Chapter Three-Streetlights and Secrets
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Paris at night was exactly what people said it was a city dipped in gold. The streetlamps cast warm halos over cobblestones polished smooth by centuries of footsteps. Every block smelled different: baked bread, strong coffee, roses spilling over a balcony, the faint metallic tang of rain even though the sky was clear.
Cassia had excused herself from the bar with a very suspicious grin, muttering about “letting us have our moment” and “scouting dessert places.” Which translated to: she was going to tail us for exactly fifteen minutes before finding something shiny to distract her.
Thorne walked beside me, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from him. It wasn’t the normal kind of warmth. It clung. It pulled. My wolf pressed at the edges of my control, restless and alert.
“You let your cousin boss you around a lot,” he said after a moment, voice pitched casual but with a thread of amusement.
“It’s easier than fighting her,” I said. “Cassia’s like a dog with a bone when she decides something needs to happen.”
“Persistent,” he murmured. “Sounds familiar.”
I glanced up at him. “Was that a dig at me?”
He smiled – barely – and didn’t answer.
We passed a tiny bakery still open, the windows fogged from the ovens. The smell hit me like a blanket: butter, sugar, warm dough. My stomach growled
O
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loudly enough for him to hear.
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Thorne stopped without a word, ducked inside, and came back out less than a minute later with a paper bag. He handed me a warm croissant and kept the other for himself.
I bit into it and groaned. “Oh, wow. This is indecent.”
He raised a brow. “Is that a review of the pastry, or…?”
I shot him a look but kept chewing, flakes scattering down my fingers. “The pastry. For now.”
The corner of his mouth curved. “For now.”
We walked on, weaving past couples arm in arm, tourists clutching cameras, street musicians staking their corners. Thorne’s gaze seemed to catch on everything but linger on me. And every time I met his eyes, there was that low hum of recognition again, like we were two magnets dancing on the edge of snapping together.
“You still haven’t told me why you’re here,” he said, breaking the silence.
–
“I told you girls’ trip.”
His expression didn’t change, but something in his tone sharpened. “And I told you you’re lying about where you’re from.”
I smirked. “Maybe I like my secrets.”
“I like unlocking them,” he said simply.
My wolf gave a low, quiet growl in the back of my mind, not of warning but of agreement. I didn’t like how much that unsettled me.
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We turned down a smaller street, less crowded, the lamps throwing long
shadows on the walls.
A violinist played under one of the lights, the sound threading through the quiet. Thorne slowed, head tilting in a way that was painfully familiar. Wolves listened like that—with their whole body, every muscle tuned to the sound.
“You ever notice,” he said softly, “how some sounds… cut deeper?”
“Yes,” I said before I could stop myself.
Our eyes met. For a second, neither of us looked away. My chest felt tight.
Then: Bzzzz.
My phone vibrated in my pocket. Cassia.
Cassia: Is he cute up close or just bar lighting cute?
Cassia: Blink twice if you need rescuing.
Cassia: If he’s a serial killer I’m not paying for the funeral.
I stifled a laugh. “My cousin is checking in.”
“I’m sure she is,” he said, sounding entirely unsurprised.
I typed back: Stop spying. Go to bed.
Before I could pocket my phone, a shout echoed from the far end of the street. A man – drunk, swaying-was staggering toward us, muttering in rapid French.
Thorne moved before I could process it. One smooth step in front of me, his shoulders squaring, every line of his body broadcasting danger. His head
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lowered just slightly not human body language, not even remotely subtle.
The drunk froze mid-step, eyes going wide. His muttering trailed off into silence. Then he turned and stumbled in the opposite direction without another word.
I stared at Thorne. “What… was that?”
“Just a look,” he said lightly, but there was a faint glint in his eyes.
No. That wasn’t just a look. That was wolf.
I swallowed, my own instincts still buzzing from the shift in his presence. The air between us was suddenly thicker, heavier.
We started walking again, slower this time. The night sounds pressed close: the faint scrape of shoes on stone, the whisper of leaves in a courtyard, the steady rhythm of his breathing beside mine.
And for the first time all night, I was certain – whatever he was, so was I.
米米米
The street curved toward the river, the glow of the lamps stretching long across the pavement. The Seine shimmered below, dark and silver at once. Somewhere down the embankment, a couple was dancing to a tinny speaker, their laughter carrying on the wind.
“You know,” Thorne said, glancing at me, “for someone who claims to be on a girls’ trip, you spend a lot of time alone.”
“Cassia’s definition of a girls’ trip is finding me a man and then disappearing to find herself dessert,” I said.
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“Efficient,” he murmured.
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My phone buzzed again. I didn’t need to check to know who it was.
Cassia:Do you have his ID? Did you check for weapons? Ask him if he likes puppies.
Cassia:And for the love of the moon, DO NOT tell him your real pack if he is a werewolf. Or your real last name.
Pl.
Cassia:Send me the address if you’re going somewhere. I will literally hire a
Thorne’s brow arched. “Persistent, isn’t she?”
“She’s… thorough,” I said, texting back Alive. Not kidnapped. No weapons. Probably likes puppies.
His mouth twitched. “Probably?”
“Well, I haven’t asked yet,” I said.
“Do you want to?”
I tilted my head. “Do you like puppies?”
He didn’t blink. “I like wolves better.”
Something in my chest tightened. “Specific.”
“I have… history,” he said, his gaze sliding to mine.
That sounded like a thread I should pull on, but before I could, Cassia struck again.
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“It’s quiet,” he replied. “I like quiet.”
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“Of course you do,” I muttered, though I wasn’t sure why.
We took the elevator up, the mirrored walls making it impossible to avoid the way his reflection kept catching mine. My wolf was pacing now, impatient, and it took everything I had not to let her bleed into my expression.
Halfway up, the elevator shuddered slightly-just enough to make me shift my weight and brush against him. His hand came up to steady me, warm and sure at my waist.
“Careful,” he said.
“I’m fine.” But I didn’t move away.
His suite was on the top floor, the kind with tall windows and a view that looked like it belonged on a postcard. I barely had time to take it in before he stepped inside behind me and closed the door.
The quiet was instant. Heavy.
I turned to say something-anything- but he was closer now, his presence filling the space like it had been waiting all night to do exactly that.
My phone buzzed again in my pocket. Cassia, undoubtedly. I ignored it.
“You going to check that?” he asked.
“No,” I said, my voice softer than I meant it to be.
His eyes searched mine for a beat. Then: “Good.”
The silence stretched, and the city glittered beyond the glass, and somewhere deep in my bones, I knew
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whatever happened next, there was no
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going back.
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The door clicked shut behind us, and suddenly Paris was very far away. The suite was all soft light and glass walls, the city sprawled like a jewel below. I should have been gawking at the view, but all I could see was him – standing so still, watching me like I’d already made a choice I hadn’t admitted to myself.
I cleared my throat. “So. This is… cozy.”
His brows lifted. “Cozy?”
“Well, you know. For a palace in the sky,” I muttered, turning toward the
windows.
My phone buzzed. Cassia, of course.
Cassia: Send me the safe word if you’re alive but compromised.
Cassia: Like… banana. No, too weird. Pineapple. Send me pineapple if you’re
in danger.
A laugh slipped out before I could stop it.
Thorne’s voice came from behind me, low and curious. “Something amusing?”
“Just my overprotective cousin thinking I’m about to be murdered.”
His golden eyes narrowed slightly, as if he were more offended by that than amused. “She should know better.”
“Cassia doesn’t believe in knowing better,” I said. “She believes in chaos.”
For some reason, that pulled the smallest smile from him.
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The silence stretched again, thick with everything neither of us said. I set my phone aside and rubbed my palms on my skirt. “So… is this the part where you pour us another drink, or the part where we awkwardly stare at each other until one of us pretends to be tired?”
“Neither,” he said. His voice was calm, steady, but beneath it was a tension coiled tight. “This is the part where you decide if you’re staying.”
I turned slowly, meeting his gaze. The heat there made my stomach twist in a
way that was both terrifying and addictive.
“You’re very confident,” I said.
“I’m patient,” he corrected.
“Same thing.”
like a storm pressing
He moved closer, unhurried, as if giving me every second to change my mind. When he stopped just in front of me, the air felt charged against the windows.
I tilted my head. “Do you do this often?”
His brow furrowed faintly. “Do what?”
“Pick up strangers in bars and lure them back to your lair?”
His mouth curved. “Lair?”
I gestured around. “This is a lair. There’s no way you don’t have some sort of secret villain plan hidden in that minibar.”
That earned me a quiet laugh, rough and genuine. “You’re… not what I
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expected.”
“Likewise.”
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He reached past me, brushing my arm as he picked up the forgotten croissant bag from the table. The casual contact made my wolf leap inside me, restless and wanting.
“You’re trembling,” he said quietly.
I swallowed. “I’m not.”
“You are,” he said, setting the bag aside without looking at it. “And I don’t know if it’s because you want to leave… or because you don’t.”
The honesty in his tone left me nowhere to hide.
I should have walked. Every survival instinct screamed at me to not let this happen. But the mate-bond thrummed louder with every second, pulling me toward him.
Finally, I whispered, “What if it’s both?”
His answer was simple. Certain. “Then stay anyway.”
The space between us closed in an instant. His hand lifted, brushing a strand of hair from my face, fingers lingering against my cheek like he had every right to touch me. My breath caught.
And when his lips finally found mine, there was no more space, no more silence, no more pretending.
The fire we’d been circling all night roared to life.
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