CHAPTER 217: WHY

Chapter 217

Nima

I don’t know why I did that.

I don’t know why I kissed Daphne.

So when the heat of it burned through me and I was too embarrassed to face her, I shifted into my animal form.

Now I’m trapped.

She’s holding me against her cheek, and I struggle, kicking my small paws, but she doesn’t let go. My fur brushes her skin, and the warmth of her breath tickles my ear.

Her hand strokes my back gently, like I’m some fragile thing she needs to soothe, when all I want is to vanish into the floor.

I push, squirm, anything to get free. But her arms only tighten.

"Stop wriggling," she murmurs, voice low and soft, the kind of voice that makes my chest ache.

I don’t stop. I can’t.

Because if I stop moving, if I stop kicking or wriggling or trying to squirm free, then I’ll remember. I’ll remember the kiss. The heat of her mouth. The way I leaned forward first.

So I thrash, tiny legs pumping, claws pressing uselessly against her chest. She only laughs softly, like my desperation is nothing more than a game, like I’m the cutest thing she’s ever seen.

She shifts, carrying me over to the bed like I weigh less than a pillow, settling back against the silk sheets with me firmly pinned to her chest. My body sinks into the soft swell of her, warm and unyielding. She pets me with maddening care, strokes brushing down my spine in slow, deliberate passes, equal parts gentle and possessive.

"Look at how cute you are," she murmurs, as if she can’t quite believe it herself. Her voice vibrates through her chest, into me, making it impossible not to hear her from the inside out.

I bury my face against her arm, trying to hide. But she shifts me easily, cradling me in one hand while the other lifts one of my front paws.

"Oh my god," she gasps softly, eyes bright, "you’re not all white. Look at this little brown patch here."

I twist, trying to yank my paw away, but she doesn’t budge. Her hold is careful, yes—but it’s unshakable. I might as well be a toy in her grasp.

"I was curious," she continues, running her thumb gently over the spot of brown fur, "because you have such a pretty shade of brown hair. And your fur, it’s all white... but look at this." She smiles, enchanted, like she’s discovered buried treasure.

Her fingertip strokes over the tiny patch again, again, as though she’s memorizing it. My stomach flips at the attention, heat crawling up my ears. I wriggle harder, but she presses me more securely to her chest, chin lowering until her cheek brushes over the top of my head.

I give up struggling. My tiny paws curl inward, my ears flop forward, and I bury my face into the warmth of her chest like maybe, just maybe, if I hide deeply enough, she’ll forget about me. I won’t twitch. I won’t kick. I won’t give her even the satisfaction of a single reaction.

It’s a different tactic—one that has worked plenty of times before. If I go still, people usually lose interest. They stop looking too closely. They stop asking questions.

But Daphne isn’t "people."

Her fingers, feather-light and maddeningly slow, stroke down my back, over the twitch of my shoulders. She doesn’t let me slip away from the attention. She cups me closer, her chin brushing the top of my head.

"I could go on and on about how cute you are all night," she says, her voice low, velvet smooth, with that awful little curl of amusement at the edges.

"But I think we have something to talk about."

My ears flatten instantly. I burrow harder, nose pressed into her silk blouse, hiding where I can, refusing to meet her eyes.

"What’s this?" she coos softly. "You shy, my little bunny?"

I don’t answer, obviously. Not with words. But my heart thuds, traitorously fast.

She chuckles, the sound vibrating against my small body where I’m pressed against her chest. One of her fingers hooks gently under my chin, tilting my face up despite my desperate attempt to resist. She’s not cruel with it. She’s careful, tender, but she doesn’t let me hide.

"Hmm," she muses as though speaking to herself. "You think if you sit there, all quiet and still, I’ll just let you go? No, bunny. Not after that kiss."

I squeeze my eyes shut, ears heating. Still, she keeps petting me, as though she’s got all the time in the world. And maybe she does.

"Why did you kiss me hmmn?"

Her voice lands like a blade—gentle in tone, sharp in meaning.

I freeze. My ears flick backward, and my little body curls tighter into the fabric of her shirt. I can feel the steady thrum of her heartbeat under my cheek, calm where mine is erratic, wild.

She doesn’t let go. Her hand lingers at my back, stroking softly, almost coaxing. "Was it an accident?" she asks. "Or..." Her thumb brushes over the patch of fur that always makes me shiver. "...or did you mean it?"

I don’t react, just bury my head deeper against her, as if hiding hard enough will erase what I did. I don’t know why I kissed her. Maybe I do, but I’m not ready to admit it—not to her, not even to myself.

"Ignoring me, hmmn?" she murmurs, amused.

I stay still, hoping silence will protect me.

Her tone shifts, low and deliberate. "If you won’t respond then..."

The gentle fingers stroking my fur sharpen into claws. The scrape of them down my back makes my heart stutter violently, a different kind of panic clawing through my chest.

Fear. Real, primal fear.

I shift before I can stop myself. One blink and I’m human again, desperate, shaking—anything but prey in her hands.

And instantly regret it.

Because now I’m not a bunny. I’m me—human again, trembling, sprawled half on her chest, skin pressed to silk. And I’m naked.