Chapter 28: TEAM GRAY
Vivian Grey’s POV
I froze, still straddling Zaliver, his arms locked tightly around my waist like iron bands. For a moment, I didn’t dare move. His gaze was already on me, intense and unreadable. I tilted my head up, caught in the stormy shift of his eyes, deep blue, growing darker by the second.
It had never been me on top before. Always him. Always dominant. But here I was, flushed and trembling, with his heartbeat thundering beneath my palm, steady, powerful, and way too fast for me to pretend this meant nothing. The scent of him filled my lungs, heady and addictive. I felt heat coil through me, slow and wicked.
"Are you alright, Vivian?" he asked, voice low and rough, the kind that made your name sound like a promise wrapped in sin.
My brain short-circuited.
No. No, I was not okay. My sinfully hot mate was beneath me, holding me close like I was the only thing tethering him to the earth, and we hadn’t even kissed yet. I felt like I was going to melt into him or combust. Possibly both.
"Uh, y-yeah," I stammered. "Sorry. I don’t know what got into my wolf."
"She’s got quite the playful streak." He didn’t let go. Instead, with a sudden, smooth motion, he rolled us until he hovered above me, forearms braced on either side of my head. His face was only inches from mine now.
His voice dropped into a murmur. "Makes me wonder if you’ll be like this in bed."
My breath caught. My body went rigid, then trembled. The way he said it, gods. I didn’t know whether to slap him or pull him closer. I choked on a noise I didn’t even recognize.
Yep. I was definitely dead. Goodbye, world. Death by mate-induced hormonal overload.
But then something in me sparked, my sass crawling its way back to the surface like a defense mechanism.
"Why do you say that like you actually stand a chance?" I said, tossing the words out half-joking, trying to cool the heat simmering between us. I was not about to lose my virginity to the Lupus Deus two days into this weird forest-bound mate thing.
His eyes narrowed at me, the faintest growl rising from deep in his chest. I felt it rumble through him and through me. His lips curled slightly, a warning. His body pressed tighter to mine, hips pinning me in place. And before I could blink, he had my wrists secured above my head.
I blinked up at him, wide-eyed. Crap. Did I go too far?
"Why must you always push me?" he growled softly. "I suggest you watch that tongue of yours. I’ve already tolerated far more than I usually do. No more talk about other males. I won’t allow it."
Then, without another word, he yanked us both upright and grabbed my hand like it was the most natural thing in the world. We started walking through the woods, my steps stumbling clumsily after his sure ones.
My heart was still trying to return to a normal rhythm. Being around Zaliver was like constantly standing too close to lightning, dangerous, thrilling, impossible to ignore.
I glanced down at our joined hands. His hand dwarfed mine, rough and calloused in places, but still warm. It made me wonder about the strength he held back every single day, and what it cost him to do it.
"What was her name?" I asked softly.
His fingers tightened around mine. Just enough to answer.
"Martha," he said, voice clipped. "And I don’t want to talk about her. Whatever issue she had with you is over."
That was blunt. But I didn’t push. Not when his shoulders were pulled back like he was preparing for war.
Rest in peace, Martha. I hope you’re not holding a grudge in the afterlife for whatever part I played in your death.
"Why didn’t you shift?" I asked instead, hoping for something less loaded.
He looked at me briefly and offered a tight, worn-out smile. So much for that.
"Next question?" I asked, not bothering to hide my irritation.
He nodded, amused.
"What’s your favorite color?"
"Black."
Called it.
"Song?"
"None."
I raised a brow.
"Movie?"
"None."
"TV show?"
"Still none."
"Sport?"
"Pointless."
At least he changed it up.
"Book?"
"None."
I let out an exaggerated sigh. "What is wrong with you?"
His lips quirked, clearly enjoying my frustration. "What?"
"You’re messing with me," I muttered.
"I’m not," he said, but the sparkle in his eye told me otherwise.
Silence stretched between us as the glow of the pack house porch came into view. Then I asked, "So, are you not going to ask me?"
"I don’t need to. I already know," he said confidently.
I blinked, and he smirked down at me.
"Your favorite color is violet. You’re currently obsessed with that song Often by The Weeknd. Your favorite show is The Vampire Diaries. You don’t have a favorite sport, but you do have a favorite book." He paused, letting the anticipation hang between us. "Fifty Shades of Grey." He let the last one roll off his tongue with mock seriousness.
I wanted to die. Right there. Of embarrassment.
He wasn’t done.
"You also like that Christian guy," he added, his expression souring as he looked away. "The one from the book."
I bit my lip, trying not to laugh. He was jealous. Of a fictional character.
Hashtag Team Grey. Sorry, Zaliver.
Why did this always happen to me? One minute I was teasing, the next I was mentally writing my will.
"I’ll make you something to eat, then bed," he said, pushing open the front door and guiding us to the kitchen. He pulled out a chair, settled me in, and began gathering ingredients like it was routine. I glanced at the clock, 11:57. Not as late as I thought.
He acted like he didn’t care. Like he wasn’t opening up. But this? This had to be his way of showing he did, in his own cryptic, emotionally stunted, supernatural god-wolf way. I wanted to know more. I needed to. But the walls around him felt permanent.
Maybe it was about those other gods he mentioned. Maybe they were the reason he wouldn’t mark me yet. Why he’d dragged me to that lab to see if something was wrong with me, wrong for him.
I watched him move around the kitchen and decided that, for now, I’d take what he was willing to give.
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