POV - James
The wine had long gone warm, forgotten between us.
The rain outside had softened to a whisper, steady and rhythmic — the kind of rain that made the world shrink until there was nothing left beyond this room, this fire, this woman beside me.
Elena sat close now, her legs tucked beneath her, her glass balanced loosely in her hand. The faint glow from the firelight caught in her hair, turning it to gold, and when she smiled at something I'd said — something unimportant, meaningless — it struck me how dangerously easy it would be to forget everything else.
I'd told myself I could be patient. That I could wait. That I could give her time to fall, to feel what I felt, without the wolf's urgency clawing beneath my skin.
But sitting there, watching her lips part in quiet laughter, feeling her warmth brush against mine every time she shifted — patience became a myth.
"James," she said softly, her voice uncertain, curious. "You're quiet."
"I'm thinking," I murmured, my gaze never leaving her.
"About what?"
"About how impossible it is to sit next to you and pretend this is ordinary."
Her breath caught, her fingers tightening slightly on her glass. The air between us thickened.
I reached out — slowly, deliberately — brushing my fingertips against hers as I took her glass and set it down beside mine. The brief contact sent heat spiralling through me, a pulse of energy that wasn't entirely human. The wolf stirred, rising in silent anticipation.
"Elena," I said her name like a confession.
She looked up at me, wide-eyed, her lips parting, and in that moment the world seemed to tilt.
I leaned closer — just enough to feel her breath against my jaw, to catch the faint scent of her skin. My hand moved to her cheek, the pad of my thumb tracing the line of her jaw, feather-light, reverent.
Her skin was warm beneath my touch, impossibly soft.
She didn't move away. If anything, she leaned closer.
The first kiss wasn't planned. It was a slow surrender — hesitant, searching, unbearably gentle. Her lips met mine with a quiet sigh that stole every ounce of restraint I had left.
For a heartbeat, everything went silent. The wolf, the rain, the world — all of it vanished.
There was only her.
Her hands came to rest against my chest, tentative at first, then surer, fingers curling lightly into my shirt as if afraid I might disappear. I felt the tremor in her touch, the question in it, and I answered by deepening the kiss — not in hunger, but in reverence.
She tasted of wine and something sweeter, something wholly hers.
When I finally drew back, I kept her close, my forehead resting against hers. Her breathing matched mine — uneven, shallow, alive.
"I shouldn't…" she whispered.
"I know," I murmured. "But tell me to stop, and I will."
Silence.
And then, she didn't tell me to stop.
Instead, her hand lifted, trembling slightly, brushing the side of my neck before settling over my heartbeat. That single touch undid me.
The wolf surged forward, not in fury but in recognition, and before I could think, I had drawn her gently toward me, guiding her into my lap as though she belonged there.
She gasped — softly, breathlessly — but she didn't pull away. My hands steadied her by the waist, careful, reverent, though my strength betrayed me; I could have lifted her as though she weighed nothing at all. Her body fitted against mine like it was meant to — and maybe, in every way that mattered, it was.
The fire cracked softly. The rain deepened. The air around us shimmered with heat.
Her fingers slid along my shoulder, slow, uncertain, tracing the shape of me like she was memorizing it.
My own hands ached to move, to touch, to map every inch of the mystery that was her — but I held back, every motion deliberate, tender.
She looked up at me, eyes wide and luminous. "You're shaking," she whispered.
"I know." My voice was low, rough with honesty. "It's taking everything in me not to scare you."
"You couldn't," she breathed.
If she knew what I was, she might have hesitated. But she didn't.
And so I let myself feel — just for a moment — what it was like to hold her without fear.
I kissed her again, slower this time, a silent promise in every movement.
Her lips were still on mine — soft, uncertain, but certain enough to undo me completely.
The world outside had gone silent. Only the fire dared breathe.
The kiss deepened slowly, naturally, as if we'd both been waiting for this since the beginning of time. Her hand slipped to my neck, her fingers brushing the edge of my jaw, and I felt it — that tremor that wasn't just human, that pulse that came from something older.
My thumb traced the line of her cheek, the warmth of her skin grounding me in the present even as the rest of me slipped toward something ancient. I wanted to remember the feel of her like this — the tremble in her breath, the way her heartbeat matched mine.
She leaned into me, and the smallest sound escaped her — not a word, not even a sigh, just a note that felt like surrender. My hand found the curve of her back, steadying her, holding her, a silent promise that she was safe.
The wolf inside me stirred again, but not in hunger now — in awe.
He had found her. We had found her.
When our mouths parted, we didn't speak. We simply breathed the same air, foreheads touching, hearts racing in time. The world seemed to flicker; for an instant, the flames in the hearth surged higher, throwing wild light across the walls.
I felt her shiver.
"Elena…" I whispered, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "Tell me if this is too much."
She shook her head, eyes bright, lips still parted. "No. It's not enough."
The honesty in her voice hit me like a physical thing. I couldn't stop my smile — soft, helpless.
I kissed her again, slower this time, gentler, tracing the rhythm of her breath. Her hands moved to my shoulders, fingers curling lightly, as if she couldn't decide whether to pull me closer or keep herself steady.
Around us, the air thickened — charged, alive. I could feel the energy of it pressing against my skin, humming in my blood. The fire crackled louder, the rain outside grew heavier, and the scent of her — wild, sweet, unfamiliar — filled the entire room.
Something inside me recognised her fully then. Not just the wolf. Not just the man. Every part of me.
When I drew back, I saw it in her eyes — confusion, wonder, a faint flicker of fear.
She felt it too. The connection. The bond. The power neither of us could name.
I cupped her face with both hands, thumbs brushing her skin as gently as I could manage. "You feel it, don't you?"
She hesitated, her breathing uneven. "I don't know what it is."
I smiled faintly. "Neither do I. But it's real."
Her fingers found my wrist, holding on as though afraid I might disappear. The contact sent another ripple through me, deeper this time — and for a heartbeat, I felt the house react. The lights dimmed, the fire flared, the faintest vibration ran through the floorboards, as though the earth itself had caught its breath.
She blinked, startled. "Did you feel that?"
"Yes." My voice was barely audible. "I did."
The wolf in me went still again — not restless, not hungry, but reverent.
This wasn't just desire. This was something fated. Something that would change everything.
I looked at her, truly looked — at the flush on her cheeks, the shimmer in her eyes, the way she was breathing as if her soul had just learned a new rhythm.
And I thought, with terrifying certainty:
I'll never be the same again.