Chapter 20 #2
“Sorry I was gone so long, I didn’t mean to make you worry.” Slowly, I put a hand to his bare chest, and a deep purr stutters to life. After a weighted moment, he leans into my touch.
Eventually, he pulls back enough that I can see his eyes, and I suck in a breath of my own. While still wild, there’s a clarity there I wasn’t expecting. His nostrils flare, and I watch as some of that clarity gives way to his animalistic instincts, a hard glint of aggression and… fear?
Without preamble, he releases my throat to grab the collar of my shirt and yanks it away from my body, looking down my top.
“Seriously?” I quirk an eyebrow. “If this is your idea of foreplay, it’s…
well, it’s actually kind of doing it for me, but-” I suck in a breath as his rough palm slides up beneath the hem of my shirt, the heat searing my skin as he skates his hand over my stomach and up my sides, ending at my rib cage.
His thumb brushes against the underside of my breast as he invades my personal space, stepping closer and holding me steady as his other hand starts at my wrist, working his way up my arm to check for injury, because it’s the only thing that makes sense; he picked up on the scent of blood, not just Stryker.
I did my best to clean up in a gas station bathroom on the way home, but shifter senses are on another level.
I flinch as he reaches the sore spot on my forearm and he jerks away from me instantly before tentatively grabbing my wrist in a gentle, firm grip, spinning my arm to inspect it. When he sees the handshaped bruise darkening my skin? That last bit of clarity is drowned out in a tidal wave of fury.
Before he can lose his shit and destroy the house, I hover my hand above the wound and start healing.
“Hey, it’s okay. Watch.” Healing myself is complicated.
I have to both concentrate on healing, and lean into the feeling encouraging me to relax and let the ability do its job putting everything back to rights without losing focus.
It doesn’t help knowing the pain and exhaustion waiting in store for me after, either.
His brow scrunches up in confusion as he watches the bruises fade away, and I smile softly for that peaceful three seconds before the pain hits.
My plan was to stuff my hand in my pocket, but I barely brush against the fabric before his hand darts out to catch my wrist. I try to tug it away, closing my eyes in defeat as the burning starts in my fingertips, spreading past my wrist. I know the moment he spots the black veins, his growl reverberating through the room as he shifts his hold to gently inspect my arm, aggressive panic radiating off of him until I’m practically choking on it.
“Ugly, isn’t it?” I peel my eyes open, giving him a wry, defeated smile.
“But nothing to freak out over, it’ll be gone in a couple minutes.
” I’m not sure he understands what I’m saying, but he picks up on the fact I’m not freaking out or acting like I’m in agony.
That’s the one bright side, I suppose; I’ve got one hell of a high pain tolerance.
“Nobody’s been able to figure out why it happens.
And trust me, my brother’s spent his entire life searching for answers.
Stryker’s the first myst I’ve ever heard of with a similar problem, but even then, it’s different.
More erratic and like his power has a will of its own than a blowback after every use.
” His confused, worried gaze stays locked on mine, and I see a flicker of clarity attempting to battle its way to the surface, but the whiplash of emotions raging against his primal instincts have him too keyed up and on edge to let him go.
I thump my head back against the wall with a tired laugh.
“At least I don’t have to worry about you telling anyone.
My brother would lose his shit if he knew how bad it’s gotten, and he’s spent enough of his life taking care of me.
He deserves a chance to have his own life, you know?
And he’ll never put himself first if he’s always worrying about me.
I know I’m going to have to tell Stryker eventually, but it’s nice to be needed for a change.
As soon as he finds out, he’s not going to want me to treat him anymore, and I’m not ready for that to end.
Hell, if I can figure out what’s wrong with his powers, maybe it’ll be the key to fixing mine. ”
He doesn’t respond with words, but the tentative, gentle stroke of his fingertip tracing my tainted veins speak volumes.
As they start to fade, his breath hitches, attention rapt on them until the last speck of black disappears, stunned gaze whipping up to meet my eye.
So I have a front-row seat to his nostrils flaring as he catches the scent of something that seriously pisses him off.
Without preamble, he crouches down, bands an arm around my thighs, and stands, flipping me over his shoulder as he storms out of the room.
I yelp, catching myself before I bash my nose on his back and push against the top of his toned ass to get as upright as I can, but it’s an effort in futility.
As soon as he hits the stairs, I’m jostled around too much to put up a solid fight, and before I know it, he’s stepping right into the shower and flipping it on.
“Are you a sociopath?!” I yelp as the icy water hits the back of my legs. “Who the fuck turns on the water after they get in?”
His fingers flex against my thigh, but that’s as much of a reply as I get from the feral lunatic trying to waterboard me with arctic water.
Thankfully, it heats up pretty quickly. If it wasn’t for the electric water heater, I’d be royally screwed, but I probably have another week before it follows the gas company’s lead and shuts me off too.
After a few minutes of pointless struggling, I slump against him and accept that my clothes are thoroughly soaked and there’s no changing it now.
They’ll dry. All things considered, this is a fantastic sign.
My mate may be feral, but he’s not so far gone that he dragged me out to some icy creek to wash whatever scent off of me that set him off.
He had enough rational thought to work the shower, even in this state.
He’s not past saving.
Blood rushes to my head as he slides me down the front of his body, easing me to my feet. He keeps one hand firmly on my hip, almost like he’s afraid I’m going to run the second he let’s go.
Or that I’ll slip.
When I hear a snick, I try to glance over my shoulder, but he grunts and pulls me flush again. A moment later, he’s working shampoo into my hair and it takes everything in me to fight back the tears threatening to spill.
Nobody’s ever taken care of me like this before. And if someone mostly feral can? The rest were always capable, they just couldn’t be bothered. And that realization is more of a wake up call than the frigid shower.
Eventually, he gets fed up with working blind and spins me around, hesitantly removing his hand from my hip to wash my hair like it's his sole mission, meticulously and thoroughly. Once that’s done, he soaps up his hands and a laugh bursts from my lips as he shamelessly stuffs one hand down my shirt to tackle my chest, the other going up my sleeve to try and scrub off all traces of my shitty afternoon.
“At this rate, it’s not like you haven’t already figured out everything I’ve got going on under here.
” Gripping the bottom of my sopping wet shirt, I peel it off with more effort than I want to admit.
It falls to my feet with a wet slap, and at this point…
fuck it. I shimmy out of my leggings too, kicking my clothes to the edge of the tub.
I was going to have to burn them anyway thanks to the blood spatter.
Last thing I want to risk is one of the men involved in that bullshit to be a shifter that can track me down to get revenge for his murdered friend, or use me to find Yukina, who I’m sure they’re looking for.
But the gargoyles and their mate that run Mercy Ridge assured me they’ll take care of getting her settled in safely and assign a few people to look out for her.
When he doesn’t get back to scrubbing me with a vengeance, I turn to face him.
Honestly, my underwear isn’t any more revealing than a bikini, and with him being a shifter, nudity shouldn’t be a big deal.
But the way he tenses up, staring at me like he's afraid to move, lest he scare me off, does wonderful things for my abused self esteem.
I'm still feeling pretty raw after my Havoc encounter earlier, so it's incredibly soothing to not have a single doubt in my mind that my shifter mate wants to be around me.
I’m not perfect, but that’s okay. Normal is boring. If Havoc can’t appreciate that, that’s a him problem; not my failing.
He broke into my house, he wanted to be around me so much. If that isn't foreplay, I don't know what is.
“I think you missed a spot.”
It jolts him out of his stunned stupor, a low rumble sparking to life in his chest as he goes back to washing away every dried speck of blood and trace scent of anyone other than him.
Each touch is a possessive caress that sends a shiver down my spine.
Dropping to his knees, he holds my heated gaze as he starts at my ankle and meticulously works his way up my legs, every brush of his fingers a silent promise neither of us know how to cash in on.
My legs tremble as he skims his rough palm up my inner thigh.
I know damn well there isn’t even a hint of blood or someone else’s scent there for him to erase, and he does too.
But it doesn’t stop him from parting my thighs and washing every square inch of skin, each arc of his hands inching higher, testing the waters.
When I don’t pull away, he grows bolder, thumbs skimming the lines of my panties and nudging them aside a little more each time.
Holding my gaze, searching for permission, he waits until I part my legs a little wider in silent permission.
Pupils blown, he dives in with reckless abandon.
The first swipe of his tongue has me practically curving in on myself. The second sets something off in him like a flip is switched, all that careful control he's clung to this evening going up in smoke. With a snarl, his fingertips dig into the back of my thighs as he dives in and feasts.
I come hard and fast, but he doesn't let up,devouring me like a starving man. Any time I shift my hips, he reacts like I'm trying to take away his favorite meal, snarling right into my pussy, the vibrations setting my clit alight and dragging me impossibly closer.
Legs trembling as he coaxes yet another orgasm out of me with relentless enthusiasm, I thread my fingers through his hair. "Oh fuck, maybe I'm being too hasty. This feral thing has its benefits.”
He seems to hear something in my voice because he reluctantly pulls his face out of my pussy, the scruff on his face glistening.
With one last kiss to my inner thigh, he rises to his feet and picks me up.
I yelp, locking my ankles around his waist and clinging to his wet shoulders as he carries me out of the shower.
I brace myself for the miserable cold air to hit, but the blow never comes.
The steam from the shower has turned the bathroom into a small sauna, and after days of living in this frigid house, it’s heaven.
It's then I notice the nest of blankets in the corner he must've set up today and the layer of condensation on every surface and the walls.
Dear God. If this man's tongue doesn't kill me, the water bill next month will.
But I can't find it in me to care right now. Not as he strips his soaked sweat pants off and tosses them to join my ruined clothes in the shower. Not as he wraps a towel around me and grabs another, dropping to his knees to dry my legs and work his way from the ankle up. And especially not when he picks me up and carries me to his nest, lowering the two of us into a bed of pillows and comforters. With his free hand, he drapes one of the blankets over us, pulling me firmly against his side, dragging me half on top of him, and settling in for the night. Completely ignoring the elephant in the room by turning our nest into an escape from reality, and honestly? It’s a superpower I’d trade both of mine to have, I appreciate it so much.
My fingers brush against Devlin’s shirt, and I freeze. Very slowly, I extract it from the nest and lift it to my nose. It still faintly carries Devlin’s scent, and if I can pick that up? No way my shifter hasn’t.
My pillows are in here, so maybe he grabbed it at the same time without thinking about it? Or figured it was important to me if I had it in my own ‘nest,’ so would feel more comfortable in his?
I don’t understand him yet, but I’m determined to figure him out.
“We need to come up with a name for you.”
Seriously. This man has worn my pussy like a mask and is living in my house. I can’t keep calling him ‘my shifter.’
My breath hitches in my lungs as he takes my hand, tracing his finger across my palm. On the second pass, I realize it isn’t random, but he’s spelling something.
I just… can’t tell what.
Either he’s trying to draw a picture, or he’s not spelling in English.
A few more passes, I ask, “Z… something?”
He pauses, face lighting up, and I sigh in relief.
“Z it is. You can tell me the rest when you’re better.”
Because he will be; I’ll make sure of it. Even if it’s the last thing I do.