<h4>Chapter 20: Chapter 20: TOUCH STARVED</h4>


    <strong>MAEVE’S POV</strong>


    Lydia’s room felt too damn small. Too fucking tight for him to be standing this close.


    The air was thick with the stench of herbs, dried tonic, and whatever was rotting beneath the surface of this family.


    The walls pressed in, as though they wanted to trap me with him.


    "What’s that supposed to mean?" Ivan scoffed, eyes hardened to a re. "What does Serena have to do with the fact that you kept Asha away from me for five years?"


    My jaw clenched before the words hissed out.


    "Everything." I swallowed the rest. "But like I said—you should ask her yourself. I’m sure she has plenty to say."


    His head shook, his gaze tightening, eyes narrowing like I was some child making excuses again. That same look he always gave me when he wanted to y righteous.


    "You never change, do you?" he said, like he pitied me. "Always twisting the story. Always ying the victim."


    The bitterugh scraped out of my throat before I could stop it.


    "The victim? You really have the fucking audacity to stand here and say that to me? After everything?"


    "You think hiding my son from me for five years makes you the hero? Your big self-righteous sacrifice?" His voice sharpened dangerously, an usatory edge following right after. "Don’t pretend you did this for anyone but yourself."


    "You don’t get to lecture me about sacrifice!" I stepped toward him, chest heaving, pulse on fire. "Where were you when I needed you, Ivan? When you threw me aside like nothing? Like I was trash? When you believed I lost the baby and wasted no time recing both of us?"


    "You fucking disappeared. You left, Maeve. You made that choice."


    "Because you made it impossible for me to stay!" I fired back. "You wanted to believe the worst of me. You wanted an excuse to move on. And you found it. Convenient, wasn’t it?"


    His breathing quickened. His jaw clenched harder. His anger was burning right under that dangerously controlled mask of his — the one that always cracked when I got too close to the truth.


    "I would’ve imed him. I would’ve raised him. You stole that from me."


    I stepped closer. We were toe to toe now. My voice dropped but every word was a de.


    "No. I protected him. You wouldn’t have protected either of us. Not from her. Not from your mother. Not from anyone."


    "You don’t know that. You think you’re the only one who was hurt?" His voice dropped into something darker, heavier. "You think you’re the only one who lost something? I lost my son. I lost all the time I needed to be in his life, be a part of his growth, of his memories. You never gave me that chance."


    "You didn’t deserve the chance! You proved that long before Asha was even born, you bastard."


    The air between us charged— rushing hot and sour and electric. Lydia’s shallow breaths sounded behind me, but I barely heard her.


    I needed to leave this room. Leave being in this small space with him. It had barely been 24 hours, and he was already draining my sanity.


    I was about to pick up my stuff and leave, then he moved.


    Ivan grabbed my arm suddenly, pulling me into him with force that knocked the breath out of me. His heat pressed against mine, stealing space I didn’t give him.


    "Don’t you dare walk away from me." His voice was low, rough — that dangerous edge sitting right under the surface. "We’re not done with this conversation."


    My chin tipped up automatically, my pulse hammering inside my head.


    "I’ll do whatever the hell I want. You don’t get to control me anymore."


    His eyes darkened. That glint — that thing that always sat between hate and want — snapped in his gaze.


    "Since when did you get so damn headstrong?" His voice rasped. "You’re fucking impossible."


    "Haha, well, that sounds like a you problem."


    "So, what? What’s your big n? You want me gone? Out of my son’s life? Is that it?" His voice came clipped, breath hot against my cheek. "Fucking tell me."


    "I want you gone, Ivan." My chest heaved, the words ripping straight out of me. "Not just out of Asha’s life. Out of mine. You repulse me."


    His jaw locked, hard. For a second, he just stared at me, like the words cut exactly where they were meant to.


    Like he was weighing how much more he could take before snapping.


    But Ivan never snapped the way normal men did. Instead, he leaned in.


    That sharp edge in his eyes shifted, turning into something far worse. Something dangerous. Something I hated him for.


    His hand moved before I could prepare for it, sliding up into my hair, fingers curling through the strands. Possessive. Delicately.


    I froze, caught off guard.


    My stomach twisted. My throat tightened. My scalp prickled from the graze of his touch, from that thing within that wanted to rip me apart in order to lean deeper into it.


    "Did you cut your hair?" The rasp in his voice was low, oddly soft and surprised.


    "What?" My re stayed sharp, alert, suspicious, but my body had already betrayed me.


    "It used to be much longer," he continued, his fingers sliding slowly through my curls, like he had all the time in the world to touch me. "Long and silky. But now, you’ve got curls. It suits you."


    "W-What?" I rasped, again, thrownpletely off bnce by the sudden shift in his tone.


    Ten seconds ago, we were locked in a brutal fight, spitting usations and poison, and now his hand was buried deep in my hair, stroking me with that dangerous familiarity I hated myself for responding to.


    What the fuck? How did Ivan go from throwing daggers at me toplimenting my damn hair? How had he managed to do so? Why was he even doing this?


    And the worst part—the part that made my stomach tingle and heat curl in my gut—was how much my wolf was enjoying it.


    She surged forward, ws scraping at the inside of my chest, restless, eager, greedy for his touch.


    It was as if she had her own mind, dragging me with her, forcing my body to lean into him despite every rational part of me screaming not to.


    "How is it possible for you to be so infuriating and yet so—" his voice dropped, thickened, rough and smooth at once, that deep rumble vibrating straight through me like a pulse.


    I shivered, unable to stop it, my entire body reacting before my mind could catch up.


    "What? I don’t—" I stammered, my voice catching as my breath hitched.


    I couldn’t even form a coherent sentence, too disoriented by the heat crawling beneath my skin. My eyes darted up to his, wide, calcting, searching, but it was useless.


    Whatever this was, it had already spiraled beyond my control. Our wolves were circling each other, and deep down, I knew it wasn’t just me fighting anymore.


    The pull between us was primal, wild, and horrifyingly familiar. The curse of the mate bond. And I didn’t know how to stop it. I wasn’t even sure I wanted to.


    It was such an addictive feeling.


    Ivan’s hand moved again, slower this time, as if testing how far I’d let him go.


    His fingers brushed my lips like he owned it. Like he was already imagining what it would feel like wrapped around something else.


    I should’ve stopped him. I didn’t.


    My pulse punched hard, my thighs pressed together, and still—still—I let him graze, linger. That slow, teasing drag of his thumb over my bottom lip like he wanted to memorize, or better yet, remembered exactly what it tasted like.


    And then he leaned, eyes darkened and heavy and desperate, crashing into my lips with a filthy, touch-starved hunger that drowned my gasp in a single second.