He doesn’t want to believe it. That voice. He hasn’t heard it in ten years.
The scent is the same, just the way he remembers it. Almost like she’s still with him, standing right next to him.
“You died. You’re not real.”
His voice is breaking because this, this, there’s no way this is real.
“Derek please,” the pleading in her voice is so hard to resist.
It’s taking everything he’s got to not turn around and look. Because if he does, if he does that, then everything he’s worked so hard to lock away, to bottle up inside, everything he’s fought to keep control of will break through his shields and consume him.
The voice of an Alpha is hard to resist. After all this time, all these years, she can still make him do whatever she wants with just the sound of her voice. He turns slowly, dreading what he’ll see.
The last time he saw eyes that particular shade of bright green staring at him so intensely was when Laura dared him to dive off that eighty year old oak in Brooklyn. Everything in him is screaming in utter disbelief. Every last instinct is telling him to run, that this is some kind of trick…but he-he can’t.
Her face is still that confusing mix of hardness and home that used to comfort him always, but the hardness softens as their eyes lock and the corners of her mouth tremble. She still looks the same, right down to the scar over her top lip where Laura clipped her that one time after she first shifted.
“It’s me baby, I’m home…”
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