Chapter Five #2
It makes sense that his clothing wouldn’t be nearby, and I’m not questioning his nakedness or offended by it.
What’s the opposite of offended? Delighted.
Yes, I’m delighted. I don’t get nearly enough opportunities to see almost naked men, and when I do, glimpsed by accident at brothels, it’s usually a disappointment. This isn’t.
Earlier today, I’d speculated there was lean muscle under his fancy clothing, and I was right.
He lacks the bulk I might expect from a werewolf, but this is better.
A sculptor’s dream, with long legs and squared shoulders and a flat stomach, every muscle etched as if in stone.
There’s blood washed across his stomach, along with a nasty slice from my blade, but it’ll only add to the scars already there.
Battles scars that should repulse me. They don’t repulse me.
There’s also blood on his lips, and when he sees me looking at that, he wipes with the back of his hand, but succeeds only in smearing it. I stare at that blood, remembering the black wolf with blood on its teeth, and I swallow hard. Then my gaze slides down him, into less dangerous territory.
Less dangerous? No, a proper young lady with a naked young man is never safe, but this feels safe. As if I can look my fill without fear. And I do look my fill, my gaze sliding over every inch of him, heat searing through me, delicious and decadent heat.
“You’re staring,” he says.
“Yes.”
“You should avert your eyes.”
“Why? Because young women aren’t supposed to stare at naked men? If you expect a blushing miss, you have the wrong woman.”
“I’m not objecting to that. I’m objecting because it isn’t my fault I’m not dressed.”
“It isn’t my fault either. I didn’t steal your clothing.”
“Wolf form is better for fighting humans. I can’t transform while dressed. Nor can I bring my clothes with me for later.”
“You can’t stuff them into a pouch? Tie them around your neck like a Saint Bernard?”
He only looks at me, stone-faced, but… am I imagining a glint in his eye? Something suspiciously close to amusement.
“Next time, maybe,” he says dryly. “For now, I’m asking you to turn away because I can’t carry on a serious conversation while you’re staring at me.”
I hesitate and then wince. Of course. That’s what he meant when he said it wasn’t his fault he’s naked. He didn’t undress for my pleasure, and now he’s trying to talk to me, and I’m ogling him, like men ogle my cleavage when I try to talk to them.
“I apologize,” I say. “Staring was rude.”
His eyes narrow, as if I’m mocking him. Then a brief flustered look when he realizes I’m not. See, I am reasonable. About the right things.
I continue, “I won’t look away entirely, because that’d give you a chance to sneak up. But I’ll focus on your face. Good?”
He murmurs something that sounds like assent.
“Fair warning, though. You can’t expect to walk around nearly naked without women staring. Not when you look like that.”
Silence, accompanied by that same flustered look. He finds his composure quickly. “I don’t make a habit of transforming around women, but I’ll take that under advisement.”
“Good. Now, what’s going on? Why are you here?”
One dark brow lifts. “To rescue you, obviously. Your house was under siege.”
“I appreciate the help. Please invoice my aunt for your services. Now, if you could explain why my home was under siege and my friend’s cousin turned out to be a witch, I’d appreciate that even more.”
“You shouldn’t befriend humans. It’s unsafe for you, and for them.”
My lips tighten. I want to snap that I’m entitled to friends, wherever I can find them, which is difficult enough when your aunt is a powerful supernatural and anyone who befriends you probably only wants to curry favor with her.
Sadly, he’s also correct, which only annoys me more.
“Is that all you got from my question?” I say. “Either explain the situation or go. Please. My aunt will be home soon, and we’ll leave and be safe from whatever happened here.”
“Leaving won’t help. They’ll pursue.”
“ Who will pursue? Why will they pursue? What do they want with my aunt?”
“Nothing. They want you. Because, apparently, others know your secret, probably including one your father doesn’t—that you’re a lycan.”
“A what?”
“The daughter of a werewolf who has inherited our secondary traits. Your father will explain everything, Cordelia. We don’t have time to chat.”
“Chat? I’m asking obvious questions, and I’m not going anywhere with you. If my father wants to meet with me—”
“Your aunt won’t allow it.”
“Then I presume she has good reason.”
“Prejudice and fear. That’s all. Now, I’ll ask one more time. Will you come with me willingly? Or do I need to take you by force?”
I narrow my eyes. “Would you like the next blade in your heart? And if you tell me I’m being unreasonable—”
He lunges. I back up fast, slamming the door.
Except the door doesn’t latch. I heave on it and frantically look for where it’s sticking.
On the other side, Bishop grabs the recessed handle and wrenches the door open, yanking it from my hands.
As I stagger back, I notice something overhead.
Another piece of table linen, which must have fastened to the top of the door…
so once it opened, I wouldn’t be able to fully shut it.
I lift my knife. Before I can blink, he has my arm in his impossibly strong grip, squeezing until I release my hold and the knife clatters to the floor. Another lightning-fast move, and I’m facing the wall, my hands wrenched up to my back.
“Cast a spell if you must,” he growls, “but it won’t change anything.”
I quickly realize I’m not getting free. Dipping into my spell reservoir, I test the depth of it. Not enough. He has both my hands, meaning I can cast only witch spells, and none will do what I need.
Time to play along and wait for my chance.
I still struggle, so he doesn’t sense a trick.
“Julius!” he booms.
Footsteps trot up the stairs.
“Oh,” says a cheerful male voice. “Are you asking for my help? Admitting that your plan might—gasp—not have been perfect?”
“My plan presumed she would be reasonable,” Bishop growls.
“I have been reasonable,” I say. “I reasonably demanded answers. I reasonably refused to follow a stranger. I reasonably —”
“Do you see what I’m dealing with?” Bishop snaps.
The other man—Julius—chuckles. “Yes, I see a very reasonable young woman who very reasonably doesn’t wish to comply with your very un reasonable orders. How dare she.”
“You’re enjoying this far too much.”
“Of course. How often do I get to see my dear cousin’s will thwarted, his plan in tatters, his… Is that blood? Oho. That’s a lot of blood. She did some damage.”
“It’s a shallow cut. You can tend to it later.”
“I wasn’t offering to tend to it now.”
“Then get over here and tend to this.” Bishop points at me.
“ This has a name,” I snap. “And…” My head shoots up. “What’s that smell?”
The smell comes stronger and, at the last second, it also becomes familiar. I wrench against Bishop, but before I can do anything else, he whips me around to face the other man. I get a glimpse of chestnut hair and gray eyes, those eyes filled with something that looks like sympathy.
“I’m sorry, Miss Levine,” Julius says. And then he presses the chloroform-soaked cloth over my mouth and nose.