Page 33 of Beckett's Fate
12
IRENE
The door to the Bristlecone Bed & Breakfast creaked open, the warm light from the entryway spilling out onto the porch. Irene stepped inside, glancing back as Beck held the door for her, his broad frame silhouetted against the night. He glanced at her, holding her gaze for a heartbeat longer than necessary.
“Safe and sound,” he said, his deep voice rumbling softly.
Irene nodded, her lips twitching into the faintest hint of a smile. “Thanks to you. Again.”
Beck didn’t respond immediately, his gaze sweeping over her as though assuring himself that she was truly unharmed. After the slightest hesitation, he stepped inside and closed the door behind them. The click of it closing echoed in the quiet entryway, and Irene felt some of the knots between her shoulders ease slightly.
She started toward the stairs, her boots barely making a sound on the polished wood floor. The night had been exhausting, physically and emotionally, and all she wanted now was the solitude of her room and the comfort of her bed.
As she reached the foot of the stairs, she paused, glancing back at Beck. He stood a few steps behind her, his arms crossedover his chest, his expression unreadable. The sharp lines of his face were softened by the warm light of the entryway, but his presence was as commanding as ever.
“Good night,” Irene said softly, unsure why her voice had dropped to a whisper.
Beck gave a small nod. “Night.”
She turned and ascended the stairs, her boots tapping lightly against the wood. When she reached the top, she hesitated, something pulling her to glance back.
Beck was still there, standing at the bottom of the stairs, his intense gaze fixed on her. The quiet weight of his presence made her pulse quicken, though she wasn’t entirely sure why.
“Are you waiting for something?” she asked, her tone carrying a faint edge of humor to mask her sudden nervousness.
His lips curved into a small, knowing smile. “Just making sure you get to your room.”
Irene rolled her eyes, but the gesture lacked her usual bite. “I think I can manage. I’m pretty sure Ruby has a rule against boogeymen.”
“Good to know,” Beck said, his voice tinged with amusement. “If she doesn’t, I know for a fact her mate does.” He stepped back toward the door, his movements slow and deliberate. “Good night, Irene.”
“Good night, Beck.”
She lingered for a moment longer, watching as he opened the front door and stepped back into the darkness. The soft sound of the door clicking shut behind him reverberated through the stillness, leaving her alone with her thoughts.
Shaking her head, Irene turned and made her way down the hallway to her room. Her mind was still racing, a whirlwind of emotions she couldn’t quite pin down. Beck’s words, his touch, his kiss—all of it lingered in her mind, vivid and consuming.
Once inside her room, she closed the door and leaned against it, slowly exhaling. The room was dim, the faint glow of moonlight filtering through the curtains casting soft shadows on the walls.
Her body felt heavy, a mix of exhaustion and arousal settling deep in her muscles. She shrugged out of her jacket and tossed it onto the chair by the window, then kicked off her boots. The small ensuite bathroom beckoned, and she made her way to the shower, craving the cold water to calm her restless thoughts.
The icy spray hit her skin like a shock, but she welcomed it, letting the chill seep into her bones. She braced her hands against the cool tile, her head bowed as the water sluiced over her body, washing away the grime of the night—and the heat that had ignited between her and Beck.
She couldn’t deny the pull she felt toward him, the way his presence seemed to consume the air around her. It was maddening and exhilarating all at once, and no amount of cold water could drown out the memory of his lips on hers, the strength of his arms around her.
“Get it together,” she muttered to herself, her voice barely audible over the spray of the shower.
When she finally stepped out, her skin was damp, and gooseflesh prickled along her arms. She dried off quickly and pulled on a loose shirt and a pair of shorts, the soft fabric a comforting contrast to the cool night air that seeped through the old walls of the B&B.
Irene crawled into bed, the sheets cool against her skin as she pulled the blankets up to her chin. The room was silent save for the faint creak of the old house settling around her.
But even as her body begged for rest, her mind refused to quiet. Beck’s confession replayed in her head, his words reverberating through her like a drumbeat.
You’re my fated mate.
The impact of those words seeped into her bones, impossible to ignore. She wanted to dismiss it, to brush it off as some overblown instinct. But deep down, she couldn’t deny the truth in his voice—or the way her own wolf stirred at the thought.
Sleep came slowly, her thoughts a tangled web of questions and emotions. And as she drifted off, her dreams were filled with the same intense blue eyes, the same quiet strength, the same undeniable pull that tied her to Beckett Grey, and she imagined a far different scenario out on the porch.