Tangled in Moonlight: Unshifted

"Is it too fluffed? I can flatten it a bit." I punch at Kellan's pillow again, trying to get it just right. "Sorry, I'm not used to hospital pillows. They're always either too flat or too lumpy."

His eyes follow me as I circle the bed, adjusting his blanket for the fifth time in twenty minutes. I separate the orange slices I've peeled into perfect little crescents, arranging them on the napkin like a sunburst. He hasn't even touched the first one I sat out fifteen minutes ago.

"Here, you should eat something," I say, pushing the tray closer. "Unless you don't like oranges? I can find something else. Maybe the cafeteria has—"

"Are you okay, or are you trying to smother me with kindness?" Kellan asks, his voice completely flat.

I blink at him, frozen mid-orange adjustment. "You saved my life. Am I not allowed to be a little doting?"

Kellan narrows his eyes. "You don't dote. You sass. I'm concerned."

My cheeks heat. Caught. I've never been good at this whole caretaking thing. I'm all sharp edges and attitude. But seeing him lying there, bandaged and bruised because of me has twisted something in my chest. The weird compulsion I felt earlier has faded, but the guilt lingers.

Besides, the thought of returning to an empty room with nothing but my nightmares feels unbearable. I'd rather stay here and make a complete fool of myself trying to show Kellan how much he means to me.

As you can see, it's not going very well.

"I sass people I don't care about," I say, too brightly. "You clearly need a gentler approach."

"Uh-huh." He doesn't look convinced. "What did Dr. Beaumont give you? Did you get into my pain meds?"

I roll my eyes. "Shut up and drink your water."

There. Now I sound more normal, right?

I reach across him for the water cup on the nightstand, but my balance is off—whether from exhaustion or lingering adrenaline, I can't tell. My hand misses the cup entirely and I pitch forward like an idiot, falling across his body with a soft "oof."

Kellan grunts, pain flashing across his face. Before I can scramble away, his arms wrap around me, pinning me against him.

"I didn't mean—wait, are you—does it hurt?" I stammer, mortified I'm crushing his wounds.

"Not as much as you moving would," he murmurs, his face buried in my neck.

He holds me firmly but gently against him, our bodies pressed together from chest to hip. I can feel his heartbeat against mine, steady but quick. His breath hitches against my skin, warm and damp, sending a shiver down my spine.

I go very still, afraid to cause him more pain. But as the seconds tick by, I become aware of something else—the subtle but unmistakable hardness pressing against my thigh. My heart pounds so loud I swear he must hear it.

No, this is ridiculous. He's injured. He's in pain. I'm probably imagining—

But I'm not.

I've been dancing around him forever, afraid of what giving in would mean, how it would change things. And here he is, bandaged and bruised because wolves and vampires are fighting over territory.

Over me.

I'm not worth this kind of pain, but he seems to think I am.

He's the best thing to ever happen to me. Maybe—maybe—I'd even choose him over Ava. Mostly because she has Lucas and Selene and Grimoire to help her keep going. But Kellan?

He only has me.

And me? I only have him.

Well, and Ava. And I guess he has Lucas, too. But it doesn't sound nearly as romantic when I start delving past the emotions of the moment.

"You don't have to pretend with me, you know," I say softly.

"Lisa." He says my name like it physically hurts to hold it in, like it's been trapped behind his teeth for hours. The two syllables elongate until it sounds like my name is a lot longer than four letters.

I lean back just enough to meet his eyes. They're dark, pupils wide, watching me with such intensity, heat pools low in my belly. It's a familiar feeling. One I normally welcome with open arms.

A good attitude toward sex opens your whole life up—at least, that's my motto. Or belief. Or something.

The point is, sex? Not afraid of it. Would do it again with Kellan in a heartbeat.

But he's injured.

So… normal sex is out.

But it doesn't mean there aren't other options.

My voice is quiet as I force myself past a strange wall of embarrassment and say, "Do you want me to take care of you?"

He blinks, surprise flickering across his face. There's hesitation there too, like he's afraid to believe what I'm really asking.

He's about to decline. I can already see it in the way he glances toward the door, how his lips turn down in the faintest frown.

I don't give him time to overthink it.

I press my lips to his, soft and reverent at first, then with growing hunger. This isn't the frantic clash we've shared before, when I was desperate to feel anything but deep, horrible emptiness.

This is deliberate, an answer to all the questions I've been avoiding.

It's my claim this time. Not his.

I'm the one biting at his lip until he opens his mouth and lets me in. I'm the one sliding my tongue against his, listening to his breath hitch.

My seduction isn't as polished as his, my aggression tempered with hesitation, but he doesn't take over. Doesn't interrupt my offering.

When I pull back, his breathing is ragged. His hands come up to cup my face, thumbs brushing my cheekbones. His voice is pure gravel when he speaks.

"Only if you mean it."

I nod, feeling my cheeks flush, but I remind myself it's one-hundred percent normal for women to enjoy sex and even initiate, damn it.

Of course, telling myself that is one thing. Doing it—with Kellan—is another.

Flirting with other men? Easy.

With him? It's so much harder.

Sex with him isn't just bodies touching. It isn't casual.

"I've never meant anything more."

His eyes darken further at that, and something primal flickers in their depths. I press another kiss to his lips, then his jawline, then the hollow of his throat, feeling his pulse jump beneath my lips.

Carefully, I slide down, pulling his blanket with me, my hands trailing down his chest with determined gentleness.

Kellan's sharp inhale is my reward, his fingers tangling in my hair as I move lower.