I watch as Nickolas walks away into the surrounding woods, his broad back and powerful stride a stark contrast to the aching hollowness settling in my chest. I can scarcely believe what just transpired between us, what he said after we just had sex. I know we’re not typical mates. That one night of passion doesn’t automatically transform us into some fairytale couple. But that doesn’t make his words any less like a bullet tearing through my heart.
Tears sting at the backs of my eyes, but I blink them away furiously, refusing to let them fall. I won’t cry over him over this. I wanted this, wanted him in a way that terrifies me. And I knew going into it that one passionate night could never be enough to change the fundamental truth of what we are to each other.
Sniffling, I bend to retrieve my tattered dress from the forest floor, grimacing at the state of the once-lovely garment. As I make to pull it over my head, strong hands grip my wrists, halting my movements. I whirl, my breath catching in my throat as I find myself face-to-face with Nickolas once more.
“What are you doing?” I demand, my voice emerging as little more than a shocked rasp as I take an involuntary step backward.
Rather than answer, he simply plucks the dress from my grasp and holds it out of reach when I make a grab for it. “Take a bath in the lake first,” he rumbles, his tone brooking no argument.
Indignation flares hot in my chest as I glare up at him defiantly. “Why?” I challenge, furrowing my brow.
Nickolas’s gaze drops then, roaming over my body in a way that has heat blooming in my cheeks. When his eyes finally settle on the junction of my thighs, I follow his line of sight and feel the blood drain from my face.
There, stark against my pale skin, is the unmistakable evidence of our passionate night- a smear of crimson made all the more damning by the lingering scent of Nickolas that clings to me like a second skin. Tears well in my eyes anew as understanding, bitter, and shameful washes over me in a cold wave.
He doesn’t want anyone else to know what we’ve done. Doesn’t want the others to catch even a hint of the scent that marks me as his.
“Amelia…” He reaches for me then, his expression unreadable. But I can’t let him touch me; I can’t bear the thought of feeling his hands on my skin when the sting of his rejection is still so fresh and raw.
“Don’t,” I choke out, holding up a hand to ward him off as I take another step back. I squeeze my eyes shut against the torrent of emotion threatening to drown me, forcing myself to take a deep, shuddering breath to regain some semblance of control.
When I finally open my eyes again, I find Nickolas watching me with that same inscrutable mask, though I fancy I can see a flicker of some nameless emotion in the depths of his emerald gaze.
“I know what you’re thinking,” he says at last, his deep voice little more than a rumble. “And that’s not why I want you to bathe.”
A harsh, mirthless laugh bubbles up from my chest before I can stop it. “Oh really?” I challenge, arching a brow as I cross my arms over my chest. “Then please, enlighten me.”
I can see the flicker of surprise, quickly masked, that crosses his features at my biting tone. Good. Let him be taken aback by the venom in my words. Let him feel even a fraction of the hurt and humiliation I’m feeling at this moment.
“Amelia, you’re wrong,” he tries again, taking a step towards me. “I don’t want you to bathe for the reasons you think.”
“Then why?” I bark, the anger and frustration that’s been simmering beneath the surface finally boiling over as I glare up at him defiantly. “What other possible reason could you have for being so eager to erase every last shred of evidence that we-”
“Yes, I don’t want anyone else to know we fucked,” Nickolas cuts me off, his words like a physical slap that leaves me reeling. He runs an agitated hand through his tousled hair, shaking his head as if struggling to find the right words. “But it’s not because I’m ashamed or because I regret what happened between us. It’s because I-”
“Save it,” I spit, turning on my heel and stalking towards the lake’s edge. I can’t bear to hear another word, can’t open myself up to any more of his excuses or half-truths. Not when my heart is still bleeding out all over the forest floor.
I don’t look back as I wade into the icy shallows, shivering as the water laps at my calves, thighs, and hips. I can feel Nickolas’s eyes burning into my back, sense the weight of the words he still wants to say hanging heavy in the air between us.
But I don’t turn around, don’t give him the chance to drive that knife any deeper into my battered heart. I simply take a deep breath and let myself sink beneath the surface, the shock of the cold water like a balm against the rawness of my wounded pride.
When I finally emerge, sputtering and gasping for air, Nickolas is gone. I don’t know whether to be relieved or devastated by his absence as I set about the grim task of scrubbing away every last trace of him from my skin.
My fingers work mechanically, roughly scouring every inch of my body until the water around me runs pink with diluted blood. I can feel the sting of tears mingling with the lake water on my cheeks, but I refuse to acknowledge them, refuse to give voice to the maelstrom of emotions churning inside me.
I stay in the water until my skin is numb and my teeth are chattering until I’m certain that not a single wisp of Nickolas’s scent still clings to me. Only then do I finally drag myself out onto the grassy bank, my limbs heavy and my heart even heavier.
A set of clean clothes – a soft t-shirt and a pair of worn sweatpants – lies folded neatly on the shore, clearly left for me while I bathed. I don’t have to bring them to my nose to know they’ll carry Nickolas’s scent. The thought of wearing anything that bears his scent right now is almost enough to make me double over with a fresh wave of anguish.
But the chill night air is already raising goosebumps on my damp skin, so I force myself to pull on the garments with shaking hands. Sure enough, that achingly forestry scent wraps around me like a second skin the moment the fabric settles over my frame.
It should be comforting, this reminder of the man I’ve come to care about dearly in the past months. But tonight, it only serves to reopen the ragged wound in my chest until I can barely breathe past the pain.
Swiping angrily at the tears that refuse to stop falling, I turn and begin making my way back toward the cave where Nickolas is no doubt waiting. I focus on putting one foot in front of the other, using the rhythmic crunch of leaves and sticks beneath my bare feet to ground me as I follow the rapidly increasing scent of my lycans in the air.