“It may be a small familial business, but the food is fabulous,” he briefly turned his face towards me, temporarily dazzling me with his beautiful eyes, “trust me on this one.”
“Fabulous food, huh? I can live with that,” I teased after my dysfunctional brain decided to work properly again. I was smirking like a fool for no particular reason by the end of the sentence. It felt as if his good mood was infectious.
“So, since the drive’s going to take us about twenty minutes, I’d like to know more about you,” he drawled, deftly shifting gear, making the short sleeve of his black shirt brush up almost sensually against his bulging biceps.
I swallowed and tore my eyes from the tantalizing show, glaring ahead at nothing as I grew frustrated with my raging hormones, “What do you want to know?”
I had decided to be more open with him, to give him a chance, and that was exactly what he was getting. I wasn’t going to close off at every other moment. I was going to make huge efforts tonight. I was going to fight every ingrained habit that told me to never drop my guard, and also every instinct that told me to jump on him and kiss him.
Double the trouble, double the fun, huh? Or not, a snarky voice taunted in my head. Yeah, it probably was easier said than done to act deliberately against what I had been thought since I first knew speech. Never let your guard down was the first rule to permeate my mind as a child.
“Would you rather I asked you questions, or would you prefer just randomly telling me things about yourself?” the fact that he was giving me a choice was a little bit surprising. From what I knew, werewolves were rather demanding of their mates, alphas even more.
I let out a small noncommittal “hmm” as I contemplated my two options. “Well, as you already know, I’m a green sixteen-year-old witch with huge trust issues.” I put emphasize on huge while the rest of the sentence flowed in a blasé tone that was meant to be sarcastic.
“That, I know,” he chuckled, “tell me something I don’t know.”
“Well,” I decided to start by sharing something that wasn’t all that personal, “although I’ve skipped grades twice and I’ve already been offered several scholarships, I don’t know what major to choose.”
“Aren’t you passionate about anything in particular?” He was puzzled, I could sense that, but he was also genuinely interested.
“I love listening to music,” I offered meekly, feeling a little bit stupid for I knew that was hardly a passion.
“Who doesn’t really?” His brief chuckle was absurdly deep and insanely hot.
Get your head out of the gutter, Jas. What’s with you? My fiercely independent side didn’t like the lust crazy teen within me. Don’t fall under his spell.
He’s a werewolf, a definitely mouth-wateringly-hot alpha-ultra, but a werewolf, nonetheless. He doesn’t do spells, there was the voice of logic making an appearance, trying to settle matters calmly – rationally.
Just don’t fall for his charm, idiot!
“Jas, are you okay?” I turned to find his electric blue eyes looking at me with concern. He must have said something when I had been too busy dealing with all that went around my head to hear him, much less answer him.
I blushed, feeling like a troubled teen with a non-diagnosed multiple personality disorder... but then again, he was a werewolf and thus had an independent entity within him that might take over at a moment’s notice, he couldn’t possibly judge me.
“Sorry, I spaced out?” It came out as a question rather than a statement and I mentally groaned and face-palmed at that.
How pathetically hormone-driven can you be? Where’s all this coming from? The little goody two-shoes within me was flabbergasted, glaring at me from a distance. Oh, just shut it!
“It’s fine,” he drawled, smiling, as his eyes shifted to the road, “as long as you’re okay.”
“So, where were we?” I broke the strangely pleasant silence, not enjoying the sweet tension between us.
“We were speaking about passions,” he readily provided the answer, not taking notice of the innuendo – or maybe he did. “Or lack thereof,” he smirked while making his way through the evening traffic.
“Yeah, well, I don’t know what to do with my life,” I admitted in a low voice, feeling awfully exposed all of the sudden, “aside from being a witch, I mean.”
“You have all the time to figure it out, you know,” his words, although spoken in a reassuring manner, only unnerved me.
“You don’t understand, my parents have great expectations for me...” I trailed off, not knowing how to explain, not sure I wanted to even. Opening up to a stranger turned out to be much more difficult than I ever thought it would be. How did people ever feel comfortable talking to their shrinks?
“I do understand,” he countered calmly, unfazed by the change of the atmosphere, “I’m an alpha-ultra, baby.”
“You have responsibilities, not expectations, hanging over your head like the sword of Damocles,” I couldn’t understand whether I was this conflicted because of his proximity or because of my powers’ awakening. Maybe the fact that I hadn’t talked about this to anyone also contributed to my confusion and flaring annoyance.
“Never mind what anybody expects of you, only act according to what you want to do, to what you feel you need to do,” he reached out for my hand and gave me a gentle squeeze before shifting gears.
“You sound quite wise,” I muttered, my tone somewhere in between bitterness and amazement.
“Well, I’m quite old,” he retorted in a way that let me know he was smiling without having to look at him.
“That, you are,” I smirked, my good mood from earlier returning, mildly confusing me and making me wonder whether I was a closet bipolar witch, “just how old are you?”
“Sixty years old,” he informed me.
“You look good for an old man,” I teased,
