Wolf Fated

Chapter Five

Sarah

Cindi doesn”t linger once we reach the door to my room. With a warm smile and a gentle pat on the arm, she hands me the key and wishes me a good night”s rest, leaving me to my own devices.

As soon as the door clicks shut behind her, I let out a long, shuddering breath, the weight of the day”s events crashing down upon me. My bag slips from my shoulder, landing on the plush carpeting with a muffled thud as I take in my surroundings.

The room is cozy and inviting, with a queen-sized bed draped in crisp linens and a plush duvet. A small sitting area nestled in the corner beckons with overstuffed armchairs and a quaint little coffee table, while a door leading off to the side hints at an en-suite bathroom.

It”s a far cry from the sterile, impersonal hotel rooms I”ve grown accustomed to, and I can”t help but feel a sense of relief wash over me. For the first time in what feels like an eternity, I can allow myself to relax, to let my guard down and simply exist without the weight of the world bearing down upon me.

With movements fueled by sheer force of will, I strip out of my clothes, leaving a trail of discarded garments in my wake. As I reach for the well-worn T-shirt and sleep shorts tucked away in my bag, a pang of bitterness lances through me.

These were the clothes that Mark had deemed ”unacceptable,” his sneering words echoing in my mind like a cruel taunt. ”You”re too fat to wear that, Sarah. It”s unflattering and makes you look like a slob.”

Tears prick my eyes as I remember the sting of his words, the way they had cut me to the core and reinforced every insecurity I”ve ever harbored about my body. But as I slip into the soft, worn fabric, I can”t help but feel a sense of defiance well up within me.

No more. I”m done letting his cruelty dictate how I live my life, how I view myself. These clothes are comfortable, familiar, and they”re mine to wear however I damn well please.

With a newfound sense of determination, I crawl beneath the plush duvet, reveling in the way the mattress seems to mold itself to my curves. Exhaustion weighs heavily upon me, and within moments, I drift off into the welcoming embrace of slumber.

But even as the tendrils of sleep claim me, my dreams take on a strange, unsettling quality. I find myself running through a dense forest, the trees looming overhead like silent sentinels as I weave between their gnarled trunks.

The sound of howls echoe all around me, haunting and untamed and send shivers of fear racing down my spine. I can sense them closing in, these unseen hunters, their hot breath ghosting against my neck as they draw ever nearer.

Just as I feel the first brush of fur against my skin, the dream shifts, and suddenly, a massive russet wolf lopes beside me. He”s magnificent, with a thick coat that glows in the dappled sunlight and intelligent eyes that regard me with an intensity that borders on reverence.

As our gazes lock, that same inexplicable sense of familiarity washes over me, a bone-deep recognition that steals my breath away. And then, just as suddenly as it began, the dream shatters, and I”m jolted back into wakefulness, my heart thundering in my chest and my body drenched in a cold sweat.

For a disorienting moment, I can”t catch my breath, the weight of the dream lingering like a shroud around my shoulders. But gradually, reality reasserts itself, and I become aware of the soft mattress beneath me, the gentle caress of the morning sunlight filtering through the curtains.

With a groan, I roll onto my back, scrubbing a hand over my face as I try to make sense of the jumbled images and sensations that still cling to the edges of my consciousness. What the hell was that all about?

Before I can dwell on it further, my body calls for its morning coffee. With a sigh, I throw back the covers and swing my legs over the side of the bed, my mind already turning toward the prospect of finding some much-needed sustenance.

I look around the room and can’t remember what Cindi said about amenities and my stomach falls when I don’t see anything in the room. Maybe there’s a central kitchen where guests can help themselves somewhere along the corridor?

As I make my way to the door, I can”t help but feel self-conscious. I’m only dressed in my sleep clothes, but one glance outside tells me it’s early. Probably too early for other guests to be up and one cup is all I need before I step in the shower and leave town for another day on the road.

I pause with my hand on the doorknob, steeling my resolve before pulling it open and stepping out into the empty corridor. It feels strange, but the need for coffee before leaving town and driving all day is too overwhelming. I’ll need a dose of caffeine in my system before I do that, and preferably as strong as possible.

I pad down the silent corridor, my arms instinctively crossing over my chest as a self-conscious flush steals over me. The thin fabric of my sleep shirt does little to conceal the pebbling of my nipples in the cool air, a fact that has my teeth sinking into my lower lip as I try in vain to preserve some sense of modesty.

It”s a futile effort, I know, but old habits die hard. Years of Mark”s sneering comments and disdainful glances have left their mark, eroding my confidence and cementing the belief that my body is something to be ashamed of, something to be hidden away from prying eyes.

”Those tits are obscene,” he”d sneer, his gaze raking over my ample curves with undisguised disgust. ”Can”t you do something about them? They”re gross.”

The memory sends a fresh wave of bitterness washing over me, and I have to fight back the urge to curl in on myself, to shrink and disappear from sight.

How did I not see who he was before that night?

Still, the silence of the empty corridor is unnerving, and I can”t help but wonder if I”m the only guest currently occupying the hotel. The thought is both reassuring and unsettling, a strange dichotomy of emotions that leaves me feeling off-kilter and adrift.

As I round the corner and descend the stairs to the main floor, the rich, inviting aroma of freshly brewed coffee assaults my senses, sending my taste buds into a frenzy of anticipation. My steps quicken, driven by a need for that first, glorious hit of caffeine to kick-start my system.

The scent grows stronger as I near what I assume must be the kitchen. Without a second thought, I grasp the handle and push open the door, already envisioning the steaming mug of bliss that awaits me.

What I”m not prepared for is the sight that greets me.

He”s leaning against the counter, one hand curled around a mug of his own as he stares out the window, his broad back to me. Even from this angle, his presence is undeniable, a palpable force that fills every inch of the room with a suffocating intensity.

As the door swings open, he tenses, his shoulders squaring as he turns to face me. And then, our gazes collide, and the world shifts on its axis.

Heat blooms in the pit of my stomach, an insistent ache that has my thighs clenching instinctively as desire courses through my veins like liquid fire. For a moment, we simply stare at each other, the air between us crackling with a tangible tension. His gaze rakes over me, lingering on the curves barely concealed by my skimpy sleep clothes and it’s not disgust that flares in the depths of his eyes. It’s heated interest. A flush creeps up my neck and into my cheeks.

Part of me wants to shrink away, to flee from the intensity of his regard and the confusing riot of emotions it stirs within me. But another part, a deeper, more rudimentary part, wants nothing more than to step closer, to bask in the scorching heat of his presence and surrender to the raw need that simmers beneath the surface.

“Oh. I’m so sorry. I was looking for…” Just as I”m about to turn and bolt, to retreat to the safety of my room, he moves. It”s a subtle shift, a mere flexing of his powerful frame, but it”s enough to stop me in my tracks.

”Good morning,” he rumbles, his voice a deep, gravelly baritone that reverberates in the very depths of my soul.

The words are innocuous enough, a simple greeting, but the way he says them, the weight and timbre of his tone, transforms them into something else entirely. A promise, perhaps. Or a challenge.

I swallow hard, my throat suddenly dry as I struggle to find my voice. ”I didn’t mean to intrude, I was just looking for…” I manage, the words emerging as a breathless rasp. My gaze skitters around. The kitchen is cozy with plates and jars scattered over a bench bulging with food.

His lips quirk, a ghost of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth as he regards me with those smoldering eyes. His gaze drops to my lips, lingering there for a heartbeat before flicking back up to meet my eyes. ”Let me guess. Coffee?”

Oh god, he’s gorgeous.

“This isn’t a guest kitchen, is it? I’ll go back to my room. I guess I didn’t see the kettle or amenities in there.” I’m mortified. I need to get out of here and yet my feet remain glued to the floor. Through sheer force of will, I move one foot over the threshold.

“No! Stay.” I’m hit with words that hold weight and I can’t move another inch. It”s not a request, but a command, one that resonates deep within me. Dominant. That’s the right word. I don’t understand why I think that, but it sits on his shoulders with the weight of rightness.

Suddenly, the room seems far too warm, the air too thick. Around me is a fragrance of a field filled with wildflowers. And that scent.

That scent is coming from me.

I’ve never smelt like this before. Mark always said I smelt of stale sweat. Well, what did he expect when I worked sixteen hours a day? But the sheriff’s nostrils flare and all thoughts of Mark disappear. My stomach churns, delicious thoughts of the sheriff vanishing.

“What were you thinking just then?” he says.

I blink up at him, stunned by the sudden shift in his demeanor. From sultry to skull-crushing in a millisecond. “Wh…what?”

He straightens, pushing away from the counter and taking a single, deliberate step toward me and I’m aware of his heady blend of sandalwood and musky masculinity. “You were distressed. Tell me who I have to put in line to make it right.”

“N…no one. Nothing.” There’s no way he could know what I was thinking and the last thing I’m going to do is have a conversation with a stranger about the man who ripped my heart out.

As he leans in, his breath ghosts over the shell of my ear, sending shivers racing down my spine. ”It will never be nothing. Not with you,” he rumbles, his voice a low, sensual purr that vibrates to the depths of my core.

His broad frame towers over me as he reaches past to grasp the handle of the coffeepot. Our bodies are inches apart, the heat radiating from him scorching my bare limbs. The power in those coiled limbs throbs with a leashed strength that makes my mouth water.

He pulls back, his smoldering gaze holding mine captive as he pours a steaming mug of coffee and extends it toward me. “Here. Drink. You’re welcome to come in here and have as many cups as you like. As well as anything you might want to eat.”

This man is dangerous.

He’s a force of nature that could sweep me up and consume me whole if I let him. And yet, even as every rational part of me screams to turn and run, I don’t. My nipples peak and interest burns through me. Because deep down, I know I want to be consumed. I want to surrender to the flames and let them burn me to ashes, if only to experience his touch.

His possession.

Something inside me clicks into place at the desire. A part of me I never knew existed and would never have known was there if not for coming face to face with him.

Only him.

I take the mug and our fingers brush. Electricity zaps up my arm. My breath stutters and my heart lurches into a frenzied gallop. His eyes blaze with triumph, a wolfish grin tugging at the corners of his sensual mouth as he drinks in my reaction. And in that moment, I know that I”m well and truly lost, and if I don’t leave town in the next hour, I might never have the strength to leave.