MOONLIT CHASE

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Chapter 5 DECADENT

Ezra's POV

I stayed in the room for the rest of the day, Kiernan bringing me lunch and dinner— actual food, not the instant ramen I usually ate. Kieran informed me he'd called my professors and my bosses, explained I was sick, and arranged for makeup tests and, somehow, paid leave.

"I told them you have the flu,” he said causally, like he hadn't actually pulled off a miracle. Two weeks of medical leave."

"How did you get them to make it paid?" I whispered, almost in awe.

I had never been able to get paid leave, not even when sleepily placed my hand into still, but scalding oil.

"You're welcome," was all he said.

I wanted to argue but I stopped myself almost immediately. I was basically getting paid to lay down and heal. There was nothing to complain about, except I wouldn't be able to call Sienna and talk to her. I didn't want to put her in danger.

The next day I felt good enough to move around. Breakfast was ready by the time I dragged myself out of the room then Kieran suggested a tour and I agreed.

His penthouse was ridiculous. Wide, spacious, with the classic warm colours and plush furniture, plants that reached for the tall ceiling and subtle accents of gold peeking out from design elements.

I took it in absentmindedly, walking behind him as he led me from room to room, until he pushed the last door at the end of the hallway open. I went to walk in, as usual, but ground to a halt at the door.

"You have an art room," I said, blinking at it all.

But actually it looked like a bedroom set up with the art supplies of my dreams. Supplies like easels, canvas, professional-grade paints stored the space. It was the first room that didn't have its windows closed and the natural lighting that came in was mouthwatering.

"You paint. You'll go insane with nothing to do."

"How did you—"

"I researched you." He said this like it wasn't creepy. "You're an art student. And you have it on your art page that you paint to process stress."

I didn't know whether to be grateful or disturbed.

“Your art is very good, by the way.”

And then he walked out, giving me his broad back as I grappled with the warm feelings his consideration lit up in my chest.

The day after I met Julius. I had my legs folded up on the couch watching TV, fascinated that it didn't just sometimes go off like the one back at the apartment when Kieran opened the door for a tall, hulking man to duck in.

His eyes lingered on me curiously before he followed Kiernan to the kitchen. He came over, apparently for a ‘strategy session’ about the hunters, but mostly he just looked at me like I was a fascinating specimen.

"So you're him," Julius said, when Kiernan walked away to use the bathroom.

"The hostage, yes."

Julius chuckled, looking pleasantly surprised at my words. "And you're a werewolf too," I said.

He nodded. “What gave me away?”

Julius was easier to be around than Kieran but he was also massive, clearly dangerous, and had the same amber eyes that sometimes glowed.

"The fact that Kieran lets you into his home. He doesn't seem like the friendly type."

"He's not." Julius leaned forward on the counter. “But he's also not the monster he pretends to be."

“Right,” I said, turning back to the TV. "I'm not planning on staying long enough to find out."

I didn't know he had heard me until he said. "We'll see.”

That night again, I couldn't sleep well. I wasn't used to comfortable beds or quiet apartments, and the silence was almost oppressive.

I got up, wandered to the living room, and found Kieran standing at the windows, staring out at the city.

"Can't sleep?" he asked without turning around.

I debated whether I should lie, get a drink of water and go back to tossing and turning. “Nope.”

He nodded, and gestured me closer with his head. For some reason, walking closer to him right now, when all of him— wolf and man— seemed mellow, didn't feel like such a bad idea.

We stood there, and the silence intensified. I was always in two states of mind about this man. For one, I knew what he was; a wealthy cutthroat businessman and a fucking werewolf. I should keep my distance, because both parts of him could rip me to shreds.

And yet… there was something pulling me to him, a gentle tugging that kept whispering just how warm it would be to lean against him as the wind blew in from the window. It wasn't even because somehow, when I looked at him I could see every part of him that made him such a gorgeous man. There was something more underneath and I couldn't really explain it.

It scared me.

I was a rational man. And more importantly, I had known men who felt like they were above the law. They were not kind men.

"Why are you really doing this?" I whispered, hoping he didn't hear the little tremor in my voice. I wanted to go home, I did but I couldn't help but think that he wouldn't be in my home.

He looked at me and I wanted to reach out and yank his eyes out of his head so they could stop catching the moonlight as they stared at me.

“You could have just killed me that night in the park and been done with it."

I’d had enough time to think about it. He obviously had no qualms about slitting throats and no one would have been the wiser. Instead I was in his penthouse watching his TV and eating his food.

He shrugged. "You were innocent."

"You killed those hunters."

"They weren't innocent, they would have killed me if I hadn't acted first." Kieran moved closer. "You just had really bad timing."

Maybe it was because it was night but this time I couldn't stop myself from thinking about just how good he smelled, yummy like a little treat.

It reminded me of when I first came to the city after being hidden, shipped around like a bag of rice, how I'd had very little money but I'd ducked into a small bakery and bought a slice of decadent vanilla cake, made sweeter by the fact that for the first time in months I was the safest I had been.

He smelled like that. Underneath the musk of man, he smelled like if I’d had that cake underneath an orange tree, content and at peace.

God, I was really scared. What the fuck did I do about all of this, really?

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