Page 52 of Satisfaction Guaranteed

Cyrus’ expression turns impassive. His eyes shift to the side, and there’s another tense flex along his jawline. Alana takes a tentative step forward, and his gaze snaps back to her. It’s a startling sight, the gold and black taking full control over his eyes. Animalistic, in spite of the rest of his appearance remaining somewhat human. It’s intense enough to scorch the earth, yet it freezes Alana in place. When he approaches, her instincts scream to back away. To run, despite wanting to do anything but.

Cyrus reaches her in two strides, and he doesn’t stop until Alana has no choice but to stumble against a wall. Her neck cranes back to keep eye contact, while her chest rises and falls with heavy, panicked breaths. Cyrus stares at her. Deep and intense enough that Alana wonders if he wants to take a bite out of her. Shamefully, she’d let him if he asked.

“I need…” There’s a twitch between his brow line, as if being this close in proximity pains him. His chest heaves with exertion, and the smell of the sweat accumulating on his skin rises to Alana’s nose. She watches it travel down the length of his body, down intricate muscle and through tufts of body hair. It’s audacious, sinking past his V-line and into the towel that Cyrus continues to hold onto for dear life.

Cyrus seizes Alana’s face and forces her attention back up to where it should be. Back to his piercing, heated gaze. She gasps at the contact—from surprise more so than any pain. Cyrus’ hand takes up the entirety of her face, and, should he want to, the damage he could deal would be lethal. He squeezes, and a shudder runs up her spine. When Cyrus leans forward, his nostrils flare, and he’s so close that Alana can taste him on her tongue.

But just as quickly, he withdraws. His hands ball into fists at his side, and he releases a heavy exhale. “I need you to go. Now.” His voice is a low rumble. “I don’t need you here. I don’t want you here. Just get out. Get back to your party.”

Nausea floods Alana’s core. With it, bloom the insecure voices that tell her to accept, once again, that she isn’t enough. That she probably never will be. Not for Nana, not for Cyrus.

But she didn’t tell her grandmother off in front of her entire family just to walk away from a werewolf with her tail between her legs. One was scarier than the other. And somehow, it wasn’t Cyrus.

She glares at the shifter, a finger prodding his chest. “I don’t believe you. I don’t. I think you want me, that’s what you were going to say at the party right? But right now, you’re too scared and stubborn to let me help. If you really want me gone? Fine. Say ‘red’. Use the safe word we talked about at the restaurant and I’ll leave without another word. I don’t know if this is because you think I’m too weak to handle you like this or whatever, but I’m not. So just talk to me—”

“Alana!”

Cyrus’ jaws snap with a warning growl that halts Alana’s breathing. Her body goes rigid, unable to do anything but stare at Cyrus as he glares at her.

“Dammit, Alana. Enough. I’m not—I can’t. This was never going to fuckin’ work anyway. I get it, I’m in a rut. That’s a hot fantasy, right? You coming here to tame the unruly beast and live out whatever fuckin’ role play you had in mind. But being with me like this is dangerous. It’s real. And I’m not risking your life just for you to get up and walk away tomorrow knowing it doesn’t mean anything to you anyways.”

“What?” Alana’s voice wobbles, unsteady, and her throat tightens again. She shakes her head. “I’m not here to play out a fantasy. I…” Tears she can’t bring herself to hold back anymore burn her tired eyes. “Is that really what you think this was? After everything, this was just some desperate attempt to weasel back into bed with you or something?”

Cyrus’ heated gaze shifts to the side. “Please, Alana. Just…get out of here.”

Pins and needles fill Alana’s throat when it constricts. Her heart falls violently into her stomach as she stands there, silently hoping she could disappear into the floor. “Okay,” she whispers. Her voice barely carries, weak and unrecognizable as her own. She wraps her arms around herself, and she knows she must seem so pathetic.

Cyrus looks away, says nothing.

And like with Nana, she has no choice but to accept his silence for what it is.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to push. I hope you feel better.” She gestures to the food she brought, picks herself up, and trudges to the exit.

The door closes softly behind her.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

CYRUS

When the locks click into place, Cyrus buries the heels of his palms into his eyes with a hiss. Fuck,

Fuck, Fuck. He messed up. Gods, he messed up. Why would he say that?

The look in Alana’s eyes when she left sends his stomach plummeting. Every atom in his body wanted her to stay. Of course, he wanted her to stay, but the voices in the back of his head were too loud. Who’s to say Alana would stick around after his rut was over? She could walk away. Deem this a mishap she wants nothing more to do with. Or worse, he could lose himself and accidentally hurt her. He was capable of doing far worse damage than a tiny scratch, and if he ever hurt Alana in a way that was too much, he’d never be able to live with himself. Maybe she was better off with someone like Connor.

The shifter paces his kitchen, muttering to himself as he stalks back and forth, claws clacking against terracotta tiles in his half-shifted state. It’s too much. This racing of his heart, the tightness in his muscles. As soon as he got home, he flung himself into the bathroom and turned the faucet on to the coldest it could possibly go. The water sizzled as it made contact with his skin. A temporary relief, but relief nonetheless. He had just begun to take himself in hand when he heard the commotion downstairs.

And when he laid eyes on Alana, Gods, it took every ounce of effort to regain a semblance of control. His claws twitched to life; his fangs crowded his mouth. He could smell her, too. All of her. Her blood, her bones. That deep, rich, sweet aroma that he wanted nothing more than to bury his face into and inhale like it were his life-force. If he’d done that, it would’ve been over. He’d have claimed her, sunk his teeth into her neck, and marked her as his mate right here in his kitchen without a second thought as to what she wanted. She might think she’s willing to help, but that poor girl has no idea what she’s setting herself up for.

To think he had the audacity to say he didn’t need her. His body needed her more than it needed water, more than oxygen. Hells, his very heartbeat felt as if it were tied to her. As if Alana were to stop breathing, so would he. During past full moons, the only thing he had to worry about hurting was himself. He’d work out his frustrations with his hand or by hunting. Having something he could sink his teeth into alleviates some of the stress, and being so far from other residences meant he could run and burn off steam as a wolf without the threat of scaring the shit out of any neighbors.

This? This was new territory.

Cyrus groans, attempting to reel himself back in with calming breaths and slow, shaky exhales. It starts to work. His heart rate slows, his breathing settles. The rattling in his mind quiets.

Until a distant scream captures his attention.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE