"Riot! Hey, slow down, dammit! RIOT!"
My yelling does nothing to slow his pace. He's on a mission and no force can stop him. He pulls me out of the building and onto the front steps where I finally yank his arm hard enough to get the hint across.
"Are you good?" I ask, raising an eyebrow.
Riot stands at the edge of the stone stairs, both of his hands in his hair. With the suit jacket straining against his taut shoulders, it reminds just how out of place he really is.
It's midnight by now. Down below, the street lamps create golden spheres in the dark. The city seems empty all besides a lit up window here and there.
"No. I'm not." He says, dropping his hands to his sides hopelessly.
I take a tentative step forward.
"Riot, I-"
"How do you do this," He asks, looking out over the city.
"Do what?"
"Have this affect on me," he turns around, "Everything you do it makes me feel something. It's controlling." He spits the last word with spite, like the very thought of it on his tongue disgusts him.
Through the night I can still make out his features. The high cheekbones and the tiny scar cutting through his eyebrow. The roguish bit of stubble that covers his razor sharp jaw. The copper color of his eyes— meaning that for once his wolf isn't clawing at the surface.
"Maybe I'm just controlling," I say softly, taking another step, "Or maybe you're just easily controlled." I almost laugh at the irony of that statement.
Everything about him screams defeat. From his disheveled hair to his slumping shoulders and desperate looking face.
"Can I...?" He trails off, his voice strained. He doesn't want to ask, and when he does he acts as though he's ashamed for it.
"Of course." I hold out my hand, lacing it with his. He pulls me closer.
I lay my head on his collarbone and wrap my arms around him. He returns the hug, pressing our bodies flush against each other.
That's how he's been coping for the past week or so. By touch. Every time his wolf starts to flare up he has to come and touch me in the smallest of ways. That's all it takes to satisfy the only part of himself that he can't control.
It almost makes sense. For once in history, Riot Sydney almost makes sense. Being controlled is what he hates the most. It's what he loathes. And because of this, he can't even control himself.
I don't mind it though. Besides the fact, I'm happy to feel the sparks between us, too.
"When someone else so much as looks at you, it bothers me. When I saw him near you... touching you..." he growls. My heart pounds so rapidly in my chest that I think it might break a rib.
Riot is finally accepting what he feels. Finally acknowledging it. But why now? After fighting it for so long.
"Hey." I pull back, raising my hand to caress his cheek with my thumb. "I had it under control." I can't help but to grin at the line.
"I don't think you did," he says huskily. I notice his eyes fixed on my lips, their color darkening. His head starts to lower down, creeping closer to mine. I find my chin raising on its own.
YOU ARE READING
The Exiled Alpha | ✓
Werewolf"It's like he's a different breed of werewolf. Something... beyond us." • • • Adrienne Gage has spent her entire life being shunned and punished for her mouthy attitude, and being loyal to a pack which doesn't deserve her loyalty. It's been a year...
