Page 31 of Pistols & Peonies

His fingers flex against my hips, tightening, dragging me that final inch closer until there’s no space left to pretend this isn’t happening.

“This,” he murmurs, lips brushing mine, “is what restraint looks like. You’d benefit from exercising some of your own.”

He lets go, and the sudden absence of touch is brutal.

He pushes up from the arm of the sofa so abruptly that it sends me stumbling back a step, lungs burning as I fight to regain my balance. Before I can process what the hell just happened or find my voice, he brushes past me, heading for the door.

It slams behind him with a finality that echoes through the apartment and straight through my chest.

Sleep is a memory I keep trying to chase and failing to catch.

It’s as if my body has completely forgotten how to rest. Night after night, I lie in bed staring at the ceiling while my inner wolf rages, rattling her cage hard enough to drive me to the edge of my sanity. There’s a constant knot of tension lodged in my neck, an ache in my jaw from clenching my teeth to hold her back. Even my nerves feel overclocked, buzzing beneath my skin, my muscles twitchy and keyed up. Every sleepless minute that drags by is only a cruel reminder that I’m running on fumes.

Tonight, my wolf isn’t just pacing– she’s sprinting. That run-in with Kane earlier did a number on her. Whenever I close my eyes, she frantically tears through my mind, howling with a wild, manic energy that refuses to burn itself out. I feel stretched thin, like a balloon pulled to its breaking point, barely holding together under the pressure.

It’s only a matter of time before my body gives out completely and I collapse. Maybe I’ll just spontaneously combust and leave nothing behind but a scorch mark and ashes. At this point, it almost sounds merciful.

Just as I roll over in bed for what feels like the hundredth time tonight, I hear the front door creak open. My wolf snaps to attention instantly, the bond pulling taut as a piano wire.

Kane.

My breath stutters, pulse taking off at a gallop. He hasn’t slept here since the night I moved in, and I definitely wasn’t expecting him to come back after the way he stormed out earlier.

I push up on my elbows, straining to track him by sound alone as he enters the apartment. His footsteps are heavy and dragging, but not clumsy. Those steps sound… exhausted.

Like me.

The weight of his presence carries through the walls until I swear I can feel it in my bones. My muscles tense when I hear him reach the end of the entry hall, and I hold my breath, waiting for a strip of light to appear beneath my door.

He doesn’t flip the switch on. Doesn’t speak, doesn’t move. For a few suspended seconds, it’s completely silent, save for the pounding of my own heart.

Then the footsteps resume, moving deeper into the apartment, toward the opposite side. My wolf lets out a miserable whine that echoes in my skull.

The sounds fade as Kane retreats into his bedroom, the door creaking as he swings it closed. I roll onto my stomach and mash my face into the pillow like I can smother the awareness of him that way– the pulse of the bond, the low thrum of shared energy that refuses to settle. The only solace in this whole thing is that he seems to be just as fucking miserable as I am.

The minutes slide by. Quiet takes over. It should be soothing.

It isn’t.

Knowing he’s here– within the walls of the apartment, close enough to feel but not touch, probably lying awake and miserable just like I am– sends my wolf completely off the rails. She thrashes in my chest, keening for her mate, and at this point there isn’t much I wouldn’t do to shut her up.

Except go crawling to him for comfort.

That’s one indignity I absolutely refuse to suffer, even if it means dying of sheer exhaustion. My mom did always say my stubbornness would be my end.

I roll onto my back again and blink up at the ceiling, skin prickling with restless heat. Huffing in frustration, I toss the covers aside, blindly reaching for the glass of water on my nightstand. My fingers close around it, but when I lift, it’s light. Empty. Dammit.

The last thing I want to do is get out of bed right now, but maybe that’s actually what I need. Maybe moving around will burn off some of this manic energy before I completely lose my damn mind.

I slide out of bed, bare feet meeting the cool wood floor. I’m only wearing a threadbare tank top and a pair of panties, but I don’t bother covering up in the name of decency. This place is supposed to be my home, after all– I should be able to walk around half-naked whenever I damn well please.

I pad over to the door and ease it open, pausing at the threshold as I peer into the hall. The apartment is pitch black, save for a stripe of moonlight bleeding in through the living room blinds. Dark, but not dark enough to slow me down with shifter vision.

Careful not to make a sound, I tiptoe down the hall, pausing at the kitchen. There’s a water dispenser in the refrigerator door, but I don’t make any move to refill my glass. Instead, I set it down on the counter and allow my wolf to pull me further down the hallway, toward the other bedroom. My feet are silent, but my heart is pounding so loud I’m half convinced he’ll be able to hear it through the walls.

The door at the end is cracked open when I approach it. Inside, the light is dim– just a faint blue glow from an alarm clock on the nightstand– but it’s enough to see him by.

Kane’s lying in bed on his side, facing away from the door. The sheets are tangled low around his hips, leaving his upper back bare, shadows tracing the hard lines of muscle. For a split second, I think he’s asleep– but then I notice the subtle tension in his shoulders and the careful stillness. The same kind of restless restraint that’s been gnawing at me for days.