Hateful Desire

by Marianne Willis

  She lifted him. Droplets raced down his dark hair and along the sides of his chiselled face. They stared for a long moment, and she lost herself in the intensity of his black eyes. She craved to sink to his level, ask him what the hell happened between them, and if they could ever make things right. Similar to a bird catching a worm, cowardice snagged her, and she dunked him a second time. When she completed the task, she stepped back. The rollercoaster of emotions became impossible to deal with, and she wheeled around and stomped out of the river.

  On a picnic table, the men snatched towels and dried themselves. Chayton patted droplets off his powerful body, arms revolving like heavy machinery, abdomen flexing and relaxing with his rapid movements. Did the others recognise the thick tension between them? If they did, no one mentioned it.

  Len stopped beside her with two bowls. Amber observed them, and then the women who also clutched bowls of paint. “What’s this for?”

  “For the face and body,” Len said.

  “Let me guess, another tradition.”

  He winked with a grin and strode to the other tribe members.

  “I’ll tell you what to do.” Chayton took the bowls from her and made for the foldout table.

  She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m not good with symbols, or any sketching for that matter.”

  “You’ll be fine. I need representations of my journey painted.”

  Whatever that meant. “What do I do?”

  He grasped a bowl with yellow paint. “Dunk your fingers and run the paint down the right and left side of my body.

  She swallowed at his naked, taut chest, and the staircase of muscle on his abs. “Just run it down?” she confirmed, dipping four fingers into the cold wetness.

  “Yeah.”

  From his collarbone, she descended a slow trail. His physique represented a map which she desired to study, travel over every delicious inch, to lay her body atop of his, create a sensual heat that stirred her senses and made her forget how to breathe. Painting him was erotic, and the notion warmed her cheeks.

  He grabbed a bowl with the colour blue. “Now two dots on the right side of my torso.” He pointed. Amber wiped her hand with one of the cloths on the table. She then dabbed her thumb into the bowl and directed the paint-covered digit to his side. She flattened the pad over his skin and shifted a fraction lower to imprint a new spot.

  “What else?” she asked after clearing her throat.

  “With the black paint, I need a half moon over my heart, and then you’ll paint my face in the traditional player pattern.”

  The ladies were already doing so to their men. Each member had a different design on their bodies, but their faces were the same with black paint along their foreheads to the side of their temples, a white line streaked across their nose, and a green line beneath. “Okay,” she breathed. She could do this, right? She attained the bowl with black paint, and her arms trembled, unable to stop.

  “Amber?” He said her name as a question.

  Painful memories surfaced. Many times she had failed witchcraft in front of the Elite, their pointed fingers and jeering laughter, her mother shaking her head with such disappointment, the pity in Brianna and Rachel’s faces. Red-hot humiliation lashed at her insides. “I’m sorry, I’m nervous.” Hesitant, she dared to look into his eyes. “What if I mess this up?”

  “Well, then, let me take charge,” Stacy said.

  How long had she been standing there? Amber did not stop the woman from seizing the bowl. She stood aside, and Stacy dipped her finger and traced a wet trail over the smoothness of his chest. A sharp pang erupted in Amber’s heart like a bomb, its embers of jealousy spreading, contaminating.

  Stacy’s mouth quirked, and a pulse at the beautiful brunette’s neck thrummed. Stacy enjoyed this, and by the warm glow in Chayton’s dark eyes—eyes focused on Stacy—he welcomed her touch. A mutual comfort resided between the two, in many ways similar to long-time lovers.

  Unease kept Amber rigid. When Stacy was done, a perfect half shaped moon stained his heart.

  “We couldn’t have Chayton looking silly with a crooked half-moon now, could we, Amber? You’re obviously unfamiliar with our traditional ways, but don’t worry, that’s why I’m here.”

  The overly sweet tone was a fake. That wasn’t what irritated her, but Stacy’s hands on his body, and the way she grinned, knowing she had them there. Did she act this way because she resented Amber for being cruel all those years ago, or because she couldn’t stand the fact Chayton was mated to a witch. No one was blinded by the way Stacy gazed at him. He might consider them friends, but Stacy’s interest exceeded friendship.

  Amber regretted how she treated them in high school, but if Stacy believed she would sit back and take crap, she could guess again. “Sorry I’m not as good as you in body-painting. You should start a business. I’m sure plenty of men will stand in line for your services.”

  “Amber,” Chayton snapped the harsh warning.

  She shot him what she hoped was a levelled stare. Was he oblivious to Stacy’s intentional cruelness? Perhaps he didn’t mind the unkind treatment, since Amber had harassed them for so many years. She snickered, bypassed the duo and marched toward the rocks. With her back facing the group, she sat on a large boulder.

  The crunch of twigs and leaves echoed in front of her. A shadow stomped within the bushes. Seconds later, Ian exited the clearing.

  “Reow!” he mimicked a cat by scratching the air. “Nice comeback.”

  She didn’t deserve his praise but chuckled at how he lightened the situation. Stooping to Stacy’s level wasn’t her idea of a mature response. “You heard that?”

  Ian pointed to his ears and perched on the rock next to her. “Wolf hearing, you just can’t beat it.”

  Her shoulders sagged. “Yeah, well, Chayton didn’t like the comeback.”

  “Don’t worry. Give him time, he’ll come around. Or…you can settle this thing with Stacy now in a very grownup environment.” He gauged her with such seriousness.

  “How?”

  He slapped his jean-covered thighs. “Give me thirty minutes. I can be back here with a blow-up pool, metallic bikinis, and mud.”

  She scoffed and whacked his arm.

  “Okay, okay…no mud.” He flinched. “How about jelly?”

  “What are you doing here anyway, shouldn’t you be taking care of the gym?”

  “I’m on a break, decided to come and cheer for my buddy, but my cheerleading outfit is still at the cleaners.”

  She snorted a laugh. “I have a spare if you need one.”

  “Does it come with a set of pompoms?”

  Her chin tilted with pride. “Of course.”

  “Sweet.” He raised his palm, and she smacked him a high-five.

  She liked Ian. He was so easy to talk with, and she envied his confidence. He possessed an aura…that I don’t care what others think persona. If only she had the same attributes in high school, things might have been different now.

  “I’m going to say a quick hello then head to work.”

  Ian jogged off, but she remained seated on the rocks, not yet ready to face the rest of the pack. Panic made the hairs on her neck stand when Len chose the spot where Ian had sat. Great, she’d done something wrong and was about to be scorned.

  “You know my wife couldn’t stand the painting either. It took a while to adjust to the tribe.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “At first she didn’t feel accepted. She did not know our ways, our language, and I guess felt left out.”

  “I can relate. I can’t even pronounce some of the words Chayton has mentioned.”

  “Rosabel has come a long way. She knows the Cherokee language, even though she sounds funny with her French accent.” He laughed.

  Amber chuckled. “How did you two meet?”

  Len grinned with a faraway look. “I flew to France to find the woman who shared my dreams. She recognised me the minute we saw each other. She freaked o
ut at first, as she wasn’t expecting the man in her dreams to be real.”

  Ah, of course, the dream-sharing. “So you could say it was love at first sight.”

  “Yes, sure was.”

  Amber frowned. “Where is your wife?”

  “In France. Her older brother passed away a few nights ago, after his long battle with cancer. She’s spending some time with family.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” Her voice softened. Chayton never mentioned his uncle’s passing. Why couldn’t they talk like normal people, instead of being suffocated by this continuous muteness? “I can’t wait to meet her.”

  His strong hand rested on her shoulder. “She can’t wait to meet you, too, Amber.” He rose to his feet. “It’s time for the games.”

  She followed Len’s gaze to a chatting Chayton and Stacy.

  “You didn’t have to let her win, you know?” He glanced down and winked.

  “I’d no doubt embarrass him by ruining his journey.”

  “Who cares?” Len shrugged. “I’ve known Stacy her whole life. She’s like a daughter, but for her to butt in was uncalled for. Chayton is yours, Amber.” He returned to the male members of the tribe, and she mused over what he said. Chayton was hers…he just didn’t want to be.

  ****

  The men led the way into the field. His father carried the bag of sticks they would use during the game and stopped in the middle of the open space. Chayton glanced back. Amber still sat on the rocks, even when the women had gathered to give their men a good luck kiss. He’d contemplated approaching her, hauling her into his arms, but thought better of it.

  “Good luck, guys,” Kel said to the group as he set the two stakes into the ground for the goal.

  Chayton nodded, then fumbled in the bag for a stick. He stretched his arms above his head to warm his ligaments. Game two, this was it. The paint on his body retold the touch of Amber’s fingers.

  His skin had become so hot, the paint should have melted off. She’d seemed ignorant to the meaning behind the colours he chose. The journey represented her, the yellow to signify her strawberry-blonde hair and the blue dots for her eyes. The tradition of the body paint was a personal, spiritual symbol to reflect each member as an individual.

  The way she had regarded him earlier in the water and how her emotions hummed into him…he’d been so close to tugging and holding her. Anger still thudded for not realising she had been a virgin.

  He bit his inner cheek, remembering her low moan when he’d first entered. He hadn’t thought anything of it, since he believed her to be an experienced woman. But that night had been all new, and he took more than he gave.

  Oh, how he wanted to make it up to her, but doubted she would let him touch her. Sleeping on the sofa these last few nights seemed like the right thing to do, even though inside he burned.

  “Chayton?” his father called. “I asked if you were ready.”

  All thoughts of Amber swept to the back of his mind. “Yeah, ready.” Time to focus on the game. He knew what to do. Now, he just had to be the first with twelve points.

  The contestants faced each other. His father held the ball in one hand. “Let’s play.” He tossed it in the air.

  Game on.

  Chayton collided with Sani. Beside him, Howi and Kel wrestled to the ground. Howi broke free, snatched the ball with his stick. The three of them chased him to the goal. Chayton increased speed, and threw Howi to the ground, but was too late. Howi scored one point.

  The game continued. Huddled in a circle, Chayton seized the ball and dashed for his life. He cheered when he delivered a goal. Hours passed. Each player had copped some visible bruises.

  Howi achieved eleven points, whereas the rest were on ten. Tension tightened Chayton’s jaw. He’d worked hard over the years to prove himself. But becoming leader would gain his respect and obliterate his embarrassing past. Nothing would stop him achieving his goals, nothing at all.

  “You can do this, Chayton,” Amber said through their link. She waited on the side with the others, hands clasped together. Had she realised she thought directly to him?

  He elbowed the clustered group, scooped the ball, and sprinted. Kel tackled him just after he darted past the goal. They slid along the greensward, his knees and elbows grazed and grass-stained, but he smiled. He was on eleven points.

  They continued to fight for the small ball, each aggressive thrust proved impatience. Sweat streaked the paint. He tasted blood when he ran his tongue across his lower lip.

  The click-clack of knocking sticks rang in the air, fuelling his adrenaline. Chayton made for the ball. It hovered at the edge of the pouch before falling in. He raced, the muscles in his legs ached, but he did not relent. So close now…he darted through the goal. Point twelve.

  Sinking to his knees, he panted. Applause broke out around him. The others waved and cheered from the sidelines. Amber smiled. Her emotions hummed in his system, pride. She was proud of him. Encased in warmth at the sight of her, he couldn’t recall ever seeing anything more beautiful.

  He stood when his father approached and gave him hug. The cool afternoon breeze tickled his skin, and he welcomed the freshness. His team players gave him a commending pat, and made their way toward the tribe.

  “Congratulations,” Amber said when he neared.

  He contemplated kissing her, the need intense and unrelenting.

  Stacy slipped between them and was in his arms before he could act. She hugged him and laughed. “You did it, Chay.”

  His best friend understood the importance of this game, had been encouraging him since childhood. Her support was appreciated, but he couldn’t remove his eyes off Amber. Her smile dimmed, and she staggered back, allowing him and Stacy space. What should he do? He didn’t want to brush Stacy aside, but he disliked the sadness in Amber’s expression. His mate wheeled in the direction of the cottage. “Amber,” he called out.

  Stacy stopped him with a hand on his chest. “Leave her be.”

  Brown eyes bore into his. He knew Stacy well enough to know she begged.

  “Hey, Chayton, get over here,” Sani called.

  He hung with the tribe until nightfall. He was sweaty, tired, and couldn’t wait to shower and relax. “I’m out of here,” he said, and Stacy hopped out of her foldout chair.

  “Stay a little longer.”

  “I can’t.” He kissed her cheek, and jogged to the cottage. Silence greeted him in the house. A plate of spaghetti bolognese sat at the dinner table. It didn’t look too bad. He would have preferred to eat with Amber, but a washed dinner set sat in the dish rack.

  He tiptoed into the hallway, paused outside the shut bedroom door, and flattened a palm on the thick wood. Werewolf senses were so convenient. He closed his eyes, and listened to her soft, even breathing.

  Limbs heavy, sore, and covered with visible bruises, he too was ready for sleep. Would she shriek if he slipped in next to her? Or would she welcome him if he were to cradle her against his chest. He swallowed, fingers around the door handle, contemplating the idea. The image of her crouched in the shower and crying made him stop, and he decided once again to take the sofa.

  Chapter 13

  Amber popped the lid of her favourite plum-coloured lipstick, tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, and smeared the final application over her lips. The hem of her long white cotton skirt tickled her sandaled feet, and a dark blue top hung off one shoulder.

  Not the best outfit she owned, but would do for a summer barbecue. The end of the week celebration was held at Ian’s parents’ house, and by the digital time on her cell phone, they had fifteen minutes to be there.

  She marched to the closet and withdrew the black shoulder-bag containing her camera. Someone knocked at the door, and she glimpsed Chayton entering the room.

  Air evaporated in her lungs. A white button-down shirt open at the collar heightened his coffee skin, and the dark denim jeans sculpted his lean, muscular thighs. His gaze travelled the length of her, and he gave a half-
smile. “You look…” He stepped forward, as though unable to help himself, but paused. “Beautiful.”

  “Thank you.” She cleared her throat. “Are you ready?”

  “Yeah, just checking if you were, too.”

  “Yes. Let’s go.”

  She locked the house as he started his truck. The drive was not far, but she didn’t remove her gaze from the passenger window. Confronting the silence would have been harder. He parked alongside the curb in front of a line of cars. Out the windscreen, a small cottage house similar to their place sat on a slight hilltop. Their place? Did she just consider his home her own? Biting her lower lip, she urged the thought out of her mind and followed him up the drive.

  When they knocked, Chayton let out a long sigh. Could he be nervous about this evening? He had won all the tribal games so far, but with one week left, the pressure must be unbearable. The door swung open, and a woman greeted them with a big smile. At first, Amber thought her to be Ian’s mother, but she seemed too European and didn’t share a resemblance. She was beautiful with pale skin, dark long hair, and big chestnut-coloured eyes.

  “Surprise.” Her tone held a strong French accent.

  Amber peered at Chayton. His jaw hung low, and the happiness radiating from him warmed her within.

  “When did you return?” He threw his arms around the woman and hugged her tight.

  “This morning. I missed you so much, mon fils.”

  “I missed you too, maman.”

  Amber shifted, uncomfortable with her silent presence on their little reunion.

  “Amber,” he said. “I would like for you to meet my mother, Rosabel.”

  His mother? Panic stiffened her body. She rubbed her hands along the cotton skirt. Did she look okay? Maybe she should have worn the purple top instead, or the blue summer dress.

  Mascara! Crap! She forgot mascara. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Locklear.” Did her apprehension show? She hoped not.