Chapter 4 #2
Little mate. In front of people, of customers who would absolutely spread that around town.
“I don’t care. Let him go.”
“He called you pathetic-”
“I heard him.” I stepped between them, which was possibly the stupidest thing I’d ever done. Malachar’s chest was heaving. His claws were out. His eyes were pure red, no gray left. “But you need to let him leave. Now.”
For a moment, I thought he wouldn’t listen. Thought the wolf would win and I’d be watching a murder in my bookstore. His claws flexed. His jaw worked. The rumble in his chest got louder, vibrating through the air between us.
Then his eyes finally flicked to me. Met mine. And I saw the struggle there. Man versus beast. Control versus instinct.
“Please,” I said quietly.
The rumble died. His claws retracted slightly. The fur on his back receded, just a fraction.
He turned back to the finance bro, who was pressed against the door now, shaking. “You will leave,” Malachar said, his voice still rough. “You will not return. And if I ever hear that you have spoken ill of her or this place again, I will find you. Do you understand?”
The finance bro nodded frantically. Fumbled with the door handle. Nearly fell through it in his rush to escape.
The other customers followed immediately. One grabbed her purse and bolted. Another didn’t even bother picking up the books he’d been browsing.
The door slammed shut. The bell chimed once, too cheerful for the moment.
Silence.
Malachar stood there, breathing hard. Slowly, the red faded from his eyes back to that gray-red mix. The fur disappeared completely. His claws retracted until his hands looked almost human again.
Then he turned to me, and his expression shifted. Softened with concern.
“Are you well?” His voice had gone gentle. Those intense eyes roamed over me, checking for injuries that didn’t exist. “Did he touch you? Harm you in any way?”
I opened my mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.
My brain was trying to process about seventeen different things at once.
The way he’d defended me. The way he’d almost lost control.
How he was looking at me now, worry etched across his face.
How my heart was racing, and I couldn’t tell if it was fear or something else entirely.
“You’ve been sleeping outside my bookstore for five days,” I finally said.
He blinked. That wasn’t the response he’d been expecting. “Yes.”
“In wolf form.”
“Yes.”
“People think you’re a rabid dog. They’re scared to come in. You’re ruining my business.” I gestured at the now-empty store. “And you just scared away everyone who was actually here.”
Something flickered across his face. Hurt. “I was protecting you.”
“I don’t need protection from random customers!”
“He disrespected you.” His jaw tightened again, and I could see him fighting for control. “Insulted you. Called your place pathetic. You think I would allow that? You think I would stand by while someone speaks to you in such a manner?”
“You almost shifted in the middle of my bookstore! You threatened him! Those people saw you!” I ran my hands through my hair, pulling at the strands. “That man is probably calling the cops right now. Or posting about the psycho at Woods & Pages on every social media site. Or both.”
“I do not know what those things are.” Malachar crossed his inked arms over his bare chest. The movement made his wounds pull, and I saw him wince slightly before he masked it.
“But if he brings human authorities, I will explain that he was harassing you. Surely your King isn’t a tyrant.
And if he is, I’d gladly challenge him for you. ”
I was speechless.
“You can’t explain anything! You’re supposed to be in another dimension! You’re not supposed to be here at all!”
“Yet here I stand.” His eyes locked onto mine. “Because you called me. Because you are my mate. And mates protect each other. That is how bonds work. That is what it means to be mated.”
My heart was pounding. Racing so hard I could feel it in my throat. And I didn’t know if it was from fear or anger or the way he was looking at me. The way he’d defended me without hesitation. The way he’d barely held onto his humanity because someone had insulted me.
“Your wounds aren’t healing,” I said, because apparently my mouth had disconnected from my brain.
He glanced down at his chest. At the bandages I’d put on him five days ago, now dirty and coming loose. Some of the cuts had reopened. “They heal slower in this world. I am not as strong here.”
“You need new bandages.”
“I will manage.”
“You’ll get infected and die, and then what? I’ll have a dead werewolf behind my bookstore and even more rumors?” I grabbed his arm without thinking, started pulling him toward the stairs to my apartment. His skin was warm under my fingers. “Come on.”
He followed without resistance, and I heard that rumble again. Softer this time. Satisfied. The sound sent heat straight through me.
This was a terrible idea. The worst idea. But I couldn’t just let him walk around bleeding and half-healed, looking like an extra from a zombie movie.
Even if he was a werewolf who’d been stalking my bookstore and almost murdered a customer. Even if he made every rational thought I had fly out the window. Even if being near him made that pull in my chest go from annoying to overwhelming.
I pulled him up the stairs, trying to ignore the way my hand fit against his arm. Trying to ignore the way he moved beside me, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating off his body.
We reached my apartment, and I finally let go of his arm. Immediately, I felt colder. The pull yanked at me, trying to get me to close the distance again.
I turned to face him. He was watching me with those intense eyes, standing in my tiny apartment in just a blanket, looking at me the way a wolf looked at the moon.
“Sit,” I ordered, pointing at the couch. “Let me see those wounds.”
He obeyed without argument, settling onto the same couch where he’d been unconscious days ago.
And I tried really hard not to think about what I was doing. About how close I’d have to get to him to change his bandages. About the way my hands were already shaking as I reached for the first aid kit.
About the way part of me, the part that had felt a surge of satisfaction when he’d defended me, was glad he’d been there.
I grabbed the first aid kit from under my sink and turned back to find him watching me.
Always waiting.
“This is going to hurt,” I warned him.
“I have survived worse, little mate.”
I was really starting to hate that nickname. It made my stomach flip every time he said it.
Fuck him.