Chapter 7 - Tara
I hate this feeling.
The one when you wake up, but you were already sort of awake. I haven’t had a crappy night's sleep like this in a long, long time.
It’s not like Jasper’s bedroom was uncomfortable either; in fact, the opposite. His bed is luxurious, with silk sheets, puffy pillows, and a mattress that feels like one big marshmallow.
I even closed his blinds so that I wouldn’t wake up with the light, but still, no sleep.
Usually, when I can’t sleep in my own cabin, I’ll head downstairs into the kitchen and boil some tea. Maybe I’ll step outside by the back door and gaze up at the twinkling night sky. Usually, that helps.
But in Jasper’s cabin, I don’t want to move. I don’t dare go downstairs, in case I don’t know—I just don’t want to wake him up.
But now, it's been a while. I feel like I’ve been in this bed, not properly resting, for an eternity, and it’s finally time to get up and get on with my day.
The thought of engaging with his pack scares me like crazy. But I can’t take one more second of being alone in this room.
I’ll go crazier than I already feel. Once I’m dressed and looking as decent as possible on so little sleep, I brave downstairs.
My footsteps creak as I slowly make my way to the staircase. With any luck, he’s asleep, and I can just slide by unnoticed.
With any luck—
I’m suddenly thrown forward, I’m falling, inches away from plummeting headfirst.
Then, I steady myself with the banister on my left.
My heart’s pumping faster than it should. I look down at the chipped wood beneath my feet and curse beneath my breath.
He did warn you.
I shake my head as I regain my footing.
If he knew, he’d be so smug.
After I’m stable, with both human feet planted on the ground, I continue my descent into the danger zone.
This is crazy.
I still can’t believe that I’m living in the house of the one person I’ve been so hell-bent on avoiding. When I told the girls, they thought it was a joke.
Then they recalled when he interrupted our lunch.
‘So that’s why you were acting so suspicious after speaking to him, I knew something was up.’
‘You could tell by the way he was looking at you.’
I don’t know what that means. I’ve seen more emotion coming from a brick wall.
And I don’t count his teasing smiles or his smirks, because I know that those are psychopathic.
For some reason, he lives to taunt me.
But here we go, this is my life now. I just have to suck it up and get through it.
Once I’m downstairs, I’m painfully aware of the fact that I need to pass the couch to get to the door.
I hold my breath, plan on avoiding the thing entirely, but unfortunately, I realize that it’s bam-smack in the middle of my sight line.
Great.
Then, without realizing it, I pause.
In front of me is a whole map of ridged abs that remind me of mountainous terrain. Hard ridges dip up and down as his torso lies stretched out over the couch.
I gulp, my mouth noticeably dry.
Well, I wasn’t exactly expecting him to be shirtless, that’s for sure.
I’m mesmerized by the size of him, the contours of his body, and the way his muscles trace jagged lines all along his body.
His arms are flexed behind his head, revealing thick biceps and two large tufts of blonde hair.
This should be gross. I should find this gross.
He has so much hair.
I look down at the V of his waist and notice that his gray sweatpants are riding low. I don’t dare look any lower.
I remember this, suddenly, I remember the feel of him on top of me. Images of me moaning beneath him amid soft sheets rock me to my core. I fight the urge to jump on top of him. I don’t want to be thinking about that right now.
But I am. I can’t help it.
I remember too vividly what it’s like to touch those muscles. The way his hands (thankfully) were out of view, traced their way down my body, massaged the wet parts of me.
My groans ring through my ears as my vision hones in on his V. He has sandy blonde hair tracing down his belly button that draws me in as though it were some precious stone, and not what it actually is, which is gross male hair.
There’s something so animalistic about the way he’s resting. Like a sleeping lion, or well, a wolf.
He’s frowning ever so slightly, his thick eyebrows creased, his face glowing beneath the morning sun.
Move, Tara.
I shake my head to snap myself out of the strange spell his shirtless body is casting over me.
I hate him. And I want nothing more than to jump onto his couch, to hit his stupid muscles, and tell him exactly what I think.
“Good morning,” his sleepy voice says, reminding me of sex. Or the moments afterward, which actually turned out to be very unfortunate for us.
I jump a little, but not too much; all the shock hides itself in my chest.
I feel like I’ve just been caught doing something very wrong.
“Good morning,” I mutter, looking away. “I was just heading out to start my day. I don’t know what I’m going to do, but well, yeah, I’m starting my day.”
I’m emphasizing that last part because I really, really need to start my day.
He chuckles, rubs his hands over his face, and opens his eyes. I don’t enjoy the way his gaze makes me feel.
“Oh shut up, you don’t know your way around here, or what your day would even involve. I’m making us breakfast.”
I plan on telling him no, or some form of no that sounds like ‘go to hell,’ but I also realize that I’m very hungry.
And there’s no way that I’m cooking for him.
“Fine,” I mumble, before quickly turning to leave.
“Where are you going?” He asks me. He’s still shirtless as he asks me this, and it’s all I can think about.
What is wrong with me?
Living too long with these wolves has somehow turned me into one of them.
“Well, you said you’re cooking,” I respond, awkwardly, “so I thought I’d leave you to it—"
He laughs. “And then what? Once it’s ready, you’ll come back downstairs. I am an Alpha, you know?”
“Oh, I know.”
“You have to keep me company.”
I turn away from the staircase to look at him. He still looks sleepy, broody, and, dare I say, sexy.
The truth is that he is sexy.
There’s no denying that fact or trying to cover it up. Anyone with two working eyes can tell that he looks like he’s been carved by the hands of the Gods.
So he’s sexy, supernaturally so. Big deal.
This doesn’t have to affect me if I don’t let it.
I can focus on his bad qualities. In other words, everything else.
“Why?”
“Because I’m cooking for you, which is nice of me, seeing that I slept on the couch, so the least you can do is pretend to tolerate me. We’re going to have to do a lot more than that if we want people to believe that we’re real.”
I frown, but he does have a point.
“Fine,” I sigh, settling down by the kitchen table. “But I hope you know that I won’t ever be cooking for you.”
“Aren’t human women expected to do that for their human husbands?”
“Ha. Not anymore. But it seems fitting you’d remember that of all things about humans.”
“I remember more than that.”
“Okay.”
“You know you’re being pretty grouchy to someone who’s making you food.”
He turns to look at me as he opens the fridge. I’m not even remotely in the mood for his teasing. I have a migraine that feels like it’s splitting my head open.
His muscles are still reminding me of things I wish I’d forgotten.
“Any chance you could put a shirt on?” I ask him, rubbing my temples.
I didn’t want to have to ask him this, for the obvious reason of not wanting him to know that I care whether his stupid little (big) muscles are on display or not.
But it feels ridiculous at this point. Like he’s taunting me on purpose, and quite frankly, with the headache I have, I can do without it.
“My body bothers you?”
Nothing’s easy with him.
“If I’m going to be eating food, yes.”
He chuckles, “You know you’re going to have to get used to the way things are done around here sooner or later.”
I will choose later.
When I don’t respond, he concedes and heads upstairs to grab something to cover himself up.
Once he’s back downstairs, an awkward silence settles upon us. I half expected him to say some snarky comment like ‘better for you?’ Or ‘Happy now?’
But he doesn’t.
I hear him pulling more things out from the fridge, setting the fire on the stove, and jostling about the pots and pans.
From the corner of my eye, I notice the shirt he has on; it's blue, tight—honestly, not even covering much.
But to distract myself, I walk around the connecting sitting room, pretending to be curious—and then I notice he has some books.
I trace my fingers along their edges. Let’s be clear, he doesn’t have many, there are probably about five? But still, more than I thought.
Three of the books are on Alphaship, pack politics, and method of rule (yawn). One is a book on the history of wolf dentistry—what?
Another is The Art of War. I know that one. Of all the human books he could have, of course, he has that one.
So this book collection couldn’t actually be any more boring, but hey, something to pretend to keep myself busy with at least.
Following the sound of spitting, crackling oil comes a smell my stomach can’t ignore. Bacon. Garlic. Butter.
All the things I wouldn’t usually make for myself. Well, I’d use garlic, but for pasta, not for breakfast.
“It’s ready,” he says, and I respond ‘okay’ but only in my head.
I’m bracing myself for battle.
I hate how nervous this all makes me feel. So nervous that I almost don’t want to eat.
Almost, because it does actually smell good.
Jasper instructs me to help myself, and so we tiptoe around one another, filling our plates with eggs, bacon, sausage, and bread.
I’ll give it to him; it looks decent.
“Juice?” He asks me, once we’re sat down.
“Sure,” I nod. “Thanks.”
I hold out my cup and watch the way his veins wrap around the underside of his bicep as he pours. Maybe I’ll start requesting he wear a tunic—I’m sure he’ll love that.
“How is it?” He asks between shovels.
I swallow down some juice. “I haven't tried it yet.”
“Well, try it.”
“I am.”
I cut up the egg, and the yolk spills out with the perfect consistency. I take a forkful along with a piece of bacon and bread.
When the flavors hit my mouth, I feel like swooning.
Wow.
“So?”
“Yeah,” I shrug. “Not bad.”
He winks and continues eating in that primal, wolfie way of his.
I want to find something to complain about, but I’ve got nothing.
There’s another excruciating, awkward silence as we eat, and then, Jasper finally talks.
“So, let’s talk logistics.”
I immediately think of his war, leadership books. I’m just a pawn in his game, nothing more.
“I’m not sure exactly what you mean by that, but okay.”
“We need to make this convincing, otherwise it’s not going to work.”
My mouth is full of bacon. I swallow carefully and wash down the deliciously salty flavor with juice.
“Okay,” I say. “What do you have in mind?”
“I need to know what you’re comfortable with,” he responds.
Wow. He said that so convincingly, I almost believed him.
“I don’t want you to touch me.”
He sighs and rolls his eyes as his hand falls to the table. “This is exactly what I mean about it not working.”
“Maybe we’re one of those couples that don’t like PDA,” I say. “Maybe we just like to save it for home.”
“Yes, okay, but we need to touch a little. How about a kiss on the cheek, and a handhold?”
“I’m not holding your hand.”
Cheek kissing, I can justify; I used to cheek-kiss my grandma. Hand holding is something else, though.
He cocks his head. “Really? What are you afraid of? Getting germs?”
“No.”
“Well, what?”
“That’s just too intimate.”
“But we’re putting on a show, that’s the point, Tara. Most shifters do a lot more in public with their significant others.”
I shudder at the thought of him and me ever being like those shifters.
“Why is everything always an argument with you?”
He looks at me as though I’ve just disputed his claim to Alphaship, or whatever.
“With me? I’m giving options, like I’ve been doing this whole time, and you’re just turning them down without any alternative solutions.”
“Fine,” I say. “You can put your arm around me and hold my waist. Kiss my cheek. That’s it. I don’t want to hold your hand, I don’t want to go anywhere near your lips, and I definitely don’t want to do anything else.”
“Fine,” he shakes his head, before leaning down to eat. As he does this, I notice the hair on his chest.
“What?”
“You’re making this so difficult,” he says. “Like I have to bend down to your every command. It’d be nice if you worked with me a little.”
I raise an eyebrow. How dare he? He’s used to everyone bending down to his every command; I bet he’s not accustomed to it this way round.
Well, good. Because that’s how things are gonna be.
“Need I remind you that this whole thing was your idea.”
“Yes, it was my genius idea,” he responds. “But you’re the one who has more to gain!”
A fire burns in the back of my skull. Suddenly, I forget all about my headache and am overcome with rage.
He’s so manipulative. So sly. Always turning things around so he’s never at fault. No, somehow, even though I’m innocent in all this, it’s always me.
I stand up. Go to open my mouth.
Then suddenly, a loud buzzing sound fills my ears. Am I the only one hearing this?
Jasper gets up immediately.
Okay, no. Definitely not.
“What was that?” I ask him, but my voice is drowned out by the noise. It’s so loud, I can barely hear myself think.
“Stay here,” he instructs.
He quickly gets up and heads out the door. I follow him, of course.
Did he really think I’d just stay?
Everyone is standing outside their cabins, and in the center between the neighboring houses, Jasper is standing in front of a group of male shifters.
That was quick.
He’s shouting commands to them, slowly and calmly over the noise. Everyone must understand what he’s saying, with their supernatural abilities and all, but I can’t make out a thing.
An unnerving feeling settles into my body. I don’t like not knowing what's going on.
When Jasper finishes his commands, and I know they’re commands by the shifters’ reactions, they all nod and form a group behind him.
They’re like robots, following his orders as though they serve no other purpose in the world.
I open my mouth to speak, but suddenly, they shift.
I step back.
I’ve seen the shift happen before, but not so simultaneously like this.
Before I even consider asking anyone anything, they’re already gone.