6. SIX
SIX
Vera
My heart rate still hasn’t settled back to normal by the time we get back in the truck. Every time I think about his huge hand covering my breast and the little intake of breath he sucked in as it flexed, it spikes and I get a shot of sensation straight through my center.
I promised myself I was over it, that I’d grown up, moved on. But I don’t think I’m fooling anyone, not even him.
God, his big, solid body against mine felt so good.
Sometimes when I look at Bas, I want to crawl inside his chest and camp out there.
He just looks so large. So dependable. Like he’ll never ever change.
Like nothing could break him, not even chronic illness or disease—which is stupid, because I know better than anyone it doesn’t matter how strong you are or how good.
I thought just for a moment that flex of his hand was a good thing, a crack in the veneer of restraint. I hoped maybe he was about to turn and slam me against the mud and rock and yank down my thermal tights and show me how he’s been holding back all this time.
And then he let me go and stepped back like he’d been burned, and he hasn’t looked me in the eye since.
I mean, of course he did. That’s exactly how he reacted when I tried to kiss him four years ago. Of course that’s how he’d react now. Nothing has changed. Nothing will change.
He and I can never be more than friends. I’d better get my head on straight and stop daydreaming about him if I want to keep even that much of him in my life.
I hope like hell my perfume is covering up my arousal. I know for a fact the scent would be rolling off me otherwise. I try to distract myself by thinking about something else—anything else.
The stupid question I blurted without thinking and he got part way to answering is as good as anything.
He doesn’t take people home, but he never told me if that meant he doesn’t have a boyfriend or girlfriend.
Riley’s never mentioned anyone, but Bas is pretty private.
He’s the strong silent type. The type who won’t talk about himself unless you drag it out of him.
So that doesn’t necessarily mean anything.
With a sigh, I tug my beanie off and run a hand through my messy hair. “Hey, Bas—”
At that same moment, he turns to me and says, “Listen—”
I break off with a nervous laugh. “Oh, sorry. You go first.”
He looks back at the dirt road in front of us, and I catch a muscle tic in his jaw. I’ve pissed him off. He thinks I’m going to make this weird, but that’s the last thing I want.
Before he can speak again, I get all flustered and lose my cool. “I just wanted to say I get that it was an accident. Back there on the trail?”
“Yeah. Fuck. Of course it was. I would never—”
“No, I know. And I want you to know that I’m not going to get awkward about it.”
I have, though, haven’t I?
“Right. Yeah. Of course.” Bas looks uncomfortable.
I hurry on, making more of a mess of things. “Because I know where we stand—well I know your thoughts because there isn’t a we and there won’t be and I know that. I mean you made that clear.”
By this time we’ve arrived back at the station, and he parks the truck and turns to look at me. “Vera, there will always be a we.”
I blink in confusion, my scrambled thoughts flying around and around in circles about those words. Always. We.
“You… your whole family is so important to me, and I would never do anything to mess that up.”
Oh. Right.
My throat gets tight and my cheeks heat at the tears welling in my eyes.
I don’t want to let him see me cry about this, though.
Not again. So I force out an awkward laugh and punch him on the arm.
“Come on, Bas. I know that. I’m like your little sister.
So I won’t tell Riley you groped my tits if you don’t. ”
His face goes white. “Fuck no. We can’t tell Riley.”
“Good. Glad we got that sorted. Come on, jedi master, don’t we have some more exciting paperwork to do?
” I swing around and open the door, sliding out of the truck without waiting for him.
On the short walk to the door of the station, I swallow back my tears and firmly fix my smile in place.
Back to being his little sister. Back to trying hard to forget whatever I thought was happening for a hot minute there.
He follows after a moment, and I stand aside and give him plenty of space to unlock the door before following him in at a safe distance.
Which is really, really hard because I could just about live off the rich musky scent of him today.
I noticed it when he grabbed me to stop me falling off the path.
Like it hit me with the full force of an explosion.
He smells so good I want to slide up beneath his shirt, bury my face between his considerable pecs, and lick him, which is a thought so embarrassing I turn away to hide the way my face goes crimson.
How come I’ve never noticed it this way before? And what the hell am I supposed to do with this information for the next two weeks?
What the hell is wrong with me today? You’d think no one had ever grabbed my breast before, that I’d never smelled a man before.
That last part may as well be true, because not a single guy I’ve ever taken home ever smelled like cedarwood, bourbon, dark honey, and long, warm hugs by the fireplace. None of them smelled like long winter nights spent not sleeping…
“Hey, Vera, you listening?”
“Hmm?” I turn, hoping I’ve composed my face into an expression that doesn’t make it look like I want to devour him.
“I said why don’t you write up a proposal for landscaping that trail, putting in some vegetation? We can submit it to the district superintendent for funding.”
I latch onto the welcome distraction, managing to keep my mind occupied for the rest of the day.
The silence between us has gone back to feeling awkward, though. And I don’t know what to do to make that right.
At least Mom is having a good day today. After dinner, she’s relaxed and smiling, with no tension in her neck. She listens to me talk about my first day and praises my idea for making the trail to the hot springs safer.
“Anyone up for a walk?” She stands, gripping the edge of the table for a moment, but a second later she’s standing straight without any sign of unsteadiness.
“Are you sure? It’s cold.”
“Get your jacket, then.” She gives me a look that says don’t question her again, so I don’t. Mom’s the alpha of our den, and I learned when I was young not to question her when she gives me that look.
We walk slowly, keeping to the sidewalk and taking the loop around the block that avoids any hills. Mom threads her arm through mine, and we walk in silence, looking up at the full moon.
“Do you feel it, Vera?”
“Feel what, Mom?” I have a hunch I know where this conversation is going, and I hope I’m wrong. It’s not the first time she’s tried to convince me my first shift could still come. That I’m more than merely human.
“You know. The magic. Can you feel it yet?”
I sigh. “You know I can’t.”
She squeezes my arm. “Your scent has changed, though. Can’t you tell?”
I shake my head sadly. It’s just wishful thinking. I gave up on that long ago. “Can we talk about something else?”
She grunts. “You don’t believe me, but I’m telling you it’s coming. I just want you to be ready.”
Lucky it’s dark so she doesn’t notice when I roll my eyes. “Mom, nothing is coming. I’m probably just due to start my period.”
She huffs. “I can smell the difference between a menstrual cycle and the change, Vera. I might be sick, but my nose still works perfectly well.”
“OK, Mom.” I can sense her getting wound up, and we’re still a block away from home. Her hand trembles on my arm, and I hold her tighter. “OK. It’s coming. I’ll be ready.”
“Good. You remember what I told you about your first heat.”
“I remember.” God, don’t let her start on that again.
“Hmm. Just make sure you find a good alpha to see you through it. Someone who will treat you right. You know I could probably line up someo—”
“Mom!”
“OK, I’m just saying. You can let me know if you change your mind.”
We walk on and I don’t argue, but I don’t say anything more. She’s always been so set on me being a shifter that, growing up, I felt like a disappointment. A failure. I used to wish I could be what she wanted me to be, but not anymore.
I don’t let myself think like that any longer.
Going away to college has been good for me.
It taught me to accept myself for what I am.
Living among humans was refreshing. No one was thinking about all the things I couldn’t do, only the things I could.
I was always good at school. I worked hard to be.
At college my grades are good, and I’m on the athletics team and I’m good at that too.
I guess my shifter blood is good for something because I might not be able to shift, but I’m faster and stronger than the other humans.
We make it back to the house, and Mom is clearly tired.
Her tremors are back. She pushed herself the way she always does.
I help her onto the lift so she can go upstairs and Dad can help her shower, and I shut myself in my own room, feeling strange.
What made her bring all that stuff up again tonight?
It’s been years since she’s done that. So much so I’ve let my guard down recently.
I have been feeling odd lately, though. I think of the way I noticed Bastien’s scent today and the way I felt after he touched me.
Right. He grabbed me. Held me. No wonder my hormones were on overdrive. It’s just my stupid childhood crush making me think stupid thoughts yet again.
When I tuck myself under the covers, it takes me a long time to fall asleep. I’m restless, sweaty.
Some time in the night I throw the covers off, half aware of sliding a hand down my belly and beneath my underwear. My clit is swollen and throbbing, and I choke back a gasp as my fingertips make contact. My hips buck.
I rub myself frantically, smothering the sound with my pillow.
All the time it’s Bastien’s wide, rare smile I see and his hands I picture on my body.
The way they swallowed me up, enveloping me.
I think he could circle my whole waist with his two hands.
He could throw me around, lift me up, and position me any way he liked.
Real Bas would never do that, though. I can tell he’d be too damn scared of hurting me, like everyone always is.
So why do I picture him holding me down and filling me completely with my face pressed into the mattress while I cum and cum?
I’m trembling when I come back down, not sure if I’m dreaming or awake for a moment. I could swear I smell that cedarwood and bourbon scent and feel the rough graze of his stubbled chin over the skin of my neck.
I sit up, pushing sweat dampened hair off my forehead, searching for the glass of water at my bedside.
That was the most vivid dream I’ve had in a long, long time. It lingers even now with my eyes wide open and the lamp on the night stand on.
His warm brown eyes. His deep, gravelly voice.
I’m so fucked. How am I supposed to go to work tomorrow and not just jump his bones with these images swirling around in my head?
I sink back onto the pillow and rub out another two orgasms just for good measure, but nothing works. When I pull the duvet back over me and close my eyes again, I’m still surrounded by the imaginary, warm honey sweetness of his presence, and I go to sleep with his name on my lips.