that made the back of my neck prickle and my stomach twist. It made sense in my body before my mind could catch up, my p***y felt like a throbbing wound only this felt heavenly. I was dripping like a fountain.
My heartbeat wasn’t even my own anymore.
Draven was standing there, bracing himself against the wall, chest rising and falling like he’d just run for miles. Sweat slid down between the lines of muscle on his abdomen, catching the dim red light and making every sharp edge of him look carved and unreal. He would smile and it would fall like he was fighting his other side.
I’d always known he was attractive. Dangerously attractive. But this was different.
His eyes—those weren’t eyes I recognized anymore. They were dark, starving. Not for food. Not for air. For me.
I tried to step back. I did. I told my body to move.
But my knees felt weak, like they didn’t belong to me.
My breath came out uneven, embarrassingly shaky. Heat curled low inside me, slow at first, then deeper, heavier, until I had to press my thighs together just to stay grounded. My skin felt too tight. My face felt hot.
“Don’t…” I whispered, but I didn’t even know if I meant him or myself.
He wasn’t even touching me.
He didn’t have to.
The scent and the atmosphere, his scent of it wrapped around me like a hand closing at the base of my spine and pulling me forward.
I looked up at him again, really looked.
The jaw I used to admire in quiet moments.
The scar near his lip I’d always wondered about.
The way his eyes were begging me to leave while his body screamed for the opposite.
His voice came out rough, broken at the edges.
“Elara… please. I don’t want to do something you can’t take back.”
And hearing him say that should’ve scared me.
Should’ve pushed me away.
But instead, it hit me like a spark to tinder.
I couldn't resist, every part of me ached for him. And he looked like he was in tremendous pain. His trousers once buttoned and iron pressed now wrinkled and unbuttoned. I let the pheromones take me, his eyes widened. I can't be the shy girl anymore, he has helped me several times, the least I could do was help him. How long had he been fighting his urges.
“Elara, what are you—-- f**k” he growled.
My eyes widened, this was bigger than I thought.
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