Chapter Thirteen
THIRTEEN
Ben did not seem happy after the moonshift.
Eleonore perched on the kitchen counter, shoving handfuls of cereal into her mouth. Ben had made a sour face when he’d entered the kitchen that morning, rubbing his stomach and saying he was regrettably full, and though he’d offered to make her breakfast, Eleonore had declined. She liked the way he cooked eggs, but she disliked being seen as needy. Plus, he looked very glum.
She’d heard him return in the dark hours of the morning and had been curious enough to rouse from bed and crack open the bedroom door to peek at him. He’d been covered in dirt and leaves, his face lined with exhaustion. He’d stopped outside the bathroom, hand on the knob, and she’d wondered if he’d sensed her presence. His energy had flooded with enough lust to make her catch her breath, but he’d just shaken his head and entered the bathroom, so Eleonore had forced herself to return to bed.
She’d sensed the carnal beast beneath his skin on that first day, when she’d tasted his blood. There was a wildness to him that he took great pains to conceal. But why? And why was he so unhappy this morning? The werewolves she’d met over the centuries loved shifting. It was the highlight of the month, a chance to be utterly free.
“Hey,” he said, poking his head around the doorframe. “I’m heading to work. Do you need anything?”
His eyes were reddened, with shadows beneath them. She cocked her head. “You don’t look fit for work.”
He squinted at her. “Gee, thanks.” His gaze shifted to the box of cereal. “You know, people normally pour cereal into a bowl and eat it with a spoon.”
Eleonore hopped off the counter, casting the box aside. “Did you not enjoy the moonshift?”
He made a face. “I don’t like shifting.”
Curious, she stepped closer, eyeing him from head to toe. He had the typical burly werewolf build, complete with a thick head of hair reminiscent of a pelt, but maybe he wasn’t a full-blood werewolf. “Are you a hybrid?” she asked.
“What?”
“I thought werewolves liked shifting. But if you aren’t a full-blood werewolf, maybe you take after another species.” Like how she took after her vampire sire more than her succubus mother, even though she had traits of both.
His shoulders slumped, and he looked more tired than before. Eleonore felt a twinge of regret at having asked so bluntly. “No,” he said quietly, “I’m not a hybrid. I just don’t like it. It wastes so much time, and…” He bit his lip, hesitating.
“And?” she prompted.
“I already feel out of control,” he said, tapping his temple with a forefinger. “On a bad day I can spiral and it’s like I have no control over my thoughts or emotions. Shifting is like that. All of a sudden I’m in a new form, feeling all these powerful instincts, and I have no say in it.”
Surprisingly, that made perfect sense to Eleonore. “You don’t get a choice whether or not you shift,” she said. “It just happens to you.” Like being ordered around just happened to Eleonore, and she had no say in the matter.
Maybe they had more in common than she’d realized.
Ben nodded. “It’s also so undignified. There’s all that scratching and howling and…well, urges.”
The pregnant pause and subsequent embarrassed look intrigued her. “What sort of urges?”
He looked even more embarrassed as he scratched the back of his neck. “Well, ah, wolves are very primal. So anything in that category. Eating, fighting…other stuff.”
Her succubus instincts honed in on that subtext. “Do you fuck as a wolf?”
The blunt question had him hiding his face in his hands. “No! Some people do, but I don’t like the idea of it. But some of that animalistic energy lingers after I shift back, and it translates into…and it’s embarrassing, you know? I have to take a cold shower and meditate to get back to normal. If I can ever be called normal.”
Aha. That explained the sudden surge of lust when he’d arrived home, if not what had sparked it. His bestial instincts lingered past the physical transformation.
Eleonore wasn’t ashamed of sexual desires. People throughout history had been driven to find food, water, and shelter, and many of them pursued sex just as instinctively. Ben was no different. “You don’t need to be ashamed of having carnal urges,” she said.
He winced. “Can we please stop talking about my carnal urges?”
It wasn’t an order, but Eleonore respected the boundary. “Of course.”
“Thank you.” There was a pause while he chewed his lip, and then he blurted, “And then there are the animals.”
“The animals?” she asked, not following.
“I ate two rabbits and a mouse this time,” he said glumly. “Last month it was only one rabbit.”
“You don’t like hunting?”
He rocked on his heels, back and forth and back and forth. “No, I do not. I thought I ate enough stir-fry beforehand to fill me up, but then a rabbit hopped in my path and…” His gesture implied helplessness.
Disliking hunting was an unusual werewolf trait, but it sounded like a classic considerate Ben Rosewood trait. This glimpse beneath his surface was intriguing. “Is there anything you do like about shifting?”
He ran a hand over his face. “What’s with the interrogation?”
His tone was rarely so snappish. Eleonore didn’t want to push too far, but she was hungry to know more about the wolf she was trapped with. “I’ve only met a few werewolves before. I’m curious.”
He exhaled gustily. “Of course you are. I’m sorry, I’m in a bad mood this morning.”
“Bad moods are normal,” she said. “I have them all the time.”
“Yeah, well, you definitely have more reason for them than I do.” His mouth tipped up slightly. “Being able to see, smell, and hear better is interesting, and I do like running around and exploring. There’s something freeing about it, and it’s nice to take a break from my thoughts. But it’s also like being a totally different person. I couldn’t balance a checkbook as a wolf if I tried.”
Eleonore had encountered checkbooks in 1969. An object that small ought to be easily balanced on a snout or paw, but perhaps he was uncoordinated in wolf form. She wouldn’t insult him by suggesting so, though. “So you like being free and active,” she said, “but you don’t like killing the things you eat or temporarily being worse at business. That makes sense.”
“Does it, though?”
She sensed Ben’s veins dilating as he blushed. He was embarrassed when he had no need to be. “I don’t like draining people to death either,” she said, offering a slice of kinship to him.
His eyes widened and he took a half step back. “You drink people to death ?”
“Only when the witch orders me to,” she hurried to clarify, disliking how he was looking at her. “Or ordered, rather.” Past tense. It was still strange to think she was free of that foul woman. “Normally feeding is a consensual arrangement both parties are happy with, and no one dies.”
“Huh.” He opened his mouth as if to ask a question, then closed it again and looked at his watch. “Shoot. I need to get going. Do you need anything before I leave? The Annex opening is Friday night.”
As if she could forget. There was nothing left to shop for—her costume had been ordered with overnight shipping and would arrive later that day—but she could use more time in the space. “Can you take me with you? I’ve been corresponding via internet with the theatre students, but I would like to meet them and investigate the stage and lighting in person.” Ben had put her in touch with two high school thespians who were eager to gain technical experience, and they’d been writing back and forth about Eleonore’s music choice, the props she needed, and how the scene would be lit. Everything was arranged, but she would feel better if there was a chance to speak with the students in person beforehand.
Ben slapped a hand to his forehead. “Of course. I’m so sorry, I should have thought of that earlier.” He dug his phone out of his pocket and started typing. “Amy and Caitlin have theatre for fourth period, so I’m asking the teacher if they can come by to help out.”
Eleonore nodded. “Thank you.”
“Thank you ,” he said fervently. “You’re really saving me here.” Then he gave her a soft, crooked smile that made Eleonore’s heart flutter in appreciation. Now that she no longer despised him—and since he’d fed her so well with his orgasm in the shower—she could appreciate how handsome he was without blaming it on hunger. “And thanks for listening. Most people don’t understand how I feel about shifting.” He shook his head. “Actually, I haven’t even talked to anyone about it in years.”
That meant he trusted her with both his secret and his embarrassment. Eleonore’s heart did another giddy little dance. Feeling daring, she brushed his fingers with her own. “I am grateful you shared with me.”
A spark seemed to jump between them at the touch. Ben’s pupils dilated, and Eleonore caught her breath. They stood close together, fingers barely grazing as silence stretched between them. Eleonore inhaled his scent, gaze tracing from the warm brown of his irises over the bold line of his nose and down to his mouth. His lips were full and pink, framed by his beard. She wondered how he used them in the bedroom—if they were always gentle, or if he let some of the beast out in private. She wondered if his beard would feel soft or coarse against her inner thighs.
She wondered what it would be like to take blood from the throbbing pulse at the side of his throat and what his moan of pleasure would feel like against her tongue.
She listed forward…just as Ben cleared his throat and stepped back. “Let’s get going,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck as his eyes danced away from hers. “We’ve only got a few days left to prepare for your theatrical debut.”
Eleonore followed him to the car, this time wondering at the depth of disappointment she’d felt when he pulled away.