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The boy had always been a temptation. From the first time he heard his heartbeat on a visit home from college, the draw had been there. He was circumspect in his enquiries, not drawing attention to what was happening simply because he wanted to keep it to himself, if only for a little longer.
The huge fuss made over Talia when she first met Kieran and recognised that his heart beat in time with hers was not something he wanted or needed. He preferred some privacy, a scarcity in a house full of supernatural creatures.
So he watched from afar as the boy grew up; became friends with the Hales through Cora; enjoyed the traces of his scent within the den from his frequent visits; the tales of his exploits. But still, he kept his distance, his new role in the pack requiring training that enabled him to avoid the meeting that he wished for with every fibre of his being yet kept putting off.
He listened with a slightly dented heart to tales of the boy and his slavish devotion to the red-headed goddess; exulted quietly when he outgrew that phase; fought his instincts when he heard of flirtation with his nephew; frowned when he observed how cavalierly he was treated by his so-called best friend; celebrated as his circle widened and he was appreciated.
From the shadows he kept him safe and happy: a quiet word ensured his mother’s illness was discovered and treated; judicious pressure on the right Hunter’s Guild member prevented the Argents descending and bringing havoc.
Clapped until his hands were sore at his sarcastic, insightful, humourous valedictorian speech; laughed fondly at his trip across the stage; steered the right people towards him on campus so that his Spark was noticed and nurtured. Arranged the apprenticeship with the cantankerous hedge witch that built on his reputation as his talents grew.
Yet for all his machinations, it was not he that manoeuvered the final meeting. A visit home when it should have been ‘safe’ and he was ambushed, discovered hiding on the patio from that delicious scent, that heartbeat.
“So we finally meet.” The voice is husky, the scent enticing directly from the source. A deep breath and he turns, ready to make a joke, a sarcastic comment. “How long were you going to make me wait for you?”
“Make you wait?” He is incredulous - it has never been about making him wait. It has always been about keeping his distance, keeping him safe.
“I’ve known you were for me since I was sixteen. Have you stopped running?” The tone was light but the hurt was there, the fear of rejection.
“Sweetheart!" The endearment comes unbidden but feels right on his tongue. "I was never running from you! I was running from the temptation to snatch you away before you had a chance to make a choice, to experience YOUR life. I never meant to cause you pain.”
“Kiss it better.”
It was worth the wait.