Chapter 17 #2
Nausea rolled through his body. He wanted to scream at her.
Hell, part of him wanted to slam her mouth shut.
And for damn sure his BO started clogging up the car.
And right here was why he couldn’t just fucking get over it.
And all the while, she kept talking, her voice as bracing as it was uncompromising.
“Go ahead and scream. If you want, we can pull over and you can try to beat the shit out of me.”
“I don’t want to beat you!” he bellowed.
“Bullshit!” she countered as she angled the cruiser into a rest stop. “Every single one of us had to deal with our violent side. The tear-apart-whatever-the-fuck-is-pissing-us-off side. Every one of us except you.”
“Because I’m not an animal!”
She slammed the car into park and turned to him, her eyes shimmering even as her tone flattened to cold. “You are now. And you hate it.”
“You’re fucking right I do!”
She nodded, then leaned across him and shoved open the door.
The sudden press of her body made him want to slam her straight into the dash.
The other part of him want to drag her sweet-smelling flesh right up to his face so he could lick every inch.
Fortunately, he didn’t have time to do either one because she was shifter fast.
“Get out.”
He wanted to tell her to fuck off, but that would mean he’d have to sit still in her car when he wanted to tear into something.
So he popped the seatbelt and stomped his way toward the picnic benches.
It was a good thing that they were in a mostly deserted rest stop.
A car was just pulling out and a single truck was parked far down the lot.
That meant nobody was going to interrupt their screaming argument.
And since they were outside, the BO could be mistaken for a pissed-off skunk.
It was late afternoon, the heat hanging in the air.
His skin already slicked with sweat. That was annoying enough until he realized that it wasn’t sweat but the oils that preceded the fur.
He was shifting, and he hated it. So he clamped down on his emotions.
He went to the picnic bench and gripped the weathered wood hard enough to leave dents.
And he just stood there breathing hard while Tonya locked up the car and sauntered over to him.
“See?” she said. “You can keep it under control.”
“I could also kill you where you fucking stand.”
She rolled her eyes. “You could try.”
They’d had this argument already. He was tired of it. She was a badass. He was a monster. Goddamn it, didn’t she get it? He was a real-life, honest-to-God monster.
Then he frowned, abruptly tired of his own thoughts.
Even in the privacy of his own brain, he was really sick of the M word.
And screaming it at himself or her didn’t change that.
And while he struggled with that, she settled onto the top of the picnic bench right in front of him and casually kicked her feet back and forth as she turned her face to the sun.
God, how could she be so damned calm when he was screaming inside?
He shut his eyes rather than look at her.
But even with his eyes shut, he remembered how the sun made her skin golden and that there were so many different colors in her hair.
Not just blond, but light brown and a reddish white.
But as he sealed himself in blackness behind his eyelids, she started speaking. Worse, he felt her stroke her hand across his jaw while the other casually touched his oily forearm.
“You keep calling yourself a monster, but damn it, Alan. I like it.”
“You’re sick.”
She chuckled. “Maybe. Ever wonder why we never got together before your change?”
“Because you have a thing for—” He choked off his words. He couldn’t say “monster” again. It was getting repetitive.
“Because you were too prissy for me.”
“Bullshit.” He glared at her.
She shrugged. “Maybe ‘prissy’ isn’t the right word.
Too classy, maybe. You always have it together when I’m constantly stopping myself from putting a bullet between some dick’s eyes.
Being next to all that perfection is intimidating.
Especially since I’m half grizzly. Who would want that in a woman when you could have a hairless runway model? ”
“I did.”
She studied his face. “Remember that girl you brought home for Christmas your sophomore year in college? What was her name? Brittney? Whitney?”
“Eleanor.”
“Oh. Well, she was tall and blond with boobs so perky they almost strangled her. Not a hair on her forearms, and, worse, she was some ancient philosophy savant. Already working on her PhD. Jesus, I wanted to claw her eyes out.”
He stared at her, unbelieving. “She was a pale copy of you, you idiot.”
“And then there were all the law school babes. The Chinese girl with so little hair she had to pencil in eyebrows. And the brunette who spouted law like diarrhea of the mouth.”
He laughed, though the sound was strangled. How could she get it so wrong? “I was trying to make you jealous. All you did was congratulate me on the good catches.”
She rolled her eyes. “They were good catches. Way better than me.”
He shook his head. “Not a one of them understood the law like you do. None of them came close to your badassery. And let’s be honest, none of their boobs could hold a candle to yours.”
She groaned. “Why is every man fascinated by my boobs?”
“Duh. Because they’re great boobs.” He shifted until he stood right in front of her. Then he let his hands stroke down her thighs. “Besides, I’m really more of a leg man, but you shine in that department, too.”
She stretched out her leg, obviously enjoying the way he stroked down its length. That was another thing he loved about her. Not a coy bone in her body.
“So there you go, Alan. I like the new you because it doesn’t intimidate me.”
“I’ve wanted you since I was twelve, well before my birthday kiss. How the fuck could I intimidate you?”
She shrugged. “Exactly because you’ve wanted me so long. How could the real me compete with your idea of me?”
He sighed as he dropped his forehead to hers. “The real you blows my mind. Every single time.”
She stroked his jaw then angled her mouth to meet his. “So there you go,” she said as she pressed her lips to his. “We’re perfect for each other.”
He didn’t answer. He wasn’t sure he could. The lust was pounding in him so strongly that he wasn’t sure he could form words.
And right there was the problem. A man could form words. A monster could not.
Or a beast.
He drew back from her, self-awareness forcing itself into his consciousness. “I hate being uncontrolled. It makes me feel like an animal.”
She nodded. “And you hate being an animal.”
“It’s smelly and filthy. It’s a bull in a china shop—”
“Or a bear squatting in the woods.”
He swallowed. He didn’t want to say what he was thinking. What he was feeling.
“You’ve always thought of yourself as a little better than us shifters, haven’t you, Alan? You were civilized, we were animals. You make love with precision, we grunt and heave—”
“And destroy bedrooms.” He hadn’t wanted to bring up how she and Carl had once shifted in her bedroom and nearly tore down the house.
She turned her face away at that, but that didn’t stop her words. “You think of me as an animal, and it disgusts you.”
“No!” He touched her face, forcibly bringing it back to him. “I’ve wanted you since I was twelve. I think we both know that.”
“But did you want to?” She frowned, struggling with her words. “Didn’t you think it was a weird aberration or something? You didn’t want to want me, did you?”
“Because you were hung up on my brother.”
She shook her head. “I was hung up on being Maxima.”
“Either way.”
She sighed and pulled his hands away from her face.
Then she pressed her lips to his hands, gently kissing them.
“Here’s the question, Alan: Can you find a way to love the animal?
To see that it’s part of you? Because it’s part of me, and I like it.
” She suddenly looked up at him, her eyes large and so intense it stole his breath. “I love it.”
He heard the unspoken question. Felt it vibrate from her body into his. She was asking if he could love her. The answer was obvious. Of course he could love her. He did love her. Except...
“You can’t love me, Alan, if you don’t love the animal. The one in you, and the one in me.”