Chapter 5
Juliet
When Louis finally kissed me, it wasn't the careful, tentative thing I'd been expecting.
It was hungry. Desperate. Like he'd been holding himself back for weeks and had finally snapped.
His mouth crashed against mine with an intensity that made my head spin. One hand tangled in my hair, the other gripped my waist so tightly I could feel the heat of his palm through my shirt. His tongue swept against mine, demanding and possessive, and I couldn't do anything but melt into him.
The kiss seemed to last forever and not nearly long enough at the same time. When he finally pulled away, I was breathless and dizzy, my lips tingling and swollen.
And I'd definitely felt it—that massive, hard presence pressed against my thigh that left absolutely no doubt about what this was doing to him.
'Holy shit. That was not a service worker kiss.'
"Does it hurt?" Louis asked softly, his thumb brushing over my bottom lip with careful concern.
I touched my mouth gingerly. My lips felt puffy and tender, and it stung a little when I tried to speak.
"No, I'm fine," I lied, because admitting how much that kiss had affected me felt way too vulnerable.
Louis studied my face with those intense eyes, then got up without a word. I heard him moving around in the kitchen, and a few minutes later he came back with an ice pack wrapped in a dishcloth.
"Here." He sat on the edge of the bed, his expression back to that careful, controlled mask I was getting used to. "This will help with the swelling."
He pressed the ice pack gently against my lips, and I had to resist the urge to wince. The cold felt sharp against the tender skin.
'God, he really went for it,' I thought, feeling heat creep up my neck at the memory. 'I can't believe I let him do that. I can't believe how much I liked it.'
Louis was being so gentle now, holding the ice pack with the kind of careful attention you'd give to something precious and fragile. But there was still that tension in his shoulders, that barely contained energy that made the air around him feel charged.
I cleared my throat, trying to get my brain working again.
"Can I ask you something?" I said, my voice still a little rough from the kiss.
"Of course."
"Is this... do werewolves need this kind of contact? Like, for your mental health or whatever?"
"Yes."
The answer was immediate and honest, without any hesitation.
'Okay, so it's not just me being a horny idiot. This is actually a thing.'
"What about before Sarah?" I asked, curiosity getting the better of me. "Did you have another anchor? Another person who calmed you down?"
Louis shook his head. "I don't remember. Before Wolf Care found me, everything is... blank. No family, no name, no anchor. They took me in when I had nowhere else to go—said I needed a 'stable environment' to recover."
My heart clenched. "You don't remember your past?"
He shook his head, his gaze dropping to the chain around my wrist—the one I'd started wearing since the antique shop. "I only remember feeling scared. Like I was missing something important. Then Sarah hired me, and... it was okay. But it wasn't until you—until the citrus, until your scent—that the panic stopped."
'Jesus Christ. My poor sweetheart has been scared this whole time.'
I didn’t think—just reached out, wrapping my arms around his neck and pulling him close.
He stiffened for half a second, like he wasn’t used to being held like this, then melted into me.
His arms came up to circle my waist, tight but gentle, and his face pressed into the crook of my neck.
I could feel the steady thrum of his heart against my chest—still a little fast, but slowing down, like he was finally letting his guard drop.
The low rumble in his throat started again, deeper this time, vibrating through my bones. It wasn’t a growl of anxiety.
It was a purr, almost—content, relieved. Like he’d been carrying a weight I didn’t even know about, and now it was finally lifting.
"I’m sorry you were alone," I whispered, running my fingers through his hair. It was softer than it looked, and I could smell that faint pine scent on it—clean, sharp, his. "You don’t have to be scared anymore. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere."
He pulled back just enough to look at me, his eyes still glowing gold, but the edge of desperation was gone. Now they were warm, soft—like sunlight through honey. "You mean that?"
"Of course I do," I said, brushing a stray hair from his forehead. "We don’t have to rush this—your past, the Blackwood stuff. Take all the time you need. I’ll be right here. With citrus detergent and terrible housekeeping skills and…" I laughed, a little shaky, "…whatever else you need."
A small, real smile tugged at his lips—his first one that wasn’t forced, wasn’t just a polite curve of the mouth. It transformed his face, softening those sharp cheekbones and making his eyes crinkle at the corners.
I’d never seen anything so beautiful.
He leaned in, pressing a slow kiss to my forehead—chaste, gentle, nothing like the hungry one before. Then he nuzzled my cheek, his nose brushing my skin, and I felt his tail wrap around my waist under the covers—warm, secure, like a promise.
"I remember one thing," he said quietly, his breath fanning over my jaw. "Before the blank. A pine forest. Cold air. Someone holding my hand. I thought it was a dream… but it smells like you. Not citrus—pine. Like me now. Like we were supposed to be together, even then."
My chest felt tight, like my heart was too big for my ribs. "Maybe we were," I said.
For the first time all evening, he seemed genuinely relaxed.
His breathing was deep and even, and when I looked up at him, his eyes were closed. His long lashes cast shadows on his cheekbones, and there was just the faintest flush of color across the bridge of his nose.
'This is incredible,' I thought, watching the peaceful expression on his face. 'I had no idea werewolves could make you feel this safe and warm.'
I'd been missing out on this my whole life, and I hadn't even known it.
All those years of sleeping alone, dealing with stress and anxiety on my own, when I could have had this—this perfect, protective presence who made everything feel manageable.
'I'm definitely keeping him,' I decided, snuggling closer to Louis's warmth. 'Whatever it costs, whatever it takes. This is too good to give up.'