Chapter 9 - Wilf
I put the coffee in her hand and took my own to sit in the chair opposite the fire.
There’s enough wood for now, but I’ll have to finish what I started with the store later; if I hadn’t come back in because I forgot the axe, she would have gotten even further with her little escape.
She wouldn’t have made it far out there, though, and I think she knows it deep down.
She’s on the couch, wrapped in one of the wool throws. The dressing on her hairline had come loose, probably when she took the hat off. It’s still weeping occasionally and needs fixing, but I decide not to mention it for now.
“Let’s start at the beginning,” I tell her.
She focuses on her coffee and doesn’t look up. “I already told you most of it. I didn’t lie.”
“Ok, they had you, and something happened when one of them came in. What happened? I want the rest.” I say calmly.
“Like I told you. I woke up there after the truck went off the road. After they ran me off the road.” I say, taking a sip of the coffee and willing my hands not to shake.
“One of them came in, and I knew straight away what he was going to do. I screamed, and he went straight down like he physically couldn’t move.
Another one rushed me, and it happened again. ”
“What did they do then?” I ask carefully, my hand gripping the cup as I try to hide how angry this whole situation with the rogues makes me. The thought of what they would have done to her if she hadn’t been able to stop them turns my stomach.
“They just avoided me,” she says, “they brought food and water once a day but kept their distance.”
I nod but stay silent and let her go on at her own pace.
“The camp wasn’t very big, so I could still hear them sometimes,” she continues in between sips of coffee, obviously trying to warm herself back up.
“Maybe they thought I couldn’t hear them, or they didn’t care.
They said they couldn’t shift around me.
They said they were bringing a witch in and could use me somehow.
I never worked out why or for what. Some kid brought me food one night, but didn’t latch the door properly. I took my chance and ran.”
“Whatever it is works on me, but not enough, eh?” I say, after a moment.
She looks up, and I see her eyes are wet, but she’s not crying.
I suspect she’d rather die than cry in front of me.
She’s proud and certainly stronger than I expected.
“I don’t know why it worked on them and not you.
Maybe it just doesn’t work anymore. I’m not playing at this. I genuinely don’t know.”
“Ok,” I say, calmly, weighing up everything she’s said and thinking about the talismans I found on the rogues. “You’re not being handed over to anyone. I’m not trying to use you or this power. My pack wouldn’t do that.”
“You can’t promise that.” She says, meeting my eye defiantly.
“Yes, I can,” I say firmly. “There’s a difference between trying to stop the rogues and trying to help you, and using you.”
She doesn’t reply but holds my gaze before finally looking away at the fire again.
I get up and refill our coffees, just for something to do. I notice she has more or less stopped shaking now, and the dressing on her hairline has almost come off completely, so I grab the medical kit and crouch down by her side.
“It’s coming off, hold still,” I tell her as I pull out a clean dressing.
“It’s fine.” She sniffs.
“It isn’t. It’s still weeping. Better to keep it covered.” I tell her, and she nods, holding still as I peel the dressing off and press the fresh one over the wound. It looks a lot better than it did. “Another couple of days and it will be good.”
She’s not looking at me and seems to be holding her breath, but she nods shakily. Sitting this close, it’s hard to ignore how pretty she looks, but I try to ignore it because it’s clearly the last thing in the world she wants me thinking about.
I lean back, full of more questions. “I…” I start, but I’m cut off by the perimeter alarm going off.
She physically jumps, eyes going wide. “It’s one of the secondary alarms; it just means something has crossed one of the outer sensors.
I’ve got everything set to the max,” because you tried to escape, I think, but I don’t say it.
“Stay in the cabin. Now is not the time to run. Lock the door in the back room; it’s the only one with a solid enough door.
Don’t open it until you hear my voice. Understood? ”
“Y-yes,” she replies shakily, but I’m already moving and don’t look back as I hear her scramble for the back room.
I check which sensor was triggered as I head out.
My wolf is itching to be let out, but I hold him back, only letting him surface enough for my senses to sharpen, along with my claws.
When the sensors are set to the max, they often do pick up more benign disturbances, but I’m not taking any chances.
I head for the one that was triggered and immediately see the cause.
A small group of deer is picking their way across the main trail that leads to the cabin from the north.
I watch them for a moment, and they remain oblivious, nature's prey. Suddenly, one seems to catch wind that a wolf is watching, and the group turns in my direction before scattering. Once they’re clear, I run the entire north perimeter and check all the sensors before doubling back to the cabin.
She isn’t in the front room, so I head toward the back room. “Lara, it’s clear. Just deer.”
I hear the click of the lock, but the door doesn’t open, and I hear a small sound through the door, a breath taken too quickly.
I gently push open the door and find her pressed into the corner, the knife in her hand, and her back against the wall.
She’s shaking so hard I can see her tremble from the doorway.
Shit.
“Hey,” I say, keeping my voice low. “It’s just me.”
She doesn’t move, but I note the exhale.
She’s brave, but perhaps I didn’t realize how rattled she still is.
I move further into the room with my hands out and crouch down to her level so I’m not standing over her.
The knife shakes in her hand, her eyes wide, and she looks so pale again, all the color drained from her face.
“Just a deer setting off the sensors. Shows how well they work, eh?” I say.
“You were gone too long,” she says quietly.
“I just needed to be sure.” I tell her, “And now I am.”
She nods and tries to say something else, but it comes out as a sob, and the knife slips out of her hand as she tries to stifle her emotions with her hand.
Instinctively, I reach out and slowly draw her in.
I didn’t even realize I was doing it until suddenly she’s in my arms, and my hand wraps around her shoulder gently, mindful of her ribs.
Mindful of my strength. I’m sure she’ll push me away or even scream, but she just tenses a fraction before relaxing, her own hand coming up to grip the front of my shirt.
My wolf howls, enjoying the contact far too much, and I shut my eyes, trying to get a grip so I don’t make this worse.
I can’t ignore how good she feels pressed against me, though.
I notice her shift slightly and open my eyes to find her looking up at me.
We’re close, very close. Her blue eyes look crystal clear, and she’s still gripping my shirt; the look on her face has shifted from fear to something else entirely.
I should step back, but I don’t.
“Wilf,” she whispers. It’s the first time she’s actually used my name.
The way she says my name causes a slight pressure, the way this strange power of hers does, but it’s softer, and my wolf responds by pushing closer rather than retreating. I hesitate for the briefest of moments, torn between backing off and doing what my wolf is now demanding.
I kiss her.
I lean in the last inch, and my mouth finds hers. She makes a small sound against my lips, startled perhaps. I brace myself for rejection, but her hand in my shirt only tightens, and she leans closer, kissing me back.
I should be gentle, but there’s nothing gentle about this.
Her mouth is hot, and her lips are soft, and the way her hand grips my shirt only drives me on.
I have one hand at the back of her head, and my other hand settles on her tiny waist as I push her back against the wall.
She makes a small, surprised sound, and I smile against her mouth.
Already rock hard, I test a roll of my hips against her body, desperate for some friction.
She tenses again, but doesn’t push me away; if anything, I feel her slim fingers tighten on my shirt as her lips part slightly in surprise.
I dip my head to her neck, and she moans as her pulse races beneath her skin.
Somehow her hand has worked its way under my shirt, and as he nails rake against my skin, I hiss with pleasure; I almost hope she doesn’t look up right now because I know my wolf will be in my eyes. I’m not sure she’s ready for that.
She doesn’t pull away, even as my grip tightens and my hand finds her soft skin under the t-shirt she’s wearing.
She pulls me closer. I lift her, my hands on her waist. I lift her off the floor as if she weighs nothing and brace her against the wall, angled perfectly so that my cock finds the seam between her thighs.
I groan at the first contact, steadying myself so I don’t blow.
She feels so damn good in my arms. She gasps into my mouth as he legs wrap around my waist.
I should stop. The voice is so distant in my head, but it’s there. She’s scared, and I should stop. But she’s urging me on with her tongue and rolling her hips, and stopping feels like the least plausible decision.
My thumb finds the dip of her hips before reaching around to cup her ass, and her breath hitches.
I kiss her throat again, and she arches into it almost instinctively; she feels so pliable in my arms, and my other hand drifts higher toward her breasts, searching for the softest skin.
She’s wearing a bra, but it’s so flimsy I brush the cup aside easily and groan as her hard nipple grazes my palm, and I squeeze the soft swell.
She rolls her hips, brushing my achingly hard cock again, and I choke out a groan that borders on painful.
She stills, and I’m not sure if she’s registering for the first time just how hard I am.
I lift my mouth from her throat and notice just how still she is; her hand is no longer on my skin, it’s flat to my chest. I wait a moment before looking down at her, and when I do, her eyes don’t look frightened, but they do look unsure.
Of me, or maybe herself. Her lips are parted, pink and swollen, and her neck is exposed and red from my stubble. She looks stunning, but also young, human, and unsure.
“Lara,” I say, low and slowly.
“P-put me down,” she stammers, “p-please.
I lower her very slowly until her feet are on the floor and take the smallest step back.
I should probably move further back, but I’m aware of how indecent my cock will look through these sweatpants, and I’m not sure that’s the vision she needs right now.
She side-steps me, picking up the knife with a hand that unmistakably shakes.
When she looks up at me, I see the color in her cheeks, her disheveled hair, and pouty lips, and it’s all I can do not to reach for her and finish what we started.
But I don’t. I just watch her step around me and rush out of the room.
I hear her bedroom door close, and the flimsy lock click into place.
I don’t move for a moment. I just stand there trying to get a grip on myself.
Sure, I love fucking women, and there’s enough willing shifters at the border bars where different packs meet—usually causing more trouble than having fun, but it’s also a good place to scratch an itch.
But this was different. This didn’t feel like just scratching an itch.
This felt explosive, clearly too much for a human.
I don’t follow her; instead, I pass her door and leave her to work out how she can hate shifters so much and yet respond like that.
She has so much fire I feel like I’ve been burned, and yet, I still want more.
I take my seat by the fire again and note that the snow is coming down again.
I’ll have to go finish what I started this morning, or the store roof could cave in under the weight of fresh snow.
Suddenly, the thought of doing some hard work out in the cold doesn’t seem like a bad idea at all, anything to work off some of this frustration.
The most pressing of all is that I find I don’t want her to be afraid of me. I want her to want me the way she did in that back bedroom. And that feels strangely dangerous.