Chapter 3 #2
The shout broke the spell. Rory flinched, his head snapping toward the living room entrance. The mask of the civilized man slipped for a second, revealing a snarl that was entirely animalistic.
A guy stumbled into the hallway. It was Tyler, a linebacker from the football team. Big, drunk, and stupid.
"There you are, man," Tyler slurred, holding two beers. He stopped when he saw me. His eyes raked over my body, lingering on the slip dress, the exposed skin of my back. A slow, greasy smile spread across his face.
"And who is this?" Tyler asked, stepping closer. "I didn't know we had talent like this tonight."
I took a step back, revolted. Tyler smelled like stale keg beer and desperation.
"Back off, Ty," Rory said. His voice was flat. calm. Deadly.
"Relax, Thorne. I’m just being friendly." Tyler ignored him, focusing entirely on me. "I’m Tyler. And you look… expensive. Can I buy you a drink? Or did you already have enough?"
He reached out, his hand aiming for my bare arm.
I flinched, preparing to swat him away, but I never got the chance.
Rory moved.
One second, he was standing three feet away. The next, he was a blur of motion. He didn't punch Tyler. He didn't shove him. He simply intercepted the space.
Rory stepped between us, his back to me, creating a wall of muscle that completely obscured Tyler from my view. He grabbed Tyler’s wrist in mid-air.
I heard the distinct creak of bone.
"Ow! Shit, Rory!" Tyler yelped, dropping the beers. They hit the floor, foaming onto the rug.
"She’s not interested," Rory said. He didn't raise his voice. He didn't have to. The menace rolling off him was suffocating. The air in the hallway grew heavy, charged with static.
"Okay! Jesus, man. Let go!" Tyler struggled, his face paling.
Rory held him for a second longer—a second too long to be socially acceptable. He leaned in, whispering something I couldn't hear. Tyler’s eyes went wide with genuine fear.
Rory released him. Tyler stumbled back, cradling his wrist, and scrambled back toward the living room without a backward glance.
Silence descended on the hallway.
Rory stood there, his back to me. His shoulders were heaving. His hands were clenched into fists at his sides. I watched the muscles in his back bunch and ripple under the thin black t-shirt.
"Rory?" I whispered.
He turned slowly.
His face was a mask of strained control. A vein throbbed in his temple. He looked at me, his gaze sweeping over the slip dress again, but this time, there was no mockery. Only possession.
"You have no idea," he rasped, "how hard it is to keep them away from you when you dress like that."
"I can handle myself," I said, though my voice shook.
"No. You can't. Not here." He took a step toward me, backing me up until my shoulder blades hit the wall. "You smell like vanilla and fear. It’s a dinner bell for every predator in this house."
He braced his hands on the wall on either side of my head, caging me in. He didn't touch me. He never touched me. But I was trapped in his scent, in his heat.
"I didn't come here for them," I whispered, the truth slipping out.
Rory went still. His eyes locked on mine, the pupils blown so wide his eyes looked almost black. "Who did you come for, Zoe?"
I couldn't say it. I couldn't say you.
"I just wanted… to be seen."
"I see you," he growled. "I see everything. I see the way you hold your breath when I walk into a room. I see the way you look at my hands. I see you, Zoe."
He lowered his head. For a heart-stopping moment, I thought he was going to kiss me. I tilted my chin up, my lips parting, my breath hitching in my throat. Please. Ruin me.
He halted inches from my mouth. He inhaled sharply, drawing my scent into his lungs as if it were oxygen and he was drowning.
Then, he moved his head to the side. He buried his face in the crook of my neck.
He didn't kiss the skin. He dragged his nose along the sensitive cord of my neck, inhaling deeply, aggressively. His stubble grazed my skin, sending shivers of electricity down to my toes.
"You smell like him now," he muttered against my skin. "That idiot's cheap cologne."
"I don't—"
"Shh."
He moved his head, rubbing his cheek—and his scent glands, though I didn't know that then—against my neck, my jaw, my hair. It was a claiming. Primitive. Undeniable.
He pulled back, his eyes wild.
He shrugged out of his flannel overshirt—he had been holding it, or maybe he grabbed it from the bannister, I hadn't noticed. He bundled it up and shoved it into my hands.
"Put it on," he commanded.
"What? No. It’s hot in here."
"Put. It. On." His voice cracked, the growl surfacing. "Cover yourself. And cover that scent. You smell like me now. That will keep them away."
I stared at him, bewildered and aroused and terrified. I unfolded the flannel. It was massive. Heavy. And it smelled overwhelmingly of cedar and him.
My hands shaking, I pulled it on over my silk dress. It swallowed me whole, the sleeves hanging past my fingertips, the hem hitting my mid-thigh.
Rory watched me button it. His gaze traced every movement of my fingers. When I was done, he let out a long, ragged exhale, as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders.
"Good girl," he whispered.
The words hit me like a physical blow. My knees went weak.
"Now leave," he said, his voice hard again. He stepped back, breaking the cage, breaking the spell. "Go out the back door. Walk through the woods. Don't stop until you’re locked inside your house."
"Rory—"
"Go!" he roared.
I flinched. The violence in his voice was real this time.
I didn't argue. I turned and ran. I scrambled out the sliding glass door, down the deck steps, and into the cold darkness of the woods.
I ran until my lungs burned. I ran until I saw the lights of the duplex.
I unlocked my door, stumbled inside, and locked it behind me.
I slid down the door, gasping for air, clutching the oversized flannel around me. I brought the fabric to my nose and inhaled.
Cedar. Rain. And danger.
I was safe. I was home.
But as I sat there in the dark, my body humming with leftover adrenaline, I realized the terrifying truth.
I didn't want to be safe. I wanted to be back in the hallway, trapped between the wall and the wolf.
From the other side of the wall, a sound shattered the silence.
A howl.
It wasn't a human sound. It was long, mournful, and primal. It echoed through the woods, vibrating through the glass of my windows.
I froze, listening.
It came from the woods behind the cabin.
I scrambled to the window, peering out into the darkness. I saw nothing but trees and snow.
But I knew. Deep in my bones, I knew.
That was him. And he was calling for me.