Chapter 9 - Annika
“You are the most beautiful woman I have ever encountered, Annika…”
Those words pound in my head, knocking around my skull as if there’s nothing else there, and only those words exist, echoing against the walls of my mind.
I heard those words before, in a space where reality didn’t exist, where Henry Ralph was just my boss who seduced me in the office after a night out at a gala.
But I heard those words again tonight, in the flesh, falling from the lips of a man who calls himself “Heinrich,” and claims to be a werewolf.
Well, he doesn’t just claim it. He demonstrated the ability to shapeshift like it was the most natural thing in the world. For him, yes. But for me, who’s been sheltered all my life from the knowledge of this magnitude, it was a shock.
It’s no wonder I blacked out and woke up back in bed. The mere thought of him carrying me—with his large, distended, sharp canines, maybe—from the forest back to his cabin sends a chill down my spine.
I shudder, but the trembling of my body doesn’t stop, and tingling remains in my fingers as I clutch the sink fiercely. The cold, polished ceramic doesn’t dampen the heat coursing through my veins, pulsing with sensation long after I fled from him.
The pieces of the puzzle I thought I put together have been rearranged, with words like “fate,” “mates,” and “werewolves” distorting a picture I could make sense of before. Now that picture is fuzzy, unclear, even if all the lines align and the pieces fit flush together.
“Fuck…” I breathe, trying and failing to get some semblance of control over the torrent of emotions quaking my body. I flip the switch on the tap, sticking my fingers under the cold running water, but even that doesn’t stop the tingling in my fingers.
If this is another panic attack, there’s not much I can do to stop it from taking over my body. Not deep breaths, nor splashing my face with cold water helps stop the frightful tingling in every nerve ending.
“Breathe, Annika…” I control my breathing by counting down the exhale, then timing my inhales and holding my breath.
Those words won’t stop echoing in my mind, even when I look up and meet my reflection.
The woman staring back at me feels like a stranger, her hair unkempt, cheeks flushed, eyes blown, and lips swollen from his kiss.
That kiss…
Oh, my God…I never imagined that it could be as passionate and heated as that, but it was, completely blowing my mind.
And while those words remain echoing in my mind as if they’re trying to tell me something I’d rather ignore—like how I heard them as a prophecy in a dream I had before I knew any of this existed—there’s also the part of me that can’t wrap my head around it all.
I have no reason not to believe him.
Everything he told me was the truth—I saw it in his eyes, that raw honesty—but still, it’s hard to accept. It’s impossible to accept, and there’s nothing I can do to go back to a time when I didn’t know all of it existed.
Werewolves.
Demons.
Fated mates.
It’s like I’ve been living under a rock all my life, and now, I’ve been forced to accept that I’m now an integral part of this world…his world, and I’m not sure how to feel about it.
What’s worse is that kiss we just shared…
Well, maybe not worse, but it was so unexpectedly perfect that it’s the only thing I’m focusing on right now. And the only thing that makes it bad is how my heart won’t stop racing, or how my body responded to it when he’d had his hands on me, and his lips dancing along with mine.
I don’t even know how we got there. One moment, he was revealing an entirely different world to me, and the next, he grabbed my wrist, and I’d become immobilized by the sensations flowing through my veins, as if he had me under some mystical spell.
He stood up and met my eyes, and said those words to me when he cupped my cheek, and I was a goner.
I never thought I’d actually hear him say it in real life, and the way he’s always calling me a fearless dove, as if he truly means it…
how am I supposed to survive? How am I supposed to be anywhere near him without thinking about that kiss?
On one hand, all I can do is be angry about how I got here, how I was forced to sign a marriage license that makes me Mrs. Ralph, or Mrs. Rudolph, since he’d been using an alias in the city.
I’m still mad. I still hate him.
Then how could I possibly have enjoyed the kiss so much that even now, my body tingles with awareness?
I grunt under my breath, trying to remain steadfast in my resentment when I hear the door closing with a gentle squeak on the other side. He must have finally left the room, and while it’s safe to go back in there, I wait a few beats before I return.
My reflection is the strangest thing, like a stranger to my own eyes, and I frown, wondering why I suddenly feel different.
Is it because I’m a foreigner in a new world that I can hardly recognize myself?
Or is it because the bounds of anger and resentment are slowly slipping away, turning the sharp edges of my face softer than they have been these past four years?
The woman I have been around Heinrich was forged in the fires of having to work for a tyrant, but that tyrant doesn’t seem to exist anymore. I mean, apart from the fact that he forced me into this marriage, into this life, he’d even gone as far as joking tonight.
Henry Ralph joking?
Henry Ralph apologizing?
That’s not Henry Ralph out there, but Alpha Heinrich Rudolph.
That’s the man I first laid eyes on when I walked into his office, before he donned his measured expression, before he reprised his role as the director of the company and acted cold toward me. I’ve just met the other side of him, and while I still hate him, I can’t help but feel attracted to him.
Especially after that kiss.
I chuckle nervously at my reflection, shaking my head and shrugging off the lingering effects of the kiss before steeling myself against the vulnerability that comes with lowering my guard.
I can’t afford to become weak—not when this whole new world lies ahead of me, and I haven’t even decided if I want any part in it.
Surely, I have a choice in the matter.
I leave the bathroom and go back to the bedroom, Heinrich’s scent still lingering in the air, those earthy notes less malevolent and more soothing than I’ve ever thought they could be.
A wave of exhaustion washes over me the moment I take a seat on the bed, and I lie down with a sigh.
As soon as I close my eyes, all I see is Heinrich’s face, his cool, greenish-blue orbs staring into my soul before he kisses me.
***
I wake up drenched in sweat despite the cooler temperature in the cabin, groaning as I adjust back to my body and stretch my arms over my head. The morning sun is soft as it wakes me, gently penetrating the curtains but hardly shining through enough to make the room hot.
I’m hot because I spent my sleeping hours dreaming about wolves and forests, and being twisted in passion with Heinrich. My imagination was as wild as his wolf was last night when he shapeshifted, and didn’t stop at just the kiss.
Rubbing a hand over my face, I school my expression in a way I hope I’m able to when I see him again. Trying to run away from this won’t work, as was proven last night, so I’ll have to face it.
I’ll have to face Heinrich, and I’ll do it by clinging to my hatred for him, and without giving him any indication that I was affected by that kiss.
Food.
I need food as a distraction, my rumbling tummy agreeing with the sentiment as I climb out of bed. I’m halfway to the door when the aroma of food wafts through the cracks, and my tummy is happy for it.
Taking a deep breath before I step into the hallway, I steel myself, my walls soaring to the clouds as I advance to the kitchen, where the rich aromas beckon out to my extraordinary hunger.
I can’t even remember the last time I had something to eat—yesterday’s breakfast, maybe?
Whatever. This morning’s breakfast smells appetizing enough to proceed to the kitchen, where I know I’ll find Heinrich.
I just wasn’t expecting him to be wielding a spatula, flipping pancakes at the stove, and whistling a familiar tune. I think I’ve heard it before, playing gently in his office while he worked, and without the filter of a world I used to know, I immediately ask, “What’s the song called?”
Heinrich turns around slowly, spatula in hand, hot pan in the other, a kitchen towel flung over one shoulder, looking too domesticated to be the man I’ve known these past four years.
Confused.
I am confused by what I’m seeing. And when he speaks, his tone gentle, my head spins. All I can think about is that kiss…
“It’s called 'Close to You' by The Carpenters,” he says, a frown flitting over his face. “It’s an old song. My mother used to sing it to me.”
I nod slowly, noticing the sadness flashing through his eyes, the moment of his vulnerability feeling oddly profound.
“Your mother…she’s…”
“No more,” he admits with a sigh as he makes his way to the table. He flips the pancake from the pan onto a plate and steps back. “She died fifteen years ago.”
My heart squeezes inside my chest. “I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to be,” he says quietly, then nods to the chair. “Please, take a seat. I’ve made breakfast for you.” He offers me a sheepish smile before turning back to the stove, and that’s when another pang of remorse grips my heart.
That was sadness in his eyes, I’m sure of it. As sure as I am that I still haven’t fully processed my mother’s death, because eight years later, there’s still a void in my chest that won’t leave me, and nothing can fill it.