Chapter 9: Contrast

Liora's POV

He didn't move right away.

He just looked down at my outstretched hand.

I looked at my hands too, blinking slowly.

Maybe I really was drunk. Why were my palms so red?

Then he unclipped his armor and draped it over the chair, pushed up his sleeve, and lifted me clean out of my seat in one smooth motion.

I was settled against his chest before I'd fully registered what happened, my head tipping naturally onto his shoulder, my face tucking into the curve of his neck.

He smelled good.

I closed my eyes and let him carry me out.

The corridor was cool, but everywhere I touched him was warm, so I chose to ignore the cold entirely.

My eyes drifted to his forearm.

His skin was deeply tanned from years in the sun — a few faint old scars running across it, the tendons visible just beneath the surface.

I pushed my own sleeve up and laid my arm alongside his.

Side by side.

Mine wasn't particularly fair. I must have spent a lot of time in the sun, once. But against his, it looked pale enough.

"Your arm," I said. My voice had gone soft and slow from the wine, which I didn't like, so I made it a little louder. "It's huge."

I spread my hand open and held it next to his, then pressed my fingers lightly against the side of his forearm, feeling the muscle pull tight underneath.

My eyes went wide. "I'm like half your size."

"But my arm is just as strong as yours."

He stopped walking.

Before I could figure out why, he shifted his grip — one arm locked firm around me — and used his free hand to pull my sleeve back down, covering my arm completely.

He did it fast. That part confused me.

"Don't go showing your skin to wolves you don't know."

I tilted my head. "It's just an arm. And you're not a wolf I don't know."

He didn't answer that. He started walking again, his voice even. "This is Crescent Moon. You don't know the wolves here."

I thought about it. "So what would they do?"

"Some of them would mean you harm."

I frowned. That phrase sat strangely. "Harm… like what?"

He was quiet for a second. "The kind that wants to hurt you. Or take you. Bad wolves."

I thought about that seriously for a moment, then said, with complete certainty, "Then I'll just only show you."

A beat. "You don't mean harm."

He looked down at me. I blinked up at him.

He was quiet again, and then — gruff, like the words were being pulled out of him — "Little wolf. Don't trust any wolf too much."

I wasn't scared off by his tone.

"You're different, Severin. You're like my mama and papa."

His step faltered.

I felt it. I kept going anyway. "You're just different."

"Little wolf —"

"You just are."

I said it again, and something in my voice came out small. "You're a good wolf. I don't want you to be a bad one."

I turned my face back into his neck.

"You smell good. Bad wolves don't smell like this."

"You —" A pause. "You think I smell good?"

I felt his arm pull tighter around me. I nodded.

He didn't say anything after that. The silence stretched long enough that I started drifting, my thoughts going slow and soft.

I was almost asleep when a word cut through it.

"Wait — Crescent Moon?"

"That's right." His voice came finally. "Do you remember which pack you're from?"

"Silver Moon."

It jumped out of me before I'd thought about it. Even I was surprised.

"Silver Moon is large. Which family?"

I shut my eyes and tried to find it.

There was something there, but every time I reached for it, it slipped back, and the reaching left a dull ache.

The harder I tried, the more it hurt.

I was already uncomfortable. He was still asking.

Without really thinking about it, I turned my head and bit down lightly on the side of his neck.

A low, restrained groan escaped him.

The vibration of it moved against my teeth. My heart dropped a full beat. I pulled back immediately and said nothing, as if it hadn't happened.

His arm clamped around me.

I let out a small, strangled sound. "You're squeezing too hard."

"Do you know what that just meant?"

I shook my head, guilty. He was reacting like I'd done something serious. It was barely anything.

"It wasn't supposed to hurt."

Silence.

"I was just frustrated," I said, keeping my voice quiet. "My head hurts. You were asking too much."

A beat. His grip eased, just slightly. But the low pressure in his voice didn't lift. "Don't ever do that again."

I kept my head down. "Okay."

I'd learned my lesson. I tucked my face back against his chest and stayed there, quiet.

His heart was beating fast.

His body was running high, and I was starting to feel warm against him. My own face was flushed too, though I couldn't be sure if that was the wine or something else.

His pace picked up.

I snuck a careful look at him from under my lashes.

His face was completely still. Eyes forward, brow smooth.

I decided I was imagining things.

He was just walking fast.

That was all.