To heal a Rogue

BONNIE

He went quiet.

I expected him to argue.

Instead, he seemed to consider it genuinely.

"Perhaps that’s why being Alpha King matters," he said eventually. "I am starting to wonder if it is not such a bad idea."

I raised an eyebrow. "Or maybe you are starting to like the power that it gives?"

"I wish that was the case. But there have been so many attempts on the throne that it no longer seems so fun. I mean business when I say that." He then turned slightly toward me. "An Alpha King who only knows how to command isn’t particularly useful. But one who understands where the problems are..." His gaze held mine. "That could actually change something."

I narrowed my eyes. "Well... Do be careful."

His mouth curved.

"It would be nice to have a Queen who knows what needs to change at its roots."

I stared at him.

He stared back.

There was absolutely no mistaking what he’d just done.

I looked away first.

"The only reason I’m not ending this conversation after that particularly brave move," I said, "is because I actually like talking to you. For now at least."

He smiled at that.

"But I would advise you to tread carefully, Your Majesty."

His smile only widened at that.

"It sounds hot when you say it like that."

I turned to look at him, completely unimpressed.

"I guess I’m never saying it again, then."

"You can’t take it back."

"Watch me."

He laughed, and I tried very hard not to smile.

I failed.

When the quiet settled after, I went back to my questions.

"Okay, on to the next. What is something you’re bad at?"

"Dancing," he replied.

"No. I find that very hard to believe."

"I am genuinely terrible. Especially if I do not have much practice beforehand or if it is impromptu. Ask anyone who’s ever partnered me at a formal event. I have stepped on more toes than I care to admit."

"I refuse to believe that. I’m the one with that issue. I suck at dancing."

He seemed to be in disbelief that I said that. "Oh please, you move like you know exactly where every part of your body is at all times."

"That’s fighting. Fighting makes sense to me. Dancing is just fighting with rules I don’t understand and a partner who expects me to be gentle about it."

I laughed at my own explanation, and he watched me do it with an expression I couldn’t quite read if I was to read into it. It was something soft and a little too focused for a conversation about dancing.

"What?" I asked.

"Nothing," he said. "I just noticed that you have a very nice laugh. I don’t think I’ve heard it properly before tonight."

Heat crept up my neck, and I looked away before he could watch that too.

When I turned back, my head was back on the right track. I hoped it was.

"Hmmmm... Your turn," I said, mostly to redirect. "Ask me something."

He shifted onto his side to face me properly, propping his head on one hand, and the movement brought him close enough that I could feel the warmth coming off him.

"I do have a question," he said.

"Shoot."

He studied my face for a moment, something considering in his eyes. "Your hair. Did your mother have it too? The color?"

I shook my head slowly. "No. Hers was dark and ordinary. Nothing like this."

"What about your father?"

Something in me went quiet at that. An old, worn-down ache surfaced before I could stop it.

"I didn’t really know him," I said. "He wasn’t around. My mother never talked about him much, and I stopped asking eventually, because every time I did, something in her face would close up entirely." I picked at the edge of the blanket. "So I genuinely have no idea where the hair color comes from. It just showed up when I was born, apparently, and never left."

"That must have been strange," he said. "Growing up looking like that, with no one to explain why."

"It made me a target," I said. "Before it made me anything else. People decided what it meant about me before I ever got the chance to decide for myself."

His hand found mine on top of the blanket, fingers threading through carefully, like he was giving me every chance to pull away if I wanted to. I didn’t.

"I’m sorry," he said. "That you had to carry that alone."

"I’m used to it."

"That doesn’t make it right."

I looked up at him, and something in his expression had gone entirely serious now, the easy banter from a moment ago replaced with something heavier, something that made my breath catch a little in my chest.

"You keep doing that," I said.

"Doing what?"

"Looking at me like that."

His brows lifted slightly. "Like what?"

I gave him a look.

"You know exactly what I mean."

"I don’t."

"Liar."

A smile tugged at his mouth, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

For a moment, he said nothing. He just looked at me, his expression changing in a way I couldn’t quite place. The amusement faded first, leaving something quieter behind it.

"You know," he said, his voice lower now, "you’ve been doing the same thing all night."

My brows drew together. "Doing what?"

"Looking at me like you want something, then pretending you don’t."

My breath caught. "I have no idea what you’re talking about."

His smile returned, faint and knowing.

"You do," he said, simple and immediate, with no hesitation at all.

I stared at him.

He didn’t look away.

The space between us had shrunk without either of us deciding to close it, and I could feel his breath against my mouth now, warm and unhurried. My heart was doing something entirely inconvenient, hammering against my ribs like it had somewhere urgent to be.

"Lysander," I said, though I wasn’t entirely sure what I meant to follow it.

"Yes?"

I didn’t answer with words.

I closed the last of the distance myself, and his mouth met mine like he’d been waiting for exactly that permission the entire night.

The kiss started slow and careful. It was the kind of kiss that asked a question rather than made a demand. Then his restraint finally snapped, and the answer came with it.

His hand slid to the back of my head, fingers threading into my hair as he pulled me closer, and the sudden intensity of it stole whatever breath I had left. I caught the quiet, rough sound that escaped him against my mouth, and something hot unfurled low in my stomach.

I kissed him back harder.

Whatever hesitation had kept us circling each other all night disappeared. His mouth moved against mine with a hunger that made my fingers curl into his shirt, and when he tilted his head and deepened the kiss, I felt myself melt into him before I could think better of it.

His other hand settled at my waist, firm and warm, drawing me closer until there was barely any space left between us.

I should have been thinking about Fia.

I should have been thinking about the fact that crazy shit was happening all around us.

Instead, I could only think about the way he was kissing me.

And the way I’d wanted him to for far longer than I was willing to admit.

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