Page 72 of Alpha Charmed
“I was being diplomatic.”
“You don’t have to be.” He moves to the fireplace, checking the flames that never seem to go out. “I know what it looks like. I know what I’ve been doing—filling space with responsibilities instead of… anything else.”
“I do the same.” The admission comes easier than I expected. “My apartment above the apothecary has exactly three personal items.”
He’s closer now, and I’m not sure when he moved. Close enough that my magic stirs in response—ambient temperature rising, my pulse quickening.
“I should…” I start, but I don’t know how to finish. Should what? Leave? That’s the last thing I want. Maintain professional distance? We’re well past that. Pretend I’m not acutely aware of every inch of space between us?
“You should tell me what you want,” he says softly. “No more pretending. No more hiding. Just tell me.”
“What if I don’t know what I want?”
“Then I’ll wait until you do.” His hand rises, almost touching my face, stopping just short. “I’ve been patient for years, Anouk. A few more minutes won’t hurt me.”
“It might hurt me.” The words slip out before I can stop them. Raw. Honest. The kind of admission I’ve spent my entire adult life avoiding.
But I’m tired of avoiding. Tired of control. Tired of being so careful with my feelings that I never actually feel anything.
“I want—” My voice catches. “I want you to stop being patient.”
He doesn’t let me finish.
His mouth claims mine before I can complete the sentence, and everything I was going to say dissolves into heat and pressure and the overwhelming sensation of being wanted. Not politely. Not carefully. Wanted with the full force of a wolf who’s been denying himself for far too long.
I kiss him back with equal desperation. My fingers grip his shirt, dragging him nearer, and I feel his growl vibrate through my chest. My magic surges—not fighting me, not threatening to spiral out of control, but rising to meet him, to claim him as thoroughly as he’s claiming me.
“Bedroom,” I manage between kisses. “Unless you’re planning to take me against the front door.”
“Tempting.” His teeth graze my lower lip. “But I have plans. The front door isn’t part of them.”
“Plans?”
“Extensive plans.” He lifts me again—effortless, like I weigh nothing—and carries me deeper into the cabin. “I’ve had years to think about this.”
“Years of plans sounds overwhelming.”
“You can handle it.” He kicks open a door, and then we’re in what must be his bedroom—simple, clean, a bed that’s larger than necessary for one person. “You can handle anything.”
“Flattery.”
“Truth.” He sets me on the edge of the bed, kneeling in front of me so our eyes are level. “You’re the strongest person I know. You’ve been carrying everything alone for so long—the coven, the grief, the magic instability. You never ask for help. Never admit weakness.”
“And that’s… attractive to you?”
“It’s impressive. But it’s not what I want from you tonight.” His hands cup my face, thumbs tracing my cheekbones. “Tonight, I want you to let go. Stop being strong. Stop being in control. Just be here, with me, and let me take care of you.”
My throat tightens. “I don’t know how to do that.”
“You don’t have to know how. You just have to let it happen.” He kisses my forehead, soft and reverent. “Can you do that?”
“I can try.”
“That’s all I’m asking.”
Letting go is harder than I expected.
Every instinct I’ve developed over decades of leadership tells me to maintain control. To stay alert, stay guarded, never show vulnerability. But Caius is patient—impossibly, infuriatingly patient—and he waits for each wall to crumble before pressing forward.
