Chapter 19
GRIFFITH
It’s weird, hanging out in my bedroom with my best friend, knowing his little sister is on the other side of a closed door, taking a bath. And while this is happening, I’m doing my best not to let on how much I wish I were on her side of the door.
“You seem agitated. You worried she’s going to drown herself?” Carl says this with an attempt at a joke in his voice, but I can tell he is on edge, like I am.
“Just wanna know if it’s going to work.” My voice is too growly, but I can’t seem to smooth it out.
He nods in agreement, and then we slip back into silence as we sit next to each other on my massive bed.
We should talk. Say something, just so my mind can focus on us rather than what’s going on in my bathroom.
Because as the quiet persists, I can’t help imagining Clementine stripping off her clothes.
Testing the water with her hand. Slipping her naked body into the warm liquid.
Gods, I can smell the fragrance through the door.
Both the scent of the potion and Clementine’s delicious vanilla-hibiscus aroma.
I try to casually rest my hands on my lap, hoping Carl doesn’t notice.
Think of anything other than a wet, naked Clementine.
So, morbid as it is, I focus on her wound.
I throw my mind back to that night she appeared in my bar, her snarky mouth going, the subtle scent of iron hanging around her, which should’ve been the warning.
And then when I busted in on that restroom and saw the way her flesh was ripped open, blood seeping from the exposed tissue.
All arousal fades as I think of the pain she experienced and how it’s still there. How we don’t know if this potion will fix her. How we don’t know how long the witch Band-Aids will continue to last if this isn’t a solution.
Then I hear it. A little gasp.
I can’t stop myself from lurching to my feet and knocking on the door.
Need to know she’s safe.
“It’s working!” Clementine calls out.
The words take a moment to register, and I barely stop myself before I reach for the handle. But, gods, do I want to open it. I want proof that her skin is healed. That her body isn’t dying.
That she’s not dying.
“You’re sure?” Carl is at my side, yelling his question at the closed door. “You’re not bleeding anymore?”
Instead of a response, there’s the sound of splashing water and slapping footsteps.
A moment later, the door wrenches open, and there’s Clementine with a towel wrapped around her waist and a washcloth held over her breasts as she drips water all over the carpet in my room.
But I don’t care because there is her bare midriff, completely healed. Not even a scar remains.
My knees momentarily go weak, and I brace my hand on the wall to keep myself upright. Relief has made me boneless. Carl lets out a half sob, half shout of joy, and he gathers Clementine into his arms, not caring that she soaks through his T-shirt and jeans in the process.
She lets out her own laughing cry as she hugs Carl back with one arm while still holding the towel to her chest.
“I’m okay now. It’s all okay. You don’t need to worry anymore.” Her voice is soft as she whispers this to her brother.
That’s when I realize Carl is quietly crying as he holds his sister. And it hits me just how terrified he has been these past few weeks. I knew logically, but here it is. Proof that my best friend’s heart has been breaking, as he knew there might be something he couldn’t save Clementine from.
The way they love each other is a beautiful thing. And there’s an ache in my chest because I want to be able to share in that love. The small family they have—I want to be part of that. I’ve never known how being loved like that feels.
“Gods, Carl. You’re drenched now.” Clementine takes a step back, and there’s almost a perfect outline of her body soaked into Carl’s clothes.
He huffs out a laugh, wiping at his eyes and smiling, like the damp fabric doesn’t bother him in the least.
“Yeah. Guess I didn’t think about that.” He rubs a hand over his tired face. “I’ll get changed. Maybe you should get back in the bath for a bit longer. Just in case.” He nudges her toward the healing potion. “Later, we need to go out to dinner and celebrate.”
Clementine smirks. “I heard something about Margarita Mondays at the Marina.”
That’s right; it is Monday. And tequila sounds like a great idea, in my opinion.
“You coming too, Griffith?” Carl grins at me, sharing the joy of his sister’s recovery.
I nod, and he claps me on the shoulder once before striding out of the room on his way to his garage apartment.
Then it’s just Clementine and me. She doesn’t immediately close the bathroom door and return to her soak. Instead, she stands on the threshold, staring up at me with a single eyebrow raised.
“You’ve got a nice bathtub in there. Big enough for a mermaid.”
Did she transform into her other shape?
What I wouldn’t give to see her in her mythic form. I wonder what color her scales are. Do they match the striking icy blue of her eyes? Are they golden, like her hair? Pink, like her hibiscus scent?
“Glad the tub worked for you. That the potion worked for you.” I step closer without thinking about the move. Just knowing that I need to check her wound again for myself. “Do you mind if I …” My hand hovers a few inches away from her abdomen.
“Go for it, Dr. Griffith.” I think she’s trying to sound mocking, but her voice is a touch breathy, and she lets out a little gasp when my fingers brush against her unmarked skin.
“Hurts?” I make to pull my hand away, but she grabs my wrist and keeps me in contact with her warm flesh.
“No. I’m just not used to having people touch me there and it not hurting.”
Our eyes meet, and heat passes between us. A tension that can’t be ignored.
“No more pain then?” I ask.
She shifts on her feet, and the cloth she’s holding over her chest slips down until I’m sure one more centimeter would reveal a nipple. “I may still have an ache or two.”
“Now, who is wooing who?”
What are we doing? That’s what I should be asking. But that might stop whatever it is, and I don’t want to free myself from the arresting torment of her presence.
“You should get back in the bath.”
“If you say so.” Clementine slides a step backward, away from me.
Away from my touch. But she doesn’t make to close the bathroom door.
Instead, she drops the towel that was covering her top half, and then her quick fingers undo the knot that was holding up the cloth covering her bottom. She stands bare before me.
My mind wanders down a path of distracted fascination as my inner wolf howls in want.
Clementine turns and struts back to the tub, the tight globes of her ass bobbing with each step.
Teasing me. Tempting me. Driving my animal instincts to the edges of my skin.
When she lifts a leg to step back into the bath, I get a glimpse of her core.
The damp blonde curls that surround the heated center of her.
I’m going to go to every fucking hell in existence for thinking about what it would be like to slip into that heat.
I close the bathroom door.
But only after I’ve stepped into the room with her.
Clementine reclines in the bathtub, covered by the milky blue water now, so all I can see are the tops of her breasts and her collarbone and her fucking gorgeously frustrating face.
She watches me with hungry eyes that show no hint of hesitation or shame.
“I shouldn’t be in here,” I say.
“If you don’t want to be in here, then you should leave.”
“I didn’t say I didn’t want to. Just thought I shouldn’t be.”
Clementine’s knees appear above the surface of the water, far enough apart that I can tell her legs are spread wide. “How about this? You help me out with this final ache I have, and then you can leave, knowing you’ve been a good boy.”
I growl deep in my throat, but only because I want to do exactly what she’s asking for.
This is a crossroads. This is a choice. I’m not about to step over this line, only to pretend like I didn’t have control over myself.
There may be an animal inside of me, but I am not an animal.
I know there will be consequences. In this moment, I decide that they’re worth it as long as I can have the memory of at least one touch. One time where I know what Clementine sounds like when I’m giving her pleasure. Where I know exactly what she smells like after she comes.
I think I need that for my survival.
I come to kneel beside the bathtub, my eyes holding hers. “Tell me yes, or tell me no.”
The teasing drops away from her face, and as her eyes hold mine, there’s a note of vulnerability. Of hope and relief. She just found out she’s not dying, and I would bet my share of Local Brew that she wants to feel alive.
And I want to give her anything and everything she wants.
“Yes.”