Page 41 of Pistols & Peonies

“Clearly,” I scoff, the word coming out clipped and mean, fueled by a fear I don’t want to name.

Violet flips me the bird and turns on a heel, reaching for the handle of the glass shower door and yanking it open. Steam pours out as she steps inside, but she doesn’t flinch when the hot water hits her bare skin. She doesn’t react at all– just stands there numbly with her shoulders hunched and her head bowed, watching the bloody water swirl at her feet before disappearing down the drain.

I should take that as my cue to leave. Shut the door, walk away, give her the space she’s clearly demanding. But my feet don’t move. My wolf won’t let me.

She spins suddenly, eyes snapping up to find me still lurking, her blue-eyed glare cutting through the fogged glass. “Why the hell are you still here?”

Again, I don’t think. I just move, lunging forward to wrench the shower door open and stepping in after her. The water instantly drenches the cotton of my sweatpants, turning them heavy and clingy against my legs, but I barely notice. I’m too busy raking my gaze over her body, cataloging every bruise, every cut, every smear of dried blood the water hasn’t washed away yet.

“Let me see,” I order, voice dark.

She scoffs and backs away, lifting one hand to hide her face and crossing her opposite arm over her chest like a shield. “Get fucked.”

I advance anyway, crowding into her space until the steam and heat and the scent of her is all I can breathe. I grab her wrist–not hard, but unyielding– and pull her arm down so I can see her face properly.

Her jaw is bruised badly, and there’s a split just under her cheekbone. It’s already closing, her shifter healing working overtime, but the skin is still angry and swollen. I thumb the edge of it without thinking, carefully assessing the damage.

Her breath catches.

“You done?” she grumbles, but she doesn’t pull away. And she doesn’t put up a fight when I drop to a crouch in front of her.

Water pelts my shoulders as I run my hands over her legs, her skin impossibly smooth beneath my palms and sparks lighting up everywhere I touch. I inspect the torn skin at her knee, the darkening bruise on her calf. I follow the curve of her pirate ship tattoo up her thigh, then higher, tracing past the floral ink on her hip until my hands slide around to her ribs.

The bruise there makes my vision darken at the edges. It’s massive– the size of a grapefruit, purple and black, with faint parallel lines scoring through it. Like she got slammed hard into a fence or a pole.

Something white-hot and instinctive pulses through me, all the way down to my fists. “Was it a pack member?” I demand, jerking my gaze up to hers.

She snorts derisively, still defiant to the bone. “What if it was?”

I surge to my feet and slam my hands against the tile on either side of her head, caging her in. The scalding water beats down my back, the cotton of my sweats heavy and waterlogged, but I barely feel a thing. My entire focus narrows to the space between us.

“Tell me who,” I growl.

Violet shoves at my chest, but I don’t budge an inch. “You’re such a control freak,” she spits, lips twisting in a scowl. “What, you want to hunt them down and play hero? Or do you just get off on being the big bad enforcer?”

My wolf claws at the inside of my chest, hungry for vengeance. “Stop fucking around and tell me who hurt you,” I bite out.

“Stop acting like you care,” she replies bitterly, glaring at me with stormy eyes. “Or is that the only way you know how to feel? Through violence?”

The truth of those words cuts through the last shred of my restraint. I grab her by the throat– not hard enough to hurt or cut off her air, but enough to shut her up instantly and get my point across.

“Stop,” I snarl, pressing my forehead against hers. “Just fucking stop.”

We glare at each other, noses brushing, panted breaths tangling between us. Water crashes down against the tile, steam rolling off our skin and curling between our bodies like smoke from a fire that’s already out of control.

Her throat flexes between my palm with a hard swallow. I can feel the hammer of her pulse against it, fast and furious, matching the brutal rhythm pounding through my own chest. The moment stretches, teetering on a knife’s edge between a fight and something else entirely.

Then something snaps.

Her hands sink into my hair, yanking my head down, her mouth crashing against mine. There’s no hesitation, no softness. She kisses like she argues– savage and unapologetic, claws out. I let her tear into me and give it right back, our lips crashing and teeth clacking, tongues battling for dominance.

My hands slide from her throat to her waist and I haul her up into my arms, pressing her back against the wet tile. Her legs wrap around my hips automatically, bare skin slick against mine, the heat of her body a brand I can’t erase. I grind into her, my drenched sweatpants dragging low on my hips, cock already hard and aching against the heavy cotton.

She gasps against my mouth, hands sliding up to my shoulders, nails biting into my skin as her head tips back. It isn’t submission, it’s challenge. The same wild, untamed thing in her that probably got her hurt tonight, and the same fire that’s been driving me out of my goddamn mind since the moment she crashed into my life.

I roll my hips, grinding against her hard as my mouth latches onto her neck, sucking and biting hard enough to bruise. She moans, and my wolf goes fucking insane, howling with the need to take her right here, right now. To finally claim her and make her mine.

It’s inevitable. We’re inevitable.