Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 86242 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86242 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
There’s a vending machine, soft-serve ice cream in front of me, half-melted. He pushes it there like it’s a peace offering. Or maybe a truce.
I can’t look at him. I just keep swirling the spoon in it.
“You were shaking,” he says finally. Not a question.
I nod, barely.
“You don’t shake.”
“Yeah.” My voice scrapes. “Parents really bring out the best in you, don’t they?”
Silence stretches. He sits back in the too-small folding chair, his hands clasped in front of him.
“I remember the first time my father hit me,” he says. “It was just an accident. I dropped a drink and made a mess of the floor. I was five.”
I glance up. His gaze is steady. Not soft, but not cold.
“I thought it meant I was wrong. Later, I realized—he was the one who lost control. Not me.”
Something in me cracks. The spoon clinks against the plastic. “So… what? We just do better?”
“Yes.” He says it like it’s the only truth that matters. “We break the pattern. Or it eats us alive.”
I shake my head. “That sounds nice on a fortune cookie, but we’re not saints, Vadka.”
His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t argue. He leans in instead. “You didn’t deserve that. And I will never let anyone touch you like that again.”
I whisper it before I can stop myself. “I like when you touch me.”
His breath halts. The ice cream in his hand melts untouched.
“I like when you dominate me,” I say lower with a soft smile. “Not because I’m weak. But because I trust you not to destroy me.” I can barely breathe. Why is it so hard for me to be honest and open like this?
“I like it too,” he adds. His voice dips rough. “When it’s you. When I know you respect me. When you give me yourself willingly.”
My chest feels tight.
He reaches across the table and wipes a streak of soft-serve off my hand with his thumb. Heat coils between us.
We’ve both been hit. Scarred. Trained to flinch.
But right now?
We’re choosing something else.
Not perfect. Not pure.
Just better.
And maybe… that’s enough to start.
Chapter 16
RUTHIE
The first time I walk back into the Wolf and Moon after the slap, my skin still feels raw.
Not from her. Not really.
From him.
From the way he lifted me like I was something precious and fragile—something that needed saving. Like I mattered. Like he cared.
Which is fucking dangerous. Caring is a liability in our world, and I know better.
Still, I throw myself into the chaos behind the bar like it’s armor. Glasses clink. Orders barked. Neon haze and too-loud bass. The old rhythm returns, but it doesn’t feel the same. Something under my skin itches now… like he’s watching.
And he is.
Vadka’s shadow is stitched into every corner. I don’t even have to turn. I feel him in the way the hair on the back of my neck stands when the door opens. In the slight shift of weight when a man too dangerous to be ignored enters a room.
He watches me.
Always.
From across the floor. From the corner booth where he pretends he’s not guarding me. Silent sentinel in a black shirt and darker eyes, tracking my every move. Not interfering. Just… there.
For days, that’s all it is.
Work. Watch. Avoid.
He doesn’t touch me. Doesn’t speak. Just sends texts at night that haunt my phone and keep me up late.
Vadka
You look tired tonight. Eat something.
The Irish haven’t made a move. Doesn’t mean they’re not planning.
I don’t like the bartender who wears the gold chain. He watches your ass too long.
I don’t respond to most. Sometimes I send a photo of the shitty food I finally ate. Once, a middle finger emoji when he got too protective.
But the truth?
I read every one over and over and over again.
And twice, I go to his place. No sex. His eyes never drop from mine. His shoulders tighten like he’s holding himself back from touching me. Like the space between us is an edge he doesn’t dare cross.
Until he does.
It’s a Thursday night when the bar starts to feel too small.
The Irish have been quiet for too long. Everyone's tense… waiting for something to explode. I wipe down the counter harder than I need to, and the glass nearly slips out of my hand.
Then I feel it.
That shift in the air. Like lightning about to strike.
I look up.
He’s here.
Vadka moves through the bar with purpose.
Uh-oh. Eyes locked on mine. Dressed in black. No jacket. Sleeves rolled up to his forearms, veins tight under skin. That jaw’s clenched and hair tousled like he’s been running his hands through it too long, thinking too much.
He doesn’t smile. Doesn’t nod.
Just stalks.
Straight to the end of the bar. No words.
I try to speak. I do.
“You weren’t here tonight. Just your lackeys,” I say, my voice too sharp, too deflective.
His eyes narrow on me as his gaze drags over me. “Been super fucking busy hunting,” he growls. “Tracking.”