A little tour

~Soren~

I woke up too early to too much sun.

Awake in a bed that most likely costs more than Georgina’s first three weddings put together, in a room that appears as if I punched a hole through the walls of a hotel lobby. White, gold, pristine. Not a speck of real life to be found.

My phone says 9:00 a.m. I slept through breakfast. Good. The less I have to spend time with my new “family” the better, really.

I’m flicking through my phone, procrastinating on life as responsibly as I possibly can, when someone knocks.

“What?” I hiss.

The door opened.

Felix leans against the frame like he has come to announce wedding plans. Black T-shirt, jeans, hair still wet, smirk already formed.

“Morning, Siren.”

“It’s Soren. And knocking is usually followed by waiting to go in.”

“I did knock.” He walks in without hesitation. “You said ‘what’. I read that as ‘please, Felix, bless me with your presence.’”

I toss a pillow at him and he catches it mid air.

“Adorable.” He drops it on the bed. “Get dressed. Dad wants me to give you the grand tour.”

“I’m good.”

“It wasn’t a question.” He looks around, his face twisting. “Are you gonna unpack or what?”

“I like it this way.”

“Right.” He takes one of my hoodies.

“So your closet is full of hoodies.”

“Get out.”

“Can’t, mandatory tour.” He drops the hoodie. “Unless you feel like letting Dad know you’re disobeying orders on day one.”

He takes a slow step toward me.

“I can make you agree.”

I glare.

His smirk widens.

Asshole.

“Fine.” I shove the blanket off. “Wait outside.”

“Why? Afraid I’ll see something?”

“OUT.”

He laughs as he backs into the hallway. “Five minutes, Siren. Then I’m coming back.”

I slam the door.

---

Ten minutes later, I come out wearing a pink hoodie and boyfriend jeans.

Felix slouches against the wall, scrolling through his phone.

“Took you long enough. Thought you were laying an egg.”

“Do you have a problem with that?”

“Yeah. I got bored.” He pockets his phone and starts walking. “Try to keep up.”

The “tour” begins immediately.

Meaning he points at things without any interest in being helpful.

“That’s a door.”

“Incredible.”

“That’s a hallway.”

“You should be charging people for this.”

“And that’s a wall. Very vertical. Architects are wild.”

We pass what seems like seventeen identical rooms. Luxe, cool and e

enormous.

He explains none of it.

“This is the sitting room. People sit here.”

“Shocking.”

“This is the other sitting room. People also sit here, but they do it richer.”

“How is it richer?”

He waves a hand. “The chairs cost more.”

When we finally get to the kitchen, I’m ready to commit small crimes. Marble everywhere, island the size of a small country.

“And this,” Felix says with a smirk,” is where the food lives. K for kitchen.”

“You’re the worst tour guide in the world.”

“You’re welcome. ”

He pulls a water bottle out of the fridge and doesn’t offer me one. “Want to see the best part?”

“Is the best part you disappearing?”

“Even better.”

He takes me down, down another hallway, to a garage.

Cars and motorcycles neatly arranged in rows of gleaming. At least ten vehicles, and there, sitting on a plinth like some holy relic, is Felix’s motorcycle.

Black, sleek and silver catching the lights.

Damn it. This is going to look incredible.

“This is my baby,” Felix says. It is the first honest note in his voice today.

I step closer. "It's... really nice."

“Nice?” He seems offended. “This is a one-off Ducati Panigale V4. Nice is for throw pillows.”

"Fine. Good enough.”

He rolls his eyes, strokes the seat. “Have you ever ridden one?”

“No.”

“Knew it.”

“What does that mean?”

He looks me up and down. “You seem two-quick to play it safe.”

“I don’t.”

“Name one thing that you ever did that was risky?”

I open my mouth. Nothing comes out.

His smirk says it all.

He swings a leg over the bike and sits down. Somehow he looks even hotter, which seems pretty rude.

“You’re scared,” he says.

“I’m not.”

“Prove it.”

“How?”

He pats the seat behind him. “Get on.”

My heart stutters.

“Don’t think we’re riding anywhere just because I said riding.” he scoffs. “Come on.”

This is a bad idea.

The mate bond is already humming under my skin, getting close to him will make it ten times worse.

I climb on behind him.

The bond hits like a live wire. Heat, pressure and need, I hold onto his shoulders to keep myself steady.

He goes still.

“Siren?””

“Hmmm?”

He reached around and adjusted my thigh. “Hold on tighter,okay ?, because if we were on the move, you’d be flying off.” I clasp my hands around his waist.

His breathing changes and mine does as well.

The garage is quiet except for the sound of our uneven breathe, everything is so electrified.

“Felix,” I whisper.

“Yeah.”

“This is a bad idea.”

“The worst.”

Yet neither of us moves.

His hand remains on my thigh. My arms so much as quiver around him, his heartbeat is a quick, constant rhythm under my forearms.

He shifts slightly, just enough so I catch the edge of his profile.

“You know what the real problem is?” he says low.

“What?”

“I don’t know if I want to push you away or pull you closer.”

My breath catches.

He turns more. His face is just inches away from mine, those watery blue eyes with threads of gold. His wolf right there.

“Siren?”

The garage door starts opening.

We jerk apart. I scramble off the bike, he rises so quickly he almost knocks it over.

Sunlight pours in as the door rises and Donovan’s car rolls inside.

Felix’s face goes blank. “Stay quiet.”

“What—”

“Just don’t talk.”

Donovan steps out, briefcase in hand, he studies us.

“Felix. Soren. What are you two doing down here?”

“Showing her the house,” Felix answers smoothly. “She wanted to see the garage.”

Donovan looks between us. Felix is unreadable. I most certainly am not.

“I see.” He closes the car door. “Soren, I assume Felix has been good to you.”

I nod quickly. I nod quickly.

“Good. Felix, we’ll talk later. Pack business.”

“Yes, sir.”

Donovan heads upstairs.

Silence.

I let out a shaky breath. Felix stares at the stairs, jaw clenched.

“That was close,” I whisper.

He doesn’t respond. He doesn’t respond.

“Felix?”

“Go to your room, Siren.”

“What?”

He looks at me, expression frozen. “Tour’s over. Go.” He looks at me, expression frozen.

“Why?”

“Now.”

I leave.

I take the stairs two at a time, rush through the maze of hallways, shut myself in my room, and press my back to the door.

My heart races and my hands shake.

We almost— We nearly did — or something like that.