Chapter 4
FOUR
It didn't take long to reach the block where I lived. It was three blocks, not the two I mentioned. I'm not even sure why I said two. Perhaps it was some irrational fear that if it seemed too far, she would leave? Who knows.
I opened the main door to our building and winced. The emerging stench was horrendous. I hadn't even considered it during our walk over. It was a mix of urine, sweat, and the smell of something dead that had been left in the sun for a week—all combined. I can't even begin to describe it accurately.
Without uttering a word, I led Tia through the eye-watering smell to the stairs—the lift was out of service again—and up to my floor.
My flat, which I shared with my mother, was on the third floor, fifth door along. Thank God the lights in the corridor were out, so Tia couldn't see all the stains and marks that blemished the carpet and walls. This place was far from being the Ritz.
I couldn't get us to my door quickly enough. "Sorry it's only small," I said as I unlocked the door and pushed it open.
Her gaze swept over the place, and she smiled. "No, I like it. It's cosy," she stepped inside. "Is it just you here?"
"Me and my mother, but she's at work. If you go through there, that's the kitchen. I just need to grab the first aid kit. I won't be long." If she noticed me engaging the three locks as she headed in the direction I pointed, she didn't comment on it, nor did I sense any change in her mood or a sudden spike in her heart rate. I secured the deadbolt into place and went to the bathroom.
My mother kept a small first aid kit in the bathroom, tucked away in a small cabinet. I carefully retrieved it, making sure not to disturb anything else—she would notice otherwise. The last thing I needed was for my mother to question what kind of trouble I'd got myself into. She was paranoid enough without me showing up with bumps and scratches. Her paranoia had once driven us to move because I had a run-in with a bully at school. I was five; the bully was seven. He thought he could take my things and laugh about it.
He wasn't laughing when I took my things back, and neither was his mother nor mine.
My mother had us out of there so quickly, I doubted my backside even touched the seats of the bus.
I could only imagine what my mother would do if she found out I had fought off a bunch of idiotic Humans. The thought sent a shiver down my spine as I led Tia into our small apartment.
Tia placed her small bag on the one chair beside the small table we had. She bent over, scrutinising my pile of books on the table. I mentally kicked myself for not having tidied up, but in my defence, I wasn't expecting any guests. Especially not a guest who made my heart race with every movement.
"What are you studying?" she asked, with a sort of curious adoration that made my chest tighten.
I went straight to the sink, took a bowl off the drainer, and started filling it with warm water to add some healing salts. My eyes kept darting back to her, drawn by the graceful curve of her neck as she examined my books. I forced myself to focus on the task at hand. "Business, law, and preternatural rights," I responded, trying to keep my voice steady.
Her eyes widened, and her surprise rippled through me. "Is that all? How do you manage to fit all that in with a job? Any one of those subjects alone would be incredibly challenging, I bet."
"It's not too bad. I kind of have a system for getting it all done," I said, omitting the parts about not sleeping, sometimes skipping meals, and the effort to avoid splitting myself in two. Our eyes met, and for a moment, I forgot what I was saying. I cleared my throat. "It'll be worth it in the end. I want to start my own business. Not sure what in yet, but no Other has ever made a decent living or had a good life by just slogging away for Humans."
I carried the bowl to the counter at the far end, nearest the door leading to the balcony. Not that we ever opened that door—I was pretty sure my mother had it sealed shut at this point. "Do you want to hop up here?" I patted the counter, my heart skipping a beat at the thought of her being closer. "It'll be easier for me."
Tia wasn't short, but at my six-foot-five stature, leaning over to tend to her face wouldn't be ideal. The counters in our kitchen were built high, perfect for me, and if she sat on the end one, it would put her at the right height for me to easily move around her. Plus, the table was cluttered with my stuff.
"What are you studying?" I asked, trying to distract myself from the way her presence seemed to fill the small space.
Leaving her things on the table, she approached, turned her back to the counter, braced her hands on the edge, and hopped up. The movement was graceful, feline, and I found myself holding my breath. "Preternatural anthropology," she said, her voice soft and close.
It was now my turn to be surprised. "Shifter specific?" I asked, leaning in slightly, drawn by her scent—a mix of vanilla and something wild I couldn't quite place.
"Nah, all Others. I originally wanted to go into some kind of medical field, but then we covered anthropology for a term, and I was hooked."
"I bet it's fascinating, challenging, but fascinating." I dipped the cloth in the warm water, hyper-aware of how close we were.
"It is. Did you know that shifter brains have the most neuroplasticity? Because of our ability to shift—since our insides realign—our brains can do the same, right down to the fibres. It's why we heal so fast. It's not actually fast healing."
"It's our cells shifting," I realised aloud, impressed by her knowledge and the passion in her voice.
"Exactly. Our brains adapt too. Humans misunderstand our potential. We learn rapidly and grasp concepts more deeply. Think of the advancements we could contribute to all fields of science."
As she spoke, I gently pressed the damp cloth against her cut. She flinched slightly, and I instinctively placed my other hand on her shoulder to steady her. The contact sent a jolt through me, and I quickly pulled back. "Sorry," I murmured. "Their reluctance stems from fear," I added, trying to keep the conversation going.
"They fear what they don't understand. But consider the potential if we collaborated. We don't experience dementia, strokes, or suffer from mental illnesses, largely due to our neuroplasticity. It's also why many shifters possess secondary abilities."
I unconsciously narrowed my eyes, my hand pausing in its ministrations. "Not all of us have such abilities."
"That's one of the mysteries science is trying to unravel."
My mind buzzed with my own hidden talents, known only to my mother and myself, though even she didn't grasp their full extent. "Your classes must be mind-blowing."
"More like mind-torturing," she quipped, a smile playing at her lips that made my heart flutter.
I moved a lamp closer to better illuminate the cut on Tia's face, even though my vision was sharp enough without it. The warm light cast a soft glow on her features, highlighting the curve of her cheekbones. I swallowed hard. "Are you a first-year student?"
"No, I'm in my third year."
I was puzzled, having never noticed her before. How could I have missed someone like her? "Did you transfer?"
Her pulse quickened, a subtle shift that would go unnoticed by anyone lacking sensitivity. I made sure not to react; people generally didn't appreciate being so transparent to me. As I gently pressed the damp cloth against her cut again, she flinched slightly but quickly composed herself. Our eyes met, and for a moment, I felt lost in their green depths.
"Back home, they only offer the foundational courses. Here, I can complete the third, fourth, and fifth years, and then pursue greater opportunities in Manchester. At least, that's the plan."
"It sounds like a solid plan to me." My own future, specifically how I'd transition from studying to running my own business, was still uncertain, but I had some time to figure it out. We'll cross that bridge when we get to it, I thought, focusing on tending to her wound.
As I worked, her gaze followed my movements, the subtle catch in her breath when my fingers grazed her skin. The air between us felt charged, electric. I wondered if she felt it too, this inexplicable pull.
The wound was clean, and, fortunately, the skin around it had been neatly sliced. Hurrah for silver knives that easily split our skin, but ...
Tia picked up on my hesitation, her green eyes searching mine. "What's wrong?"
I tossed the bloodied cloth into the bin beside us, fighting the urge to brush a stray lock of hair from her face. "You need stitches. Maybe just one, but the wound is pretty deep. I didn't realise how deep until I cleaned it just now." It glistened with blood. The silver was gone, which was easy enough; it only lingered around the edges. The healing salts cleared that out without a problem, but because it had been cut with silver, and small fragments might be in the wound, it wouldn't matter how much salt I used. The only way to really get rid of it was to cut the skin away, and I doubted she wanted me to do that.
She touched the wound gently, winced. Her fingers trembled slightly, and I had to resist the impulse to take her hand in mine. "Can you stitch it?"
"I can, but I ..." didn't want to. My mother had taught me. She liked the idea of me being self-sufficient and not drawing attention to ourselves. Plus, we were the lowest level of Society coverage. It was barely a step up from living on the streets. Society was our version of government and insurance. Others paid fees to the system, and in return, we got access to housing, protection, jobs, universities, etc. It came in 'donation' levels. What we paid for was basic, but Society gave us a step, and we were determined to make the rest of the ladder ourselves.
"I can't go to a clinic. I don't have the money for it." Her voice held a note of vulnerability that made my heart ache.
The wound had started bleeding again, a small rivulet of red trickling down her cheek. I exhaled sharply, my breath fanning across her skin. "Okay, but it might leave a scar." I had enough of my own scars to know.
"It's fine. It beats walking around with an open gash on my face, right?" She tried to smile, and I found myself captivated by her courage.
We had everything necessary. My mother always made sure our medical supplies were well-stocked. "I'll just grab the thread." Despite the limited space in our flat, we were prepared for nearly any emergency. If there were ever an apocalypse, our home would be the sanctuary.
When I returned, Tia was still perched on the counter, now with blood smeared across her cheek from where she had attempted to wipe it away. The sight of her there, vulnerable yet strong, made my heart race and my panther stir restlessly.
I moved the light closer to her face for a clearer view, hyper-aware of how the soft glow illuminated her features. Cleaning the wound was one thing but stitching required precision. The cut seemed to glisten more under the direct light. If I couldn't feel the pain myself, I would have thought she was unaffected by it, given her stoic expression. My own cheek throbbed, almost prompting me to check for a wound on my face.
"Okay," she announced, signalling her readiness. Her voice held a hint of nervousness that made me want to comfort her.
"Do you mind if I get closer to see better? I need to stand ..." I gestured to the space between her legs, needing to be there for better access to the wound. It wasn't the most comfortable arrangement, but it was the best option short of having her lie down on the kitchen counter. The thought sent an unexpected thrill through me.
She shifted back and opened her legs to make space. "Sure." Her casual tone belied the way her pulse quickened.
I needed her positioned just right, and without thinking—my mistake—I wrapped my hands around her waist, clasped her closer, and slid her towards me. She jolted forward, the force of my action bringing her right against my chest. Instinctively, she tightened her legs around my thighs. The sudden intimacy of our position sent a jolt through me.
"Shit. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—" I stammered, suddenly very aware of our proximity, of the warmth of her body against mine.
"No, it's fine." She looked up at me, and inside, my panther roared, being this close to her, our bodies touching in any way ... I took a breath, pushed him back before he got ideas that were way too soon to entertain, but I swore her panther met mine internally. Her nostrils flared, and I wasn't sure if it was my pulse that hitched, hers, or both simultaneously.
I was painfully aware of my panther at that moment. It stared out through my eyes so intensely; they must have changed. He was pushing, striving for a connection with her. This is what happened when a shifter was starved of connection with their own kind. When they encountered one, it felt like desperation.
Pressing my lips into a firm line, I forced him back as much as I could manage. I had to focus on the task at hand—helping Tia, not indulging in the electric tension between us. "Just a second ..." I reached for the antiseptic and thread, my fingers brushing against hers as I did so.
"Are you alright?" Her breath tickled my cheek, and I had to suppress a shiver.
"Yeah," my voice cracked as I forced a smile, grabbed the cloth to clean the wound again, and then the thread. Focus was what I needed, even as every fibre of my being screamed to close the already small distance between us.
This time, I used alcohol to clean the wound. I wasn't just trying to get the silver out; I was making sure she wouldn't get some kind of infection. "Fuck ..." she hissed as I did so. Her eyes watered, and I found myself wanting to kiss away her pain.
"Sorry. I have to clean it properly." I winced, hating to cause her pain. My free hand instinctively moved to cup her face, my thumb gently stroking her uninjured cheek.
She leant back from me, her eyes turning a deep green. The tips of her teeth had sharpened, a sign her panther was stirring. "I know. I just ... Okay. I'm just going to grin and bear it, right?"
I didn't want to hurt her. I never liked or wanted to hurt anyone. "Try this." I took her hand and placed it on my side, ignoring the spark that ignited at our touch. "Grip here. Press tight. I'm almost done." I hoped that the contact with me would help alleviate her pain.
She lifted her other hand to my other side and did the same, bracing herself. "Do it." Her fingers dug into my sides, and I had to stifle a groan at the sensation.
Having both her hands on me wasn't making things easier, but I could push through. She only needed a small, clean stitch. If I could just maintain my focus long enough to complete that, I could then put some distance between us before my panther made moves, I was pretty sure she wasn't ready for.
The stitch went in smoothly. She tightened her grip on my side, her fingers digging into my skin. After tying it off, I applied some balm to the wound. It was blue like toothpaste but smelled of lavender and honey. The scent mingled with her own, creating an intoxicating blend.
"There. That should do it," I said softly, my hands lingering for a moment longer than necessary. I traced the line of her jaw with my fingertips, ostensibly checking for any missed cuts.
I released her chin, allowing her to lower her face, but she didn't, and I made the mistake of not stepping back. Our eyes locked, and for a moment, the world seemed to shrink to just the two of us. The air crackled, our panthers prowling just beneath the surface of our skin—the heat of her body, the quickening of her breath—my gaze dropped to her lips for a fraction of a second before I forced it back to her eyes.
One moment, we were merely looking at each other; the next, our lips were locked. There was no warning, no words—nothing but her hands on my sides and me still pressed between her thighs. My panther, and evidently hers, leapt at the contact.
Her hands slid around my back, and I cupped her face, angling not for better access to the wound this time, but to her mouth. I breathed her in, and she pressed against me. Our panthers danced together.
A sensation of lightness enveloped me, making it feel as though we were floating. My skin buzzed with electricity that originated from our kiss and spread through both of us.
I had to break away, to pull back. It wasn't right to take advantage of the situation. She'd just been ... I couldn't fully articulate the thought but bringing her to my place wasn't for this reason.
"I'm sorry. I ..." My lips throbbed from the kiss, and my panther was pushing me to return to her. "I don't know what just happened." It sounded like a feeble excuse, but it was the only explanation I had.
Breathless, she shook her head. "No. It was my fault."
Was it? I couldn't tell. My panther wasn't the only thing in turmoil; my thoughts and feelings were a jumbled mess, too, making it hard to discern whether they originated from me or her. I moved to step back, allowing her space to dismount from the counter, to give myself some distance, but she placed her hand on my chest.
"How about we don't apologise for the kiss?" I suggested. "Because I'm not sorry, and if I thought you wouldn't push me away, I'd do it all over again."
"I wouldn't push you away."
A smile played at the corners of her mouth, and perhaps it was she who drew me back into that intimate space. It was hard to say. I touched her chin gently with my fingers, not to inspect the wound this time, but because I wanted to see her. She allowed me to tilt her head back, granting me access to her mouth.
I kissed her deeper this time, with more intensity and meaning. I enveloped her in my embrace, letting my hands slide around her back to pull her closer, in a way that felt as though even our panthers were embracing.
When I finally broke away and rested my forehead against hers, she licked her lips.
"I didn't bring you here to make moves on you."
"You're not. It's okay."
Looking into her eyes, they weren't fully overtaken by her panther's green, but they were bright enough. This wasn't right. I had brought her home to help her. She had just been attacked. "I should probably walk you home," I said, echoing my initial intention, not this diversion.
Disappointment washed over me. Was it mine, or hers? "Are you busy tomorrow?" she asked.
"I have classes. That's all. No work."
"I have classes too. I was planning on doing some exploring afterward. Get the lay of the land, find some places to shift. I haven't so far, and there aren't many near where I live."
That proposition felt better to me—not like I was taking advantage of a woman who had almost gone through something more awful than a few bumps and bruises. "There's the Fell. Have you been?" I asked.
She shook her head.
"It's my favourite spot. Actually, it's most shifters' favourite spot. I could take you if you like. Show you around some places."
"I'd like that," she said.
I stepped back and extended my hand to help her down from the counter. "My last class finishes at half-past five. Wait for me at the clock tower, and I'll pick you up." This way, if tomorrow, once her panther was less intertwined with mine, she realised this was all just some adrenaline-fueled thing, she wouldn't have to show up.
I was giving her an out if she needed it.
Inside, my panther was furious with me for it.