Kenna
Evander shuts the door. The lock clicks, and for a moment, the only sound I can hear is my heartbeat racing in my own ears.
He looks… conflicted. Unsure–and unsteady.
“You–you smell like vanilla candles,” I whisper, unsure if I say the words out loud or only in my head.
But he looks at me, holding my gaze. “I do?” he asks quietly, his voice taking on a tone I’m not accustomed to. It’s softer than before, less on edge.
I nod, finding it impossible to swallow past the lump forming in my throat.
“Why?” I ask, because it’s the only word frantically bouncing around my skull.
“Why do I smell like the vanilla candles you like so much?” He takes a step toward me, then another, but there’s still an incredible amount of distance between us.
“Yeah, why?”
Evander’s jaw clenches, and his eyes dart to his boots. Guilt clouds the fine features of his face.
But I don’t care that he feels guilty. I’ve been feeling guilty for years, thinking I was the reason our friendship ended.
“Why did you storm off when you came to visit me five years ago? What did I do to you, Evander, to make you hate me so much?”
“I’ve never hated you,” he rasps, meeting my eyes again. “Not for a second–”
“You said you did!” Tears begin to burn along my lower lashes.
“I couldn’t be what you wanted me to be–”
“I just wanted you. I didn’t care–”
“You knew what I was training for!” He shouts, and I feel the urge to cower. Fury, then guilt, flashes behind his eyes as he runs his fingers through his glossy hair and shakes his head. “You knew I was training to be a Ghost. You knew we weren’t going to see each other again for a long, long time. You knew I couldn’t match whatever you felt–”
“But did you feel the same?”
Five years ago, I stood from my chair on the veranda overlooking the city where we’d grown up together. I vividly remember the dress of pale pink dotted with gold and cream colored beads I’d been wearing, and how the silken fabric fell over my legs as I stood, facing Evander.
He’d just shouted at me, saying no. I’d laughed and asked what was wrong, and he backed away, backed away like I’d hit him.
“You told me you couldn’t talk to me anymore. That I needed to stop sending you letters.”
“Kenna, I don’t want to talk about this–” Evander looks like he’s considering moving back toward the door. “I can’t talk about this.”
“Then I asked why I couldn’t send you letters anymore, and you said–”
“I said,” he growls, “I couldn’t take it–”
“What couldn’t you take?” I plead, my tears threatening to spill down my cheeks. “I told you I loved you, that I missed you so much, and you told me you hated me. That we could never be friends, and that you never wanted to see me again. Why?”
Evander exhales deeply, nostrils flaring. His hands are clenched into fists. “I can’t be your friend, Kenna.”
“Still?” I swallow hard, the second blow of his rejection sweeping through me and tying my heart into a knot. “Why?”
“I can’t answer that–”
“I don’t care. You have to. You owe me–”
“I don’t owe you anything,” he snaps. “I couldn’t bear it, Kenna, seeing you again. Seeing you grown up, a woman, just–just fucking beautiful and you–” He stumbles over his words, which is not the Evander I know at all.
“You’re mad at me for growing up?”
“No. Gods, that’s not it.”
“Then what happened, Evander?” I shout. “We were best friends. I loved you. Every day you were gone, I missed you. Do you understand? Whatever I did to you, I’m sorry. I am so, so sorry. Okay? I thought–I thought we’d always have each other. I wanted you at my wedding one day–”
“Your wedding?” he seethes, and a chill snakes down my spine as he takes a step toward me.
“Y-yeah,” I stammer, tucking my arms behind my back and lacing my fingers together to stop them from trembling. “I thought we’d–I thought we'd be friends forever. That one day our kids would play together like we used to do, and our mates would be friends and we–we could all live together and be happy–”
“That is my worst fucking nightmare.”
I blink at the coldness in his tone. “Evander?”
He takes another step, his chest heaving with each breath. “You and I can never be friends. We can’t have that life you’ve cooked up where it’s all rainbows and butterflies and family fucking dinners–”
“Why are you being like this?” I cry out, my voice shaking. “Is it because of the letter–”
He goes still, the fury in his eyes fading away almost entirely.
“Because I said…” I trail off. “Because I said I had a crush on you?”
He runs his tongue along his lower lip and takes another step in my direction, nearly closing the distance between.
“I didn’t realize admitting that meant I wouldn’t have you as a friend anymore,” I grind out, but my heart is threatening to leap out of my throat.
“I came home because of that letter,” he says in a near whisper. “I needed to see you. It had nothing to do with your birthday. I just needed…”
I close my eyes as his proximity invades every sense, every nerve ending, every blank space in my mind.
“Then why did you leave?”
“Because I couldn’t be what you needed. The consequences were too great.”
“What consequences? We were sixteen!”
He shakes his head, but we’re chest to chest, and I keep my eyes closed as he lowers his head, his lips brushing over my temple.
“My duty to you is clear. I can’t be your friend when I am the one who vowed to protect you. You… Kenna, you are distracting in every way. I can’t focus on anything when I’m near you. I can barely breathe in your presence, and I….” He inhales, letting go in a shuddering breath.
“I don’t need your protection.”
“You do.”
I go to shove him away, my hands planted on his chest, but my fingers curl into the light fabric of his shirt, feeling the taut muscles beneath.
A spark of truth wraps its way around my heart and tugs.
“You kissed me at the ball.”
He steps away. I drop my arms to my sides.
“You kissed me,” I repeat, tears beginning to slide down my cheeks. “It was you.”
“Kenna, I’m sorry–”
“You don’t deny it, then?”
“Do you think I’d lie to you about that?”
“Of course, I do. I don’t know you anymore. The Evander I knew and loved wouldn’t yell at me, or tell me my dreams were his fucking nightmare!”
“The thought of having to stand by and watch while you fall in love with someone else,” he says, each word brutal and heavy with emotion, “is like someone is twisting a knife in my gut. I can’t do it, Kenna. I pledged my life to the Ghosts to try to prevent becoming your Beta. I stayed away, stayed silent, because I couldn’t–I couldn’t–”
My mind is empty–a blissfully, peaceful darkness that swells with the meaning behind his words. Maybe I’m reading him wrong. Maybe he means something else, something entirely different than what my body is telling me is true.
“Kiss me again,” I say so quietly I’m sure he doesn’t hear it, but his eyes meet mine.
“No,” he whispers, shaking his head, he reaches out and wipes my tears away with his thumb. His touch lingers on my skin and I feel it everywhere.
“Please,” I whisper, and his thumb traces a line over my lower lip. I close my eyes, relishing his warm, steady touch.
I don’t why I want him to kiss me so badly. Maybe it’s just to confirm that what I felt that night wasn’t anything more than excitement and longing for attention. There’s something here, though. Something between us that’s different and uncommon.
I think I would know right away if I were feeling the mate bond. It would be a snap, an electric pulse, something tangible that I could sense, smell, and taste.
I’m still clutching his shirt when he leans in, his mouth hovering over mine. I’m on pins and needles as he softly brushes his lips against mine, and then I’m pressing myself against him, and my lips plunge into his.
He tastes like salt and a hint of scotch. He smells like leather, vanilla, and the air after a heavy storm. His arms wrap around me, caging me in, holding me steady as my knees give out, and I lose myself to him.
He pulls away enough to suck in a breath, and I do the same, but I don’t want to stop.
“Evander,” I murmur, opening my eyes enough to look up at him, and I find him looking down at me, his gaze heavy and hooded as he leans back in and kisses me again.
There’s nothing soft about it this time. He presses me closer, gripping the back of my neck to guide me as his tongue slides across my lower lip. I let out a trembling moan.
His other hand slides down my back, his touch sending ripples of feeling coasting over my skin.
I feel… heat. Heavy, luscious heat that settles in my belly before exploding through my upper thighs.
“Kenna,” he whispers before dragging his kisses down along my jaw and neck. His hand slides around from my back to my sides, then up to my breasts.
Oh, Goddess…. I let out another moan, his name on the tip of my tongue.
Should I be feeling like this for Evander? My childhood friend? My teenage crush?
He tugs at the bodice of my dress, and I gasp as cool air touches my skin. He frees my breasts from the gown, and suddenly his mouth is grazing over tender, sensitive places no one else has ever touched.
I know about sex. My mom told me about it. She was never weird or uncomfortable in preparing me for womanhood, but this… this feeling is not what I expected in the slightest.
I choke out another gasp as his tongue flicks over my right nipple. I tangle my fingers in his hair, finding it hard to stay upright. I know the bed is behind me. Another step backward, and the back of my thighs will hit the mattress.
I want this. I want him. I want him to take me to bed and lay claim to me, and it’s a desperate, overwhelming feeling that doesn’t entirely make sense.
I almost voice it, but nothing but a strangled moan escapes as his teeth scrape back up my chest, then my neck, and then his lips are on mine, and I burn for him.
But when I start pulling on my sleeves, desperately hot and needing to get out of my clothes, he stops, his lips hovering centimeters away from mine.
We’re both panting, out of breath.
No, no. I’m not ready for this moment to be broken. I try to clutch his shirt to pull him back to me, but he steps away, just out of reach.
“I’m sorry–”
“No,” I tell him, shaking my head. “I want–”
“We can’t,” he interrupts, but the look in his eyes tells me he desperately wants to continue. Maybe more than I do.
“L-lock the door behind me,” he rushes out, turning to leave.
“Where are you going?”
“I need to shift.”