Chapter 5 – CAMILLE
CAMILLE
Consciousness returns slowly, dragging me from dreams that leave my skin slick with sweat, and my core pulsing with unfulfilled need.
In the dream, rough hands gripped my hips hard enough to bruise, dark eyes stared into mine, while a deep voice growled promises against my throat.
Promises about what he’d do when he finally came back for what belongs to him.
I kick off the tangled sheets, my body still humming from the phantom touches, but my wounded pride is enough to make me angry that I’ve spent the night thinking about him.
And pissed off at me in my dreams for being such a pushover.
But no matter how angry I am, there’s no denying that the ache between my thighs hasn’t lessened one bit since last night’s encounter on the porch.
Even now, fully awake, I can still feel the echo of his presence in the darkness and the weight of that feral gaze that made every nerve ending spark to life.
Frustrated, I groan into the soft pillows. I don’t need this. Solving this case is going to be hard enough. I need to forget about him, do my job, and then get the hell out of here. If he doesn’t want me, I shouldn’t be losing any sleep over him.
Deep down, I know I’m all talk. There’s no denying biology.
Even a cold shower does nothing to ease the fever burning beneath my skin.
The water sluices over sensitized flesh, and I bite back a whimper when the pressure hits my breasts.
Everything feels too much and not enough at once.
My hands shake as I towel off, and I know it has nothing to do with the temperature.
This is what happens once a mate bond is recognized.
The body craves its other half. I’ve read about it in clinical terms during my training but experiencing it firsthand is something else entirely.
The constant awareness, the hypersensitivity, the gnawing emptiness that no amount of food or water can fill.
I won’t have a moment’s peace until I give in to the urges that will plague us both.
Dressing carefully, I choose clothes that won’t irritate my oversensitive skin. Even the soft cotton of my pretty summer dress, the furthest thing from an investigator’s outfit I could find, feels like sandpaper against my nipples.
As I leave the cabin, my phone buzzes with a message from Raven telling me to be safe. It makes me so irrationally angry, as though I need reminding, that by the time I make it to the packhouse for breakfast, I’m wound so tightly, I could snap.
The dining hall buzzes with morning conversation, competitors fuelling up for another day of training ahead of the fast-approaching finals.
I scan the room, telling myself I’m checking for potential suspects and not searching for one particular wolf.
My treacherous body proves me a liar when I scent him near the service counter, and I freeze, caught in his trance, as I admire his tall frame, broad shoulders and dark, wavy hair.
The muscles in his arms bulge through his navy henley, and the dark jeans stretched over his thick thighs highlight his firm ass to perfection.
He’s talking to one of the servers, a pretty brunette who gazes up at him with obvious interest. I can’t blame her for finding him attractive, but then she makes a joke, tossing her head back in laughter, while he looks at her blankly.
“Oh, Jax. You’re so funny.”
So that’s who he is.
Her hand comes to rest on his forearm in a gesture that’s far too familiar.
The touch lingers.
Rage floods through me so fast, that it steals my breath despite rationally knowing they’re pack mates, and most likely, just friends. My vision sharpens, tinged red at the edges, as my wolf surges forward with violent intent.
The possessive fury is completely irrational. I have no claim on him, not when he keeps running. But logic means nothing to the primal part of me that sees another female touching what belongs to us.
His head snaps up as if sensing my fury.
Our eyes lock from across the crowded room, and the impact nearly drives me to my knees.
Heat races through my veins, pooling low in my belly.
I watch his chest expand on a sharp inhale.
His free hand clenches into a fist on the counter, knuckles whitening with strain.
“You okay there?”
I drag my attention to Jamie Reynolds, if I recognise her correctly from my files, who’s appeared at my elbow with a concerned expression on her beautiful face. Heat floods my cheeks as I realize I’m standing frozen in the middle of the dining hall, probably looking like I’m about to commit murder.
“Fine,” I manage, forcing my muscles to relax. “Just thought I recognized someone.”
Thankfully, she doesn’t press further. “Grab some food, and I’ll introduce you to a few more of the competitors. Dean mentioned you might want to observe their training sessions today.”
The server says something else to Jax, tugging on his arm.
He jerks away from her touch like it burns, never breaking eye contact with me. The hunger in his gaze matches the ache in my core, raw and desperate, and tinged with something that might be fear.
I follow Jamie to the buffet, piling food onto a plate that I know I won’t be able to stomach. The encounter has left me shaky, and the professional investigator in me hates that I’m so rattled by a mere look from across a crowded room.
“Coffee?” The man next to me points to the machine and gives me a warm smile.
Fixing what I hope looks like a friendly expression on my face, I nod, grateful for the distraction. “Please.”
As he pours me a cup, chatting about his trip here and how excited he is for the final, I zone out of the conversation, unable to ignore the weight of Jax’s stare as he observes our interaction.
“Sugar? Or are you sweet enough already?”
He’s harmless really, so I give him a good-humoured groan as I accept the cup and ignore the way he attempts to join me and Jamie as we turn away from the food and drinks, then move toward the alpha’s table.
Behind us, I hear a scuffle, some cursing and growled threats, but I resist the urge to turn despite knowing exactly what’s going on.
“Dean also mentioned,” Jamie continues as we find empty seats, “that he’d like Jax to assist with your investigation. He has the sharpest nose in the pack, and a penchant for lurking in the shadows.”
My fork pauses halfway to my mouth. “Oh?”
Keeping my expression neutral, I pretend I’m not watching the scene unfolding behind me in the mirror on the wall. I don’t want to give him the satisfaction.
Jamie’s eyes travel over my shoulder, and she frowns in confusion at the sight of Jax being dragged away from the poor man by an exasperated Callum.
Kain steps into the middle of the fracas when Jax lunges at the friendly stranger again.
“Breathe,” Kain whispers, locking eyes with Jax, nodding, encouraging him to re-centre himself and regain control.
Jax stares up at the ceiling, sucking in deep breaths and squeezing his eyes shut while Lynn swoops in to get the friendly stranger out of there before Jax reopens them.
It would be comical if he weren’t mine.
“But he’s... indisposed today,” Jamie states. The lie is obvious in the way she won’t meet my eyes. “But perhaps tomorrow.”
Finally, Jax eases his eyes open, and our gaze locks in the mirror. One second. Two. Then he’s moving, abandoning his untouched plate to stride toward the exit instead of me. Not running exactly, but close enough.
Whispers of broken, dangerous, feral follow him as he leaves the dining room.
His scent wafts toward me and I close my eyes, fighting the urge to follow him.
Indisposed? No. Incapable of controlling his temper? Yes. Avoiding me like the plague? Yes.
The rejection stings more than I want to admit, salt in a wound that’s already raw, but it won’t stop me from doing what I came here to do.
The morning passes in a haze of forced concentration. I examine the training grounds, pretending to fan girl over the remaining competitors, while documenting the magical residue that clings to certain areas.
I chat with some of the shifters knocked out in the earlier stages without arousing any suspicion, those who were affected by the strange goings on and mysterious ailments.
The late afternoon sun slants through the trees as I settle onto the porch with Callum’s detailed event schedules and a list of attendees at each event to cross-reference with the incidents.
As I attempt to figure out which competitors were present at each event where something happened, but were unaffected, I sip on a glass of wine, hoping alcohol will dull the edge of need that’s been sawing at my control all day.
The first glass tells me it won’t, but I keep drinking anyway.
The evening passes in a blur of restless energy. I shift positions constantly, unable to get comfortable. The wooden chair creaks beneath me as I move, finally giving up on work, and set aside the detailed profiles of the entrants remaining at these late stages of the Games.
The cool evening air kisses my heated skin, and I tilt my head back, eyes closed. Exhausted.
That’s when I feel it. Him.
The air changes, becoming charged with his intensity.
My wolf stirs, caught between anger at his reappearance after abandoning me last night, and desperately hoping that this time, he won’t run. I don’t open my eyes but don’t acknowledge him yet. Letting him watch.
“What do you want?” The words come out sharper than I intended. “Or do you just like to watch?”
Silence answers me, but I can hear his breathing now, closer than last night, harsh and uneven, and edged with a growl. The sound arrows straight to my core, and my thighs clench involuntarily.
I open my eyes, turning toward the tree-line. “Going to run away again?”
Golden eyes gleam from the shadows. He’s shifted, his wolf firmly in control. The sight should frighten me. Instead, liquid heat pools between my legs.
“Either come and talk to me, or leave,” I continue, anger giving my voice an edge. “You’re ruining my buzz.”
A snarl rips from the darkness, full of frustration and warning. But he moves closer, drawn in despite himself. I can see him better now; his thick, dark coat, and massive, powerful frame. His wolf’s chest heaves with each breath, muscles rigid with strain.
His wolf’s nostrils flare, and a shudder runs through his entire frame. The hunger in his expression as he catches my scent, tasting it on the breeze, makes my breath catch.
He stops at the edge of the porch, gaze locked onto something behind me. I’d draped a scarf over the chair earlier, unable to stand the fabric against my skin any longer. Jax’s wolf is now eyeing it with interest.
He moves with inhuman grace, padding closer on silent paws. This close, I can see the war in his eyes, the wolf inside battling with whatever remains of the man’s consciousness. His massive head swings toward the scarf again, a low whine escaping.
“That’s mine,” I say, though my voice lacks heat now. I raise an eyebrow, hoping to taunt him to the surface. “You could always shift and ask me for it.”
There’s something mesmerizing about watching him hesitate, the way his muscles bunch and release as he fights some internal battle.
He takes another tentative step forward, close enough now that I could touch him if I dared. The wolf’s attention fixes on the scarf with laser focus. Then, moving slowly as if in a trance, he leans forward and delicately takes the fabric between his teeth.
The sight shouldn’t affect me like this, my scarf dangling from a wolf’s mouth, but my heart melts away at the careful way he handles it, barely clamping down on the fabric, like its something precious.
While the man in him might be holding back, fighting the bond, his wolf is a simpler beast, and he isn’t being shy about what he wants.
“I’ll eventually want that back,” I tell him, my tone soft, trying to keep my voice light despite my racing pulse.
The wolf’s eyes meet mine, and for a moment, I swear, I see recognition there, maybe even an apology that he’s taking it without permission. Then he backs away, my scarf still held gently in his jaws.
“Seriously?” I mutter to myself, considering whether to follow him or not, demanding some explanation about what the hell is going on. “That’s it?”
He pauses at the forest edge, looking back once, before he’s gone, melting back into the shadows, my pale scarf glowing like a ghost, as he trots off with his prize.
I sink back into the chair, equal parts frustrated and intrigued, and left with a gnawing certainty that there’s more to this strange wolf than meets the eye.
My wolf settles slightly, pleased that he reappeared and took something of ours. It’s a good sign, she insists.
Unless, of course, he just stole something to remember me by.