THE NIGHT I SHOULDN'T HAVE TOUCHED HIM

Prologue

Athena

I can't breathe.

Tristan moves inside me, slow and deep, and I'm drowning in the sensation. Each thrust sends heat spiraling through my body, filling all the hollow spaces that grief carved out today.

His hands find their way beneath my thigh, lifting it carefully... gently, like I might shatter—before he pushes forward, filling me again. I gasp, arching my back off the bed, fingers tangled in the sheets, desperate to hold onto something solid, anything.

But it's all so overwhelming. So intoxicating.

The moonlight streaming through his bedroom window catches the sweat on his chest, the way his dark hair sticks to his forehead. His hands grip my thighs, holding me steady as I fall apart beneath him.

This is wrong. So wrong.

We just laid our parents to rest this morning. All four of them—my mom and dad, his mom and dad. Lowered into the ground side by side, just like they would have wanted. Our fathers had been best friends since childhood, Alphas of neighboring packs who refused to let territory lines divide them.

They'd died together on vacation, their car wrapping around a tree on some mountain road. My mother had held on for three days in the hospital, her wolf fighting until the very end, but even she couldn't survive what that crash had done to her.

I still can't wrap my brain around how we got here. One minute we were holding hands at their graveside as we watched them lower their bodies, and the next... we're here, wrapped in each other's arms.

I should be grieving. I should be home, surrounded by my brother and pack, letting them comfort me the way wolves are supposed to. Instead, I'm here, in Tristan's bed, letting my brother's best friend touch me like he owns me.

"Athena," he breathes against my throat, and I arch into him, desperate for anything that will make this pain stop. I've wanted him for so long... years of watching him from across rooms, of pretending I didn't notice how his eyes would linger on me sometimes when he thought no one was looking.

He drives into me again, slower this time, savoring each moment until I whimper. I instinctively reach for him, my hands wrapping around his shoulders, then slipping into his hair, pulling him closer, aching for his warmth... because he is the only thing that feels real in this shattered moment.

His left hand plays with my clit, taking me to places I've never been. I want more. I need more.

I tilt my head up, and when a moan slips out louder than I intend, he closes the space between us and kisses me hard, swallowing the sound as if it pains him to hear it.

The kiss is desperate, a raw mix of warmth and urgency... his lips pressed against mine like he fears the silence that looms between us.

He quickens his rhythm again, every thrust knocking the breath from my lungs, making me gasp into his mouth, blurring the lines of grief, of reality.

I know I shouldn't be here... finding solace like this, lost in an intimacy that feels too good to be true.

But I am. And I don't want him to stop. I know we're going to face the harsh reality after this, but I still want to enjoy it while it lasts.

At some point, he flips us over, and suddenly I'm straddling him, my hands pressed against his chest, moving against him as he studies me, his eyes tracing every contour of my body.

His mouth travels down my neck, across my collarbone, and when I cry out, he shushes me softly, his lips brushing against my skin like a gentle chant.

I lean down to kiss him again, slower this time, even as our bodies dance together. I can't tell if I'm crying or not... my eyes burn, yet everything else is hot, aching, alive.

My fingers dig into his shoulders as he holds me in place and moves faster, deeper, pushing me toward the edge. The sound that escapes me is half-moan, half-sob, and he swallows it with his mouth again, kissing me like I'm the only thing keeping him sane.

When I come, it's with his name on my lips and tears on my cheeks. He follows seconds later, his face buried in my neck, his body shuddering against mine.

For a moment, we just lie there, breathing hard, his weight pinning me to the mattress. I can feel his heartbeat against my chest, can smell the mix of his cologne and our sweat.

My wolf is purring, content in a way she hasn't been since we got the call about the accident.

This feels right. Like coming home.

But then he pulls away, sitting up on the edge of the bed, his back to me. The distance between us suddenly feels like a chasm.

"This can't happen again," he says, his voice rough. Cold.

My heart stops. I knew this was coming, but I didn't expect it this soon. "Tristan..."

"You're like a sister to me." He stands, reaching for his jeans. "That's all you've ever been. All you'll ever be."

The words hit like a physical blow. A sister. He's known me since I was fifteen, watched me grow up, been there for every milestone. But I've never been his sister. Not the way he's looking at me now, like I'm something he needs to forget.

"Don't," I whisper, pulling the sheet up to cover myself. "Don't say that. Not after what we just..."

"After what we just did?" He turns to face me, and the regret in his eyes is unmistakable. "We just made the biggest mistake of our lives, Ath. We're grieving, we're not thinking straight, and we..." He runs a hand through his hair. "Fuck. Your brother is going to kill me."

"Orion doesn't have to know."

"That's not the point." He pulls his shirt on, every movement sharp and angry. "The point is this should never have happened. I was supposed to protect you. Not take advantage of you during my weakness."

"That's not..."

"We were both hurting, we still are... and that was the reason we did something this stupid. That's all this was." He says, cutting me off.

Each word feels like a knife between my ribs. I want to argue, to tell him he's wrong, but the look on his face stops me. He's already decided. In his mind, I'm just his best friend's little sister who threw herself at him in a moment of weakness.

"Get some sleep," he says, moving toward the door. "I'll drive you home in the morning."

"Tristan, wait..."

But he's already gone, the door clicking shut behind him with a finality that makes my chest ache.

I stare at the ceiling, my wolf whimpering in my chest. She doesn't understand why he's rejecting us, why he's running when we both know what we felt tonight was real. But I understand now.

I'm not enough for him. Not what he needs. Never have been.

I should have known better. Should have known all this was too good... too fucking perfect to be real.

When his fingers had traced the curve of my spine, when he had whispered my name like a prayer against my skin, I should have known this would end in ruins.

But grief does terrible things to your judgment, and I allowed myself to drown in the illusion that... maybe... just maybe, he sees me as the woman I am.

I let out a painful laugh.

The only thing I've ever been to him was Orion's baby sister. The child that needs protecting. And that's what I'll ever be.

The next day, I didn't wait for him to take me. I'm not a little thing that needs protecting.

Over the next three days, I make my decision. I can't stay here, in this pack, in this town where every corner reminds me of my parents, where I have to see Tristan and pretend that night meant nothing. I can't watch him treat me like a stranger, like a burden he has to carry for my brother's sake.

I book a flight to London. Pack my bags. Tell Orion I need space, time to figure out who I am without our parents.

I don't tell him the real reason I'm running.

I don't tell him that I'm in love with his best friend, and that loving him is going to destroy me if I stay.

Some secrets are too dangerous to speak aloud, even to family.

Especially to family.