2. A Little Bit of Tenderness

-Aline-

Jian cuts the engine when we pull into my driveway in San Francisco’s Lake District. My yard abuts the Presidio, a national park with forests and miles of trails, devoid of humans in the dead of night and the early morning. I recently discovered this fun fact when I turned into a werewolf, with a sudden desire to hunt and the relentless urge to sprint from one end of the city to the other.

As with most nights, there are no lights on at home. My mom must be out playing mahjong with my aunties again. I am disappointed, even resentful, that she rarely thinks to wait for me like normal mothers would if their teenage girls were out past curfew. She could have at least left a light on. I pull off the borrowed helmet, frowning as I shake my head to loosen my hair since it feels plastered to my head. Like silk, it falls against the back of my neck. I reach up to push a lock over my ear.

Jian holds out his hand. I assume he's asking me for the helmet, so I plop it onto his waiting palm.

“Thanks.”

The single word hangs in the air between us, forming an invisible bridge to my realization of how grateful I am for Jian's company. Mutual werewolf heat bounces between our bodies. I look up at him, this guy who's been in my mind before. Literally, in my mind, and I’ve been in his. Thanks to our unnatural ability to peer into one another’s minds when we're in wolf form, I know many of Jian's secrets and darkest thoughts. I recall that his fantasies of me don't always circle around sex. The ones that do aren't pervy like the rest. His innermost musings don't make me cringe or curl my lips in disgust. His are... intriguing. He enjoys being a hero. It must thrill him to be here with me like this.

His hero complex, and my hazy awareness of my starring role in his fantasies, leave me with no bitchy comment to enhance my single word of gratitude. My silence must unnerve him since his shoulders are visibly taut. He looks poised to flee. Lately, this physical response is one so many around me adopt. It reminds me of how warriors of the past must have pulled on armor, preparing themselves for battle. My weapons of late are words, enraged, hateful ones that I expertly hurl at my victims during my verbal assaults.

My gaze travels up his powerfully built form. He is wary of me. I watch the soft parting of his full lips to say, "No problem, Aline, anytime." Then, he moves to go.

"Jian. Do you mind staying awhile?" Something inside me prompts this plaintive request.

His back is to me now, and I watch his foot hover in mid-air. It’s as though he’s trying to decide whether to plant the next step that would propel him forward and away from the likes of me.

I move to sit at the top of my front porch steps and wait as Jian struggles with my request. Staring at the back of his heels, I notice he’s wearing biker boots. They’ve got big-buckled straps, which I find sexy in a masculine sort of way. Just as I complete this thought, he does an about-face, leaving me wide-eyed and open-mouthed at his approach. Realizing I’m slack-jawed, I clamp my lips shut and say nothing else as he settles himself on the step below the one on which I perch. Even sitting, Jian’s so tall that his shoulder is an inch above mine. I clasp my hands together under my thighs to resist the temptation of reaching out and touching him to convince myself he’s real.

Jian clears his throat. My eyes move over the sharp lines of his profile bathed in the moonlight. I’m reminded how Jian’s new manly form is a little like a taller, more muscular Wang Yibo. Watching Mandarin dramas to ogle this particular actor is an allowed indulgence since my mom doesn't give me grief over it. It's her greatest desire for at least one of her children to learn Chinese.

I startle at the sound of him unzipping his motorcycle jacket to reveal the smooth skin of his bare chest. It takes a second to realize he’s naked because I still wear his shirt. If he’s bothered by my open perusal, he says nothing. Neither one of us talks. It's a companionable silence as we focus on the full moon hanging above the rooftops of my quiet Lake District neighborhood. Since the lockdown started in March, it’s been eerily silent and thankfully deserted. A halo surrounds the moon, a beautiful, multi-colored rainbow ring formed by moonlight and the fog dusted sky. My eyes drift closed against its beauty.

"It's my fault Talu is dying."

Jian doesn’t speak. I turn to stare at his bent elbow resting near my hip. His gaze is far away, waiting for me to continue.

"I wanted that Hunter to tear into me, to give me an actual reason to feel all of this pain that I'm carrying around. I —" ... wanted to die. A gigantic bubble wells up inside me. I stop, choking back a sob, rubbing my palms back and forth on my thighs, trying to get a grip.

Jian’s gaze shifts over to me. His look is gentle but not one of pity. It hints at understanding. I despise it. I want to lash out at him, tell him he can’t possibly know what I’ve been through, but I'm unable to speak. Drawing a ragged breath, I shut my eyes and hear his barely audible whisper caught by my supernatural hearing.

"Just cry, Aline."

Vigorously, I shake my head against his quiet invitation. I haven't cried since Lance Jin, my ex-boyfriend and pack Alpha, sat me down to tell me about him imprinting on Kylie Yang, my best friend. The memory of it slams into me like a sucker punch to the solar plexus. Gasping, I blink back tears, refusing to become a blubbering fool in front of one of the guys. I will not. My toughness is my moniker. Without it, I'm lost to this wave of unbearable emotion.

"I can't."

Pressing my trembling lips together, I steel myself against the throbbing ache that pounds at me, like the unrelenting surf upon the shore. But it's hard to keep up the pretense of strength and Jian seems to sense when I loosen my hold on the tight leash I have on my anguish. He recognizes my need for someone, a non-judgmental soul, to be with me as I let it all lash against me, unimpeded.

Without invitation, Jian shifts up a step. He's sitting next to me, nearly touching. Carefully, he places an arm around my shoulder, silently urging me to reconsider. His broad, strong hand cups my shoulder. Sensing I won’t resist, he draws me close, pulling me against him. I, too, am shocked by my unquestioning compliance as I curl myself against the solid heat of his chest.

His hand rubs my upper arm as he makes a rough purring sound. The comforting rumble emanates from deep within him, making me feel safe, somehow, and I feel unwelcome tears well up. The top of my head fits right under his jaw. My cheek rests against his neck and my chin rests in the cradle of his shoulder. This skin-to-skin contact sends an unexpected ripple of pleasure through me. But aside from the slight clench and quick release of his jaw at our first touch, Jian appears unmoved.

His clear disinterest is all I need to allow my tears to fall.

"It's all right, Aline. I've got you. Just let it out."

His whisper ruffles my hair as he speaks these tender words into the night, a fitting sound to go along with my quiet weeping.