23. Runa
Runa
The soft blanket offers me comfort against the winds lashing at the tower. Ash’s worn T-shirt, which I never returned from when I picked it off the ground after he shifted to sniff out his Regulator’s death, serves as a source of security, even though I’m unsure why I kept it.
I had meant to return the T-shirt, but when I packed for the nesting trip, it was the first thing I put in my bag.
His woodsy scent is strong and reassuring, rather than just arousing.
It helps because I don’t want to touch myself too much during the heat.
Once I start rubbing myself, it’s difficult to stop, and I can rub myself raw, which hurts.
Masturbation provides a false sense of relief that’s only temporary.
What it actually does, on a biological level, is enhance the frenzy of the heat, which can only be sated with intercourse.
Preferably, sex with an alpha male who will knot me.
I locked the doors and blew out the fire once I heard a male werewolf howl at the fire moon.
With my head under the blankets to keep warm, I listened while the wolves answered his howl.
Since the cadence of the howl varies from pack to pack, from alpha male to alpha male, I’m pretty sure Ash is out and about in the storm, howling at the fire moon.
Blade doesn’t seem like the type who would push his luck for a moon that’s not riding him as much as it’s riding the fire wolf.
It wouldn’t surprise me if Ash couldn’t contain himself indoors. He pulses with raw power, and because he broods and scares people away, the Fireborn Alpha gives the impression that he’s a lone feral wolf.
My hand sneaks between my legs.
I bite my lip.
I must stop thinking about that werewolf.
It’s all Maren’s fault. She ought to have banged him and gotten him out of our territory. But no, my sister wanted a human. I can’t say I blame her when she’s getting plenty of dick now, while I’m over here about to dry hump my pillow.
Frustrated, I sit up and throw off the blankets because, of course, I’m having heat flashes that flush up and down my body.
I remove my jeans, which are getting uncomfortable and scratchy against my sensitive skin, then sit cross-legged with my back straight against the stone wall.
The cold instantly seeps into my body. I rest my hands, open palms up over my thighs.
“Dear Moon, thank you for the light that guides the night. Give me the strength to carry your light without breaking during these trying times. Keep my wolf wise and my heart pure. Watch over me and mine and keep us hidden beneath your pearlescent glow.”
The prayer calms my heart rate and steadies me. I imagine I’m outside, sitting down to rest after a long run. Snow surrounds me as it often does, but I’m not cold. I’m a Stormcrest omega. Winter weather is my bitch.
I lift my hair into a messy bun, imagining the reddish glow of the fire moon hitting the back of my neck.
I settle into my meditation by allowing myself to feel the moon bathing me, filling me with holy goodness.
I focus on the back of my neck, the howling of the winds outside, the rain that’s pelting the windows, until I can almost feel drops hitting my arms.
Snow has already covered my tracks. The bridge to the tower has been lifted.
I’m untouchable.
I’m whole.
The Moon is with me.
A sniff sounds outside my door.
I snap my eyes open and listen.
Sniff. Sniff.
The dust under the door lifts. I inhale, trying to get a whiff of the intruder on the other side, but nothing comes back.
The animal whines. It’s a werewolf.
A male werewolf, to be exact. Terrified, I hold my breath and don’t make a sound. My heart is beating a mile a minute.
The male scratches the door aggressively, trying to get inside my nest. I scramble for my backpack and rise. Gun in hand, I load more silver bullets into the chamber and point the weapon at the door.
The male scratches and whines, but there’s growling mixed into it, which tells me he’s becoming agitated. I don’t know why he’s in wolf form or why he hasn’t shifted yet and announced himself.
He could be a lone stray wolf looking for shelter from the storm.
While I feel bad for him, I can’t let him into my nest. He could hurt me.
Even the most honorable and controlled of alpha males would have a hard time sitting with a nesting omega without absolutely destroying her when the urge strikes.
The fire moon’s energy is aggressive, dangerous.
“Get away from the door,” I shout. “I have a gun, and I’ll use it.”
The scratching stops, and I hear bones rearranging, the telltale sign of a shifting werewolf.
“Let me in,” he says.
Oh fuck. “Ash?”
“Mmhm.”
“What the hell are you doing here?”
“I could ask you the same question.”
“I’ve nested and want to be left alone. Shoo back to the party.”
“I don’t like parties. Let me in.”
I step back. “You can’t come in here.”
“I can. But when I get inside, I want us to keep the door closed. Which won’t happen if I have to burn it down.”
“This is blackmail.”
“Let me in.”
I don’t know what to do. Ash isn’t the kind of alpha who makes idle threats. He’s simply stating facts. I could open the door, or he could burn it down. The choice is mine. No alternatives.
“I brought chocolate-covered mints,” he says.
I twirl my hair around a finger. “You did?”
“Mmhm.”
“What else did you bring?”
Someone, please stop this pussy-induced madness, because I can’t. Anyone? Last call.
I look around. Blankets, pillows, an unlit fireplace.
It’s a basic-bitch nest, and there’s no way I can invite an alpha like Ash in here.
He’s probably used to nests made by a harem of omegas who swing from poles and chandeliers.
This is my hidden space, not the kind of place an omega would invite an alpha.
“How did you find me?” I ask, trying to stall him until I can come up with something to say to make him go away.
“I don’t know,” he says.
“What do you mean you don’t know?”
“I mean what I said. I do not know.” A moment, then, “I followed a…a tug.”
“Like in the chest?”
“Exactly there. I see you know what I mean.”
That’s how I found him in the cave. Kind of weird. The scent of smoke teases my nose, but before I can protest, the door catches fire, the lock melts, and the door swings open.
Calmly, a very big and naked Ash walks inside and closes the smoldering door behind him. A basket my mother prepared for Maren, I’m sure, dangles from his hand. If my parents knew he was here, they’d kill him.
I point the gun at his chest. “Get out, Ash, or I swear I’ll shoot.”
In three strides, he reaches me and backs me up against the wall. The barrel of my gun separates us, pointing at his heart. He’s breathing heavily, his breath fanning my face while he looks down at me, barely able to keep his gaze on my eyes before it drops to my mouth.
The basket thuds on the floor when he drops it.
“Fuck it,” he says, then picks me up by the back of my thighs.
I move the gun under his chin.
We’re connected. Our bodies, skin on skin. His palms burn hot and will leave my skin raw. Ash tilts his head as if to kiss me.
I can’t let him. I can’t. “I’m going to pull the trigger,” I say.
“I’m going to kiss you,” he counters.