16. Wolf
It’s not watching as such, the way my eyes track her every movement, twitch, yawn, blink, breath, it’s more a needy, psychotic study.
Luna slept for days, only waking up to reach for me. Whimpers and pained cries disturbed her sleep, but she only woke through the silent moments, when the nightmares must have been at their worst. Her heart pounding, her eyes snapping open wide, and her hands clammy and clawing for me, the bed often wet.
It’s fucked up because I’m fucking living for these moments.
She needs me.
I’m sick.
Though, because of her terrible sleep patterns, I’ve had the bare fucking minimum myself. It’s why I sit out here now, on the front porch of the mortuary. Luna out cold inside, the door open at my back, the summer air catching on the breeze and rushing through the dark halls. I bring the blunt to my lips, inhaling slow and deep, my lungs filling with the expansion of my chest.
There’s nothing around here for miles. I bought up one-hundred-fifty hectares surrounding this place. I snapped it up for a good price too. The last owner died, his son wanted nothing to do with the property, I bought it, then started buying up all the land surrounding it.
Perfect for disposing of body parts.
It’s what we do, after all.
Specialise in.
The Blackwells.
Disposals.
It’s what my girl does too, ‘cleans up messes.’
Match made in hell.
I reach down to adjust my cock. It’s constantly fucking throbbing now. Not an issue I’ve had in the past, but even in the hospital, a fresh bullet hole through my fucking heart and I was poppin’ a fucking boner every time I thought of her.
I might be taking care of Luna. I might be nursing her back to health. I might be preparing to take out every last motherfucking cunt that ever looked at her wrong, let alone touched her.
Killed her.
But I still want her. In all the baser, carnal, sinfully depraved ways any Blackwell man wants the object of his obsession. I look at her lying there in that makeshift bed, my place at her side, an armchair pulled in from one of the many unused rooms for me to sleep in. I could put her in my bed, but I want her in there when I don’t have to restrain myself.
I’m not sure I could, even with her injured, even with her frightened and cowering at every unusual creak in the old stone building. So we’ll stay in the visitation room until it’s time.
She doesn’t like to be left alone. Even when she uses the bathroom, I wait outside, the door ajar, while she takes care of her business. But every few moments, she calls my name making sure I’m still right there, and blood shoots to my cock like a bolt of lightning.
Sticky-sweet smoke drifts from my nostrils, my exhale slow and drawn out because, fuck, it feels good to be sitting out here in the middle of the night without it fucking raining. July is right around the corner but summer is officially here.
The moon is big and round, shining high in the sky, a blanket of stars twinkling in the black. The smoke from my spliff climbs towards it, a thick white cloud obscuring my view for a moment. I think of my sister, Grace, probably outside too right now, at the mill, she always is on a night like tonight. Drawing my phone from my pocket, something she now has and uses, albeit occasionally, she often forgets she’s even got one and leaves it somewhere for the battery to die. But I send her a message all the same.
WOLF
You up?
GRACE
Yes.
Are you looking at the sky too?
She sends a picture of the moon, it’s blurred, the camera not held steady, a white blur across black, the tip of her finger over the bottom of the lens. But I smile at it, leaning back in the rocking chair, the wood creaking with every tilt backwards.
WOLF
Sure am, lots of stars tonight.
GRACE
So many.
How is she?
Sighing, I breathe deep, drop my head back against the high back of the chair, and continue to rock. Thinking about what to say. How to say it. Good. Not good. Totally dependent on me and I love it?
WOLF
Getting better. Goodnight, sis.
GRACE
Goodnight, Wolf.
Thumb over the lock button, I press it, letting the bright screen dim to black and repocket it in my loose joggers. Smoke floods my lungs, filling my chest, making it tight. I”m not a regular smoker, only having the occasional spliff to relax at night, but when I feel this good, this calm, my muscles loose and body boneless, it makes me wonder why it’s not a more regular thing, although lately it has been. It’s the only thing that sent me off to sleep over the last week.
“Wolf?” Luna’s dry voice calls out nervously, anxiety laced, her tone high.
Flinching, I snap upright in the chair, head whipping over my shoulder, eyes wide, peering into the darkness.
“I’m here,” I call back, readying to stand, but she appears then, in the mouth of the hall, her hand against the wall to keep her steady.
Her approach is slow, footsteps careful, her feet are still tender, but the bandages are off now, the splinters and shards of wood I removed weren’t too deep.
The decking is cool beneath my bare feet as I stand, moving towards her, intending to get her back into bed. She’s not been moving around without me at all since we arrived here ten days ago, but I think that’s more to do with wanting to need me as opposed to a physical thing.
“Hold on, I’m coming,” I tell her, stabbing out the joint, flicking the roach into the ashtray resting atop the railing of the porch.
“Can I come out there?” she asks, stilling her steps.
The house is in darkness, but the moon’s rays flare across the entrance hall, shadowing her movements just enough for me to make her out.
“With you, Wolf?”
That’s what gets me every time, her saying my fucking name, it’s like a shot of adrenaline stabbed directly into my heart.
“’Course you can,” I move towards her, her steps restarting, hand guiding her along the wall.
As soon as I reach her, nothing but the pitch darkness of my shadow falling over her, she lifts her gaze, and that icy, winter-blue stare daggers me through the chest.
Her hands find my biceps, long fingers smoothing up my arms, curling over my bare shoulders, she buries her face against my chest, nuzzling over my heart.
“I woke up and couldn’t find you.” Her breath feathers over my skin, goosebumps rippling across my flesh, my nipples pebbling. “I thought you left.”
She trembles against me, nothing but one of my t-shirt’s covering her body. It drapes over her like a tent, slipping off one shoulder, exposing the milky skin wrapped over the slope of her neck.
“I told you,” I exhale slowly, dragging in a deep lungful of her as I dip my nose to the crown of her head, my hands sliding up her back, “I’m never going to leave you, Luna.”
She exhales at that, her entire trembling body slumping against me, allowing me to draw her in closer, mould her body into the curl of mine as I arch over her, scooping her up into my arms bridal style.
Her legs hang limply over the crook of my elbow, crossing at the ankles, heels of her feet bumping against my outer thigh as I turn with her in my arms back to the open door. My feet move us towards the porch, the moonlight casting us in its glow, and I carry her back to where I was sitting, setting her in the wide rocking chair, placing myself on the floor at her feet.
“Were you smoking?” Luna asks me quietly, her voice never much more than a whisper.
A shiver works through her that I feel run down my spinal cord and into my coccyx where her shins press against my spine.
“I was,” I tilt my head back, letting it rest against the cap of her knee.
“It doesn’t smell…” she lifts her eyes from mine, staring off into the distance with a small frown.
“It doesn’t smell what, Luna?” I respond just as quietly.
I’ve been doing this all week, encouraging her, in these small moments where she offers me up something unfinished, like she’s remembering something but isn’t sure, to give me her full thought. And she struggles with it, as though that’s not something she’s ever been able to do before.
I had Thorne send me over everything he could find on her. Parents, home life, schooling, friends. Alarm bells screamed inside my head when I received the final report. It was only a page and a half long, and the home address was wrong. Raine is the better tech guy, but he’s still at Magpie Manor with Arrow doing only the devil knows what, so perhaps he will be able to find out more once he comes home. Until then, I only know what I did already, her name’s Luna Beaumont and she works at the hospital.
“Putrid,” she finishes wrinkling her nose.
A laugh barks out of me at that, my head knocking back into her bony knees, “And what does it smell like?” I ask curiously, watching the scrunch of her face melt away as her eyes once again find mine.
“Nice.”
“Nice?” I smile up at her. “You think weed smells nice?” I raise a brow, my smile curling my mouth.
She looks at me in that way that only Luna can, her expression blank, her eyes wide, but it tells me so many things, “Yes, better than cigars.”
Cigars.
“You smoke many of those in your time, baby girl?” I keep smiling wide, watching as she shudders at the endearment, but it feels false quickly, watching her eyes drop from mine, to her hands in her lap, like that statement means more to her than either her or I know.
“No,” she says blandly. Slowly, her eyes draw back to mine, lifted beneath heavy black lashes, she tucks a strand of inky hair behind her ear, “I don’t think so. I don’t think I know how.”
I lick my lips, reaching into my pocket, I pull the tin of ready-rolled joints out, flipping the lid and removing one. I look back up at her, gesturing with my head for her to come closer. She puts her bare feet onto the floor, my t-shirt slipping off of her slim shoulder further as she rests her hand against the back of my neck, climbing around to move in front of me.
Luna stands over me, the moon at her back, washing her alabaster skin in a silver-grey. It makes her appear ghoulish, a spectre, the moon a halo around her head. She stares down at me, the long expanse of her legs seemingly stretching on for days. The bruises are still deep. Dark purple and splotchy green, red-strawberry spots bleeding beneath the skin, but since the mockery of a second blood transfusion, my blood type fortunately O-Negative, she’s been doing okay. Better.
“Come here, Luna,” she looks down at my lap, eyes dragging up my bare chest, finally settling on my own. “Climb into my lap.”
She doesn’t hesitate, but her movements are slow, her body still achy, her hands, in particular, still tender. Fingers taped on each hand, bound together, immobilised to heal a broken knuckle on each fist.
Guiding her down, my calloused hands rough against the silky expanse of her thighs, she settles over my lap. Tightening herself close, threading her arms beneath my own, curling them around my ribs, fingers knotting in the centre of my spine.
She breathes me in deeply, her breasts brushing my chest through the thin cotton, and that’s when I feel it. Trying hard not to freeze as she squirms even closer, settling, but I know she feels when I lock up. The hot, hot heat of her cunt singes against my lower abs, bare against my skin.
“Luna.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispers, attempting to pull back from me, withdrawing into herself, shrinking and withering and dying.
“Do you not-” I lick my lips, trying not to be nervous around her about these little things she does unconsciously, so far, I haven’t liked any of them because of the meaning behind them. “Do you not feel comfortable wearing knickers?”
“Um, I- I’ll go and-”
“No,” I stop her, curling my arm around her back, drawing her in flusher, like a punishment to myself.
The feel of her hot flesh against the ladder of my abs is criminal, but the way she’s not looking at me now, stiff in my lap, feels worse than my own self control issues.
“Luna,” I lick my lips, “look at me.” Craning my head back to look at her. “You don’t have to wear underwear if you don’t want to.” Her crystal clear eyes flick between mine, shining with unshed tears. “But you are allowed to, if you want to. There’s no rules in this house to say otherwise. When it’s only me and you, you do whatever makes you comfortable,” I tilt my head to the side. “There’s no shame in this house, Luna,” I say softly, catching her dropped gaze, “okay?” I whisper, my free hand lifting to tip her face, my thumb to her chin.
“Okay, Wolf,” she whispers, my mouth slanted over hers, her breathy words feathering across my tongue.
“Do you want to tell me why you keep taking them off?”
She hesitates to put them on as well, it’s like a warring indecision in her after she gets out of a bath, an array of fresh clothes left out for her to choose from.
“You don’t have to tell me,” I smooth my hand over her head, keeping her face before mine, so I can see her.
She sucks on her lower lip, her eyes on the base of my throat, she swallows and heaves in a deep breath, “I keep thinking I”m not supposed to have them on.”
“Do you know why you think that?” I sweep my thumb down the side of her throat, eliciting a shiver in her.
“Just a feeling I get, like I’m not right,” she whispers.
“Not right?”
“Like I’m going to get punished for wearing them.”
“Thank you for telling me,” I kiss her forehead, my mind spinning, but the instinct to rage, to hit something, to scream, to pummel someone to death is overwhelming.
Smoothing my hand up her back, her long hair draping around us like a curtain, I offer her a smile, curling my fingers into the hair at the nape of her neck and tugging gently.
“Now,” I say, shifting so I’m more comfortable on the hard wooden decking, ignoring the feel of her pussy grinding against my stomach. “You wanna try this with me?” I ask her, holding up the unlit joint between us.
Her eyes track it, taking it in, and then she wets her lips, looking back to me, she nods, “Yes. What will it feel like?”
“Well, this bud in here doesn’t contain any THC, that’s the shit that gets you high, ‘kay?” I explain.
“Okay.”
“This stuff’ll just make you relax, you’ll get a lil sleepy and soft, it won’t make you dizzy or sick.”
“Okay.” Luna swallows, staring at the rolled joint between us, her knees around my waist squeezing against my ribs.
“I won’t ever let anything bad happen to you,” I whisper, tugging lightly on her hair, my thumb grazing her nape where my hand’s tangled in the underneath of her inky strands.
“I trust you.” She licks her lips, the words coming out automatically, zero hesitation as she eyes the joint.
The erratic pounding in my chest rattles my sternum, heart threatening to burst its way through as my heartbeat echoes dramatically in my eardrums. A cold chill slithers its way down my spine, the hot press of Luna’s cunt flush with my belly, the rest of her supple, soft skin moulded to my body. Draped over me like I’m a designer chair and she’s the model atop it for an expensive shoot.
I slip the joint between my lips, reaching up behind her to grasp the lighter from the railings, I spark it up, my lungs filling with sweet smoke as the embers burn bright. She keeps her eyes on my mouth, watching the part of my lips, the thick white smoke creeping out slowly between my teeth. It makes them feel numb, sensitive, then I part my lips fully, open my jaw and blow out the rest of the smoke into the warm breeze.
“You want to try? Or you want to shotgun it?”
She scrunches her brow, the pert tip of her straight nose crinkling, “Shotgun?” she questions, but I don’t explain, my cock like steel in my pants, selfishly, I just want her lips on mine.
I’ve regretted not stealing a kiss from her, all those times in the hospital I coulda done it, I think she woulda let me.
But I was waiting for her to come to me.
I move my hand in her hair, gripping the back of her neck tightly, tilting it back, instead, “Open your mouth, Little Moon.”
She gasps lightly, which is perfect as I inhale from the joint, and close my mouth over hers. Allowing the sticky-sweet skunk to pass between us. Her eyes are wide on mine, her lids drooping as some of the smoke filters slowly into her lungs, the rest of it I release into the darkness, my lips parting reluctantly from hers.
Eyes shining, she coughs a little, right in my face, making me curl my bottom lip in, mashing it between my teeth to suppress my grin.
“How’s that feel, baby?” I ask her roughly, my voice gruff, hand clasped over the nape of her neck massaging the tight muscles there.
Her body melts into mine, her hips shifting and grinding her pussy against me. We both freeze then, as I take another toke of the weed, my hand stilling on the back of her neck, thumb digging into muscle.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers, glancing down between us, but she doesn’t move, as my gaze, too, drops between us.
Even in the dark, I see it, the colour in her cheeks, beneath the blanket of stars, the moonlight falling across us, her shadow the only thing between us, but the ladder of my abs are now shiny and slick with her arousal. And I know she can feel my cock digging against her arse cheek, but she makes no move away from it, and I’m still holding the marijuana smoke in my lungs as she finally lifts her eyes to mine, her teeth gnawing on her lip.
Her small hands drop from the back of my neck to the space between us, slipping down my bare chest leaving goosebumps in her wake. Her long fingers fiddle with the hem of the black t-shirt of mine she wears, some of her fingers taped up because of her broken knuckles. Something I still have guilt about, but in this moment, when she drops her head to mine, our combined breaths coming hard and fast between us, both of them tinged with smoke, I move first.