Chapter 7

I stiffen, a snarl forming at the back of my throat, before I manage to smooth it into something more civil, more human. This is not what I expected, not what I am prepared for. I should have known. I should have known he'd come.

"Mara," his voice drawls, easy and confident, but I hear the challenge in it. The gleam in his eye is brighter than I remember, sharper. "I was beginning to think you were avoiding me."

He leans against the doorframe, a study in casual elegance, his suit unrumpled and perfectly tailored. It chafes at me, this calculated display of calm, of control, when I feel my own slipping away like sand beneath a rising tide.

"Should I be?" I ask, injecting just enough amusement into the words to make them sting.

He smiles, and it is both a promise and a threat. "We need to talk," he says, echoing the message that has haunted me all morning. The one I thought I could ignore, at least for a while longer. "It's important."

I fold my arms across my chest, feeling the prick of my own nails through the thin silk. "I’m listening."

He steps inside, letting the door swing shut behind him. The scent of him fills the room, mingling with the restless urgency that already lingers there. I taste it on my tongue, an aftershock of desire and distrust that sends a sharp jolt through my veins.

"You’re slipping," he says, gesturing at the disarray that surrounds me. "This isn't like you, Mara."

"I've been busy," I snap, but it is a weak defense, one he sees through with the same perceptiveness that drew me to him in the first place.

"We’ve all been busy." He leans forward, fixing me with a steady, penetrating gaze. "It's the full moon tomorrow, you know. I thought you might appreciate a little help."

The words are innocent enough, but they land with the precision of a hunter's arrow, striking at the heart of what I refuse to admit.

"I don’t need your help," I tell him, but I can hear the fray in my own voice. Can feel it in the way my heart stutters, then races to catch up.

His smile widens, and I see victory in the curl of his lips. "That so? Look around, Mara. Even you can't do it all."

My pulse beats an erratic tempo against the collar of my shirt, each note vibrating with indignation and doubt. He is right, and I hate him for it.

"What do you want?" The question comes out more brittle than I intend, more desperate.

His eyes gleam with the satisfaction of a man who knows exactly how far he can push. "Your attention, for starters," he says. "I'm working on something. Something big. But I need you to focus, Mara. I need you with me on this."

There is more than one kind of hunger. Derek understands this as well as I do. I want to say no, to turn him away and watch his easy confidence unravel. But we are not so different, Derek and I. He knows my weakness. He knows I cannot resist the thrill of a new challenge, of something to prove.

"We'll see," I say, softer now. He has thrown me a lifeline, and I reach for it with something like relief, something like desperation. "I'm not making any promises."

"You never do." He stands, straightening his cuffs, his watch, the tiny details of his immaculate facade. "But you will. I know you, Mara. You'll be back on top of this in no time."

He leaves me there, surrounded by the chaos I have wrought, by the chaos I cannot bring myself to fix. I hear the door click shut, and the sound of it sends a shiver down my spine, a reminder of the fragility of all I have built.

I am the wolf, I tell myself, even now. Especially now. I am the wolf, and I will not lose.