Chapter 6 I Want You, Chris

Bang!

The bottle shattered on impact. A gash split open above Rupert's temple, and blood mixed with alcohol streamed down half his face.

He stared at Delia, eyes wide, his expression one of pure disbelief.

Nova screamed and quickly covered her mouth.

The three werewolves at the table shot to their feet, eyes locked on Delia.

"Rupert, listen to me carefully." Delia's voice was ice cold. "I'm not marrying you. Not now, not ever. If you want a mating ceremony, find someone else. It has nothing to do with me."

She slammed the rest of the broken bottle onto the floor. Glass went everywhere.

"We're done. Starting today. Don't come near me again, and don't use Monica and the others to lure me out. Next time you pull something like this, it won't just be a bottle I throw at your head."

She turned and walked out of the private room without looking back.

It took Nova a long moment to shake off the shock. She rushed to Rupert's side, grabbed some napkins, and pressed them against the wound, her hands trembling. "Rupert! Are you okay? I'll call a doctor right now!"

Rupert shoved her away and kept his eyes fixed on the doorway where Delia had disappeared, his face dark and unreadable.

Delia ran out of the bar and tore down two full blocks. Only when she was sure no one was following her did she stop, leaning against a lamppost, gasping for breath.

Her fingers wouldn't stop shaking.

She looked down at her right hand. Rupert's blood was still smeared across the base of her thumb.

She scrubbed it hard against the hem of her shirt, over and over, until every trace was gone. Then she let out a long breath, slowly crouched down, and buried her face in her knees.

For a long time she stayed like that. Then her shoulders began to shake, and silent tears slid down her face.

Five years. Five years of giving everything she had, holding nothing back. And this was how it ended.

It was pathetic. Almost funny, in the worst possible way.

Delia pressed her hands to her head and kept telling herself to stop thinking about it.

It's over. Let it go.

But Rupert's face kept flashing through her mind—the face she had once been completely obsessed with, now just cold and ugly—and it was almost enough to break her.

She stood up abruptly, walked into a twenty-four-hour convenience store nearby, bought two bottles of whiskey, and headed back to her hotel.

She unscrewed the first bottle and took a long pull straight from it.

The burn slid down her throat and hit her stomach like a fist.

She sat on the edge of the bed, staring out at the dark night, her mind a mess.

The first bottle was gone before long. She opened the second.

She was halfway through it when someone knocked at the door.

Delia grabbed the bottle and got up. The alcohol had fully hit her. She stumbled to the door.

"Who is it?"

She yanked the door open, reeking of alcohol, and found Chris standing there.

He took one look at her and his brow furrowed slightly.

"Delia."

"You..." She squinted at him for a moment before she could place his face. "What are you doing here?"

Chris reached out and steadied her arm, guiding her back into the room. He closed the door behind them. "You've been drinking."

"Yeah, I have." Her tongue felt thick. "A lot. I feel so good about tonight—I smashed a bottle right over Rupert's head. Bang. It felt amazing..."

Her voice cracked mid-sentence, and the words dissolved into something raw and broken.

"But he said... he only ever saw me as someone to sleep with..."

Tears came without warning, spilling down her cheeks.

"I was with him for almost five years. I gave him everything—my time, my body, I even cut things off with my parents for him. How could he do this to me?"

She stumbled forward as she cried, her legs barely holding her up. Her body pitched forward.

Chris caught her before she hit the ground, pulling her into his arms.

Her face pressed against his chest. She grabbed fistfuls of his shirt and cried harder, her whole body shaking.

"I loved him so much. He never once cared about me."

"Does that make me an idiot?"

Chris looked down at the woman falling apart in his arms. The faint smell of alcohol mixed with something soft and sweet drifted up to him. His throat moved almost imperceptibly.

"Stop crying," he said, his voice low and rough.

Delia tilted her head up. Her eyes were glassy, her eyelids heavy. Her nose and the rims of her eyes had gone red, and her lashes clumped with tears.

Chris lowered his head and gently brushed his thumb across the corner of her eye, trying to wipe them away.

Then Delia rose on her toes.

Her lips pressed against his.

Chris went completely still.

Delia closed her eyes and reached up to wrap her arms around his neck. The kiss was urgent and unsteady, drunken and impulsive, raw with hurt.

Chris slowly lowered his lashes. His hand, which had been hanging at his side, finally moved to the small of her back, pulling her in close.

He leaned down and kissed her back.

His presence surrounded her completely. His hands held her waist in a firm grip, and her back met the cold wall behind her.

The chill of the wall against her skin made her shiver, and she pressed herself closer to his chest.

The alcohol had burned away the last of her judgment.

Delia's fingers slid from his neck down to his chest. She traced the lines of his body through the fabric, clumsy and rushed, and started working open the buttons of his shirt.

Chris reached up and closed his hand around her restless wrist. His breathing had gone uneven. "Delia."

"Hmm?" She looked up at him, her eyes hazy and unfocused.

She had no real idea what she was doing. She only knew that being near him felt safe, that she couldn't help wanting to stay close, to hold onto the warmth he gave off.

"Don't... don't say no..."

She pushed lightly against his chest. They stumbled back together and fell onto the soft bed.

Chris let out a low grunt from the impact. Before he could get his bearings, Delia had swung herself on top of him, her fingers already working at his belt.

Her soft hand brushed against him through the thin fabric, a touch that was barely there but impossible to ignore. Chris drew in a sharp breath. He had already been half-hard from her teasing, and now the blood rushed in fast and he was fully aroused.

Delia felt it clearly against her palm. A soft murmur escaped her lips. "So big..."

The flush at the corners of Chris's eyes deepened. He forced the heat rising inside him back down, tightened his grip on her wrist, and spoke in a steady, deliberate voice.

"Delia. Do you know what you're doing right now?"

She let him pull her arm, and the motion pressed her soft chest flush against his.

"I want you..."