Primals (Reverse Harem Series, #1)

by Lexy Timms

  “Neither can I.”

  We are at an impasse. She lets out a sigh as she rests her head on the edge of the couch, staring up at the ceiling. “This is so awkward.”

  I have to agree. The way I’ve experienced it, the bond comes first, the telepathy a natural consequence of it. This time, however, there is no bond, just the telepathy. It’s like having a musical instrument in an orchestra but not knowing what part of the piece you have to play.

  Clarissa turns her head towards me. “How do you do it? I mean, what if you’re on a date and you find out your date doesn’t like you? Do you just walk away? Or what if you find out your date likes you but you don’t like her? What if you realize she’s lying?”

  I scratch my chin. “Actually, I’ve never been on a date before.”

  She gasps, sitting up. “No way.”

  I raise my eyebrows at her.

  “I mean I’m just...” She shakes her head as she lifts her hands then clasps them on her lap. “Surprised, that’s all. I mean, look at you. You’re...not that bad.”

  That wasn’t her first choice of words but I let it go.

  “Really? The first time you saw me, you thought I looked like a homeless beggar.”

  She gapes. “You...”

  I shrug, the quilt falling off one of my shoulders. “Can’t control it.”

  She frowns. “Well, yeah, that was my first impression but that was before...”

  She stops, her gaze falling on my chest. I tense, catching a whiff of that scent of desire off her again but it’s faint and fleeting.

  Clarissa stands up. “You know, you really should put on a shirt. Why don’t you go and do that while I bring these bowls to the kitchen?”

  Before I can say anything, she picks up the bowls and walks out of the room.

  I don’t need a shirt, but I don’t argue, grabbing the white one off a chair and slipping it on.

  “Well, that looks better,” she says, nodding in approval when she comes back.

  I pull on the hem. “Does it?”

  She holds a finger up in the air. “Now, just one more thing.”

  She walks around behind me. I can’t figure out what she’s up to. My eyes narrow. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m just going to comb your hair,” she answers. “I realize you don’t do that, since I didn’t see a comb around when I was looking for one. I know finger combing is a little awkward, but I’ll be careful. I promise.”

  I shake my head. This is too intimate. “No.”

  “What?” Clarissa walks around to where I can see her. “Are you scared of having your hair combed or something?”

  “It’s not that. It’s...”

  “Shh.” She takes a lock of my hair, twirling it around her fingers. “It’s fine.”

  She starts combing my hair with her fingers.

  Like bolts of lightning, the buzz from her fingertips travels to the root of each hair and spreads through my scalp. The tingling sensation travels down to my toes.

  Fuck.

  “Am I hurting you?” she asks. “Just tell me if I am, okay?”

  I don’t answer, gritting my teeth as I try to get my thoughts in control. That’s easier to do than my body, my hairs standing on end as heat rages throughout my veins, the mad rush of adrenaline with it.

  This is why I don’t like having my hair combed.

  “Sebastian?” Clarissa appears in front of me, eyebrows furrowed in concern. “Are you...?”

  She stops, her eyes holding mine. Without releasing them, she brushes a tangle of hair out of my forehead, her touch sending a jolt of heat through me.

  “Now, that’s better.”

  Her soft voice, paired with that gaze and that scent of desire I now pick up from her in waves makes my nostrils flare.

  I swallow as she purses her lips. My gaze is drawn to them, watching each lip as they unfurl like petals coming into bloom and then part.

  My cock throbs.

  This is dangerous. Very dangerous.

  Suddenly, Clarissa steps back, unsure.

  The scent is gone, the moment lost. And I’m left torn between relief and frustration.

  “Now, I know why you don’t comb your hair,” she mutters. “It’s hard.”

  “It is,” I answer through my clenched jaw.

  “By the way...” She taps her fingers on the mantel. “I’ve decided that as soon as the storm dies down, I’ll go to wherever the nearest phone is and make a few phone calls. Someone still has to know what happened.”

  I take a deep breath. “Are you sure?”

  She nods.

  “Because I was thinking that maybe you should stay,” I tell her, stretching my neck from side to side to relieve some tension. I can’t believe I’m suggesting this.

  “Stay? I can’t...”

  “Just until I can get some answers.” I sit down, putting some distance between us, while I lay things out. “While I was out earlier, I thought that you don’t know what’s going on with you and neither do I but I know someone who might.”

  Clarissa walks towards me. “Then I’ll come with you.”

  I shake my head. “No, Clarissa. If you come with me, he might not see us. He’s not...exactly friendly.”

  “But I can’t stay here. I have to go and let someone know I’m alive.”

  I get on my feet. Maybe I’m being unreasonable but this is a puzzle that needs an answer. “Don’t you want to know what’s happening to you?”

  “I do. But...” She scratches the back of her head on her way to the couch. “Maybe not yet. Anyway, let me do this first and then...”

  “But...”

  “Sebastian, I have to go,” Clarissa says firmly.

  I can’t let you go. My response is automatic. I can’t even explain it to myself. I’m not sure I want to.

  Please?

  Please? I’m supposed to do what now, nod and roll over and beg for a belly rub? But she looks at me with those big eyes of hers, and I start to wonder what’s so bad in belly rubs. Against my better judgement, I nod. “Alright. I’ll take you in the morning.”

  “Thank you.” She smiles then yawns. “I think I’ll go to sleep now. You don’t think I can still sleep on this couch, can you? Because I don’t think I can sleep on that bed. Who knows how many bed bugs are permanently residing there?”

  I force a grin. None. I would know. But I leave it all the same. If she feels safer here, out in the open, I won’t argue the matter. “No worries.”

  She climbs on the couch, pulling the quilt on top of her. “Good night.”

  “Good night.”

  I leave the room, heading to the kitchen. After a few minutes, I hear Clarissa’s soft breathing from the next room. She’s already asleep.

  I pull out a chair and sit down in the darkness, waiting for the storm to die down. When it does, I check to make sure she’s still asleep, then leave the cabin, securing both the back door and the front and then all the windows from the outside.

  I’ve turned the cabin into a cage, I know, just as surely as I know she won’t like it. But I can’t let her leave, not without knowing what she is first. Something tells me it’s important, and not just for her or me. And my instinct is never wrong.

  Standing outside the living room, I look in through the window and see her brown hair peeking from under the quilt on the couch. I exhale, letting the tinge of remorse that has crept up my spine evaporate.

  I have to know.

  I can’t be sorry about that.

  Chapter Three

  ~ Clarissa

  SEBASTIAN’S GONE.

  I know it the moment I wake up, even before I search the house, though I do so anyway just to make sure.

  “Sebastian?”

  As expected, I get no answer, the silence throughout the house is deafening. Even outside, no breeze blows. No snowflake parachutes to the ground. The storm is gone as if it had never come at all.

  I walk to the window, smiling as I glimpse a patch of blue sky.
>
  Good. Now, I can leave. Maybe Sebastian has just gone to get some food for breakfast or more wood for the fire and when he comes back, he’ll take me to...

  I pause, my hand on the knob of the front door. The brass piece rattles but doesn’t turn, the door stays glued in place.

  No way.

  I give the knob another try. More frantic this time.

  Alright, maybe the door just got jammed during the storm. Or it’s warped from not being used often. A lot of people don’t use their front doors. I head to the kitchen, trying the back door. I know this one opens, I’d seen him come through it last night.

  No go.

  I frown not liking the sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. One locked door is an accident. Two? A crime.

  I try a window, lifting the frame. It, too, won’t budge and after a few more futile attempts, I find out why. It’s nailed. On the outside.

  This is definitely a crime. And I know exactly who the culprit is. I’m no longer scared, I’m furious.

  “Why, that primitive, flea-ridden psycho!”

  I grab a chair, hurling it at the door. Then I grab another chair to sit on, burying my face in my hands though I don’t cry. I’m too angry for tears.

  I can’t believe Sebastian left me, even though he told me he wouldn’t with a straight face. Worse, he locked me up like a pet in a cage.

  What kind of mind reader am I that I couldn’t even read his real intentions? Unless, of course, he had his mind made up at that time and then deliberately changed it?

  Bastard. And to think I cooked for him. To think I almost kissed him.

  Closing my eyes, I run my finger over my trembling lower lip, a blush coating my cheeks as I remember the heat burning in the coals of Sebastian’s eyes. I could have sworn he was just about to kiss me when I turned away, not trusting myself not to kiss him back if he did.

  I pound my fist on the table.

  Well, whatever that was, it’s gone now. When he comes back, he won’t have rabbit stew or any sort of warm welcome. Definitely not a kiss. In fact, I’m more likely to bury my fist in the perfect jaw of his when he comes back.

  That’s if I were waiting around. I’m not. I’m so out of here.

  I gather whatever food I can find in the kitchen, a few bottles of water, a flashlight, a map, some first aid supplies and the knife for a weapon, packing them all into an empty bag. Then I change into the thickest, warmest clothes I can find, even if everything of his absolutely bags on me. I roll of sleeves and cuffs, feeling like a child playing dress up in her parent’s clothes.

  I stare at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, tucking some wayward strands of hair under my purple ski hat, thankful I hadn’t lost it in the plane crash.

  Now, I’m ready to go.

  The question is: How do I get out?

  I head to the spare bedroom, checking the window. It’s locked, too.

  I look around, trying to see what I can use to break the window open.

  The set of drawers maybe? Not the whole piece of furniture. One drawer should do. I’m only trying to break glass, not put a hole through the wall.

  It looks heavy. The dresser is solid wood, not that cheap particle board crap they sell at Ikea. With the awkward shape, it’ll be hard to swing properly to give it decent momentum.

  I’m being idiotic. Of course I can do this. I’ve moved enough times to know I can cart around a decent-sized box of stuff. I got that couch upstairs with very minimal help I might add, from my friend Min.

  I snort. First, super strength. Now, mind reading and health regeneration. Wow. I should have my own comic book and movie franchise, then I’d be a billionaire.

  But first things first.

  Taking a deep breath, I yank the top drawer out of the dresser. Thankfully it’s empty.

  Three, two, one...

  Summoning all my strength, I throw the piece of wooden furniture at the window, the glass shattering. As an added bonus, I’ve taken out a chunk of the frame. Outside, a branch snaps as the drawer hits a tree and then falls into the snow with a splash some twenty feet away

  Whoa.

  For a moment, I just stand there, gaping at my feat. I have super strength after all. I look at the dresser and wonder briefly if I could have flung the entire piece of furniture out the window. I think briefly about trying, just for the hell of it. Then I remember what I’m supposed to do and I stop being my own fan girl, wrapping my hand in the sheets to remove the splinters of glass from what’s left of the frame before jumping out.

  Escape successful. Now, I just have to get to the nearest town.

  And hopefully, not run into some bears.

  As good as I am with animals, I doubt I can read their minds. And as good as I am at a healing, I think getting mauled by a bear would hurt extremely, and if I’m in pieces, I may not heal at all.

  After consulting the map and wrapping the scarf I found more firmly around my neck, I start walking in what I hope is the right direction. OK, yeah, maybe I’m ignoring the fact that I’m in the Alaskan wilderness. The very fact that Sebastian is out here tells me that people do live out here. I only need to find one of them. How hard can it be?

  Let’s do this.

  I DON’T WANT TO DO this anymore.

  As I close my nearly empty bottle of water, I lean against a tree, an icy mist gathering around my face as I catch my breath.

  I don’t know how many miles I’ve walked or how far I have to go. All I know is that this is the second time I’m seeing the moon since I left Sebastian’s cabin, the silver crescent peeking through a veil of clouds.

  Two days and still, I’m in the middle of nowhere, only trees and snow in sight and an occasional rodent scurrying to the safety of its burrow. The fact that I haven’t died of hypothermia by now is still a surprise to me. Whatever I’ve become, it’s given me the ability to walk forever. To not feel the cold. I’m not even hungry, just tired. Not even physically tired. Just tired of walking, of getting nowhere.

  Now, I know the answer to that old question – If you could have a superpower, what would it be and why?

  Flying. That’s the answer. If I could fly, I’d be somewhere with a phone now, somewhere with a cozy bed and a warm cup of coffee. I could even be home.

  Yet, here I am, out of breath, stuck in a patch of woods that look just like the last, snow up to my knees, my scarf unraveling from the number of times it got caught on the tip of a branch.

  Lost and alone.

  I consider giving up but I’m no quitter. Besides, it’s not even an option. I have to survive, to get to a place where there are people and phones.

  And dry clothes.

  And coffee.

  I have to let the world know I’m alive. I’m sure my folks must be worried by now. If the Lab has notified them, that is. I’m sure Kyle and all the people I work with must be worried. I’m sure my dogs, cats and my fish back at my apartment must be hungry, though the last is just my feeling guilty for being gone so long. I have a service taking care of them. I’m not looking forward to getting that particular bill.

  But I have to let them know I’m alive. I have to get back to them.

  My resolve renewed, I climb the nearest tree, going as far up as I can, enjoying the strength of this new me that enables me to do something I’d never been able to do before in my life. Clinging to the trunk, I turn my head in every direction, my heart skipping a beat when I see a flicker of light in the distance.

  How distant? I don’t know.

  But it’s there. The more I walk, the sooner I’ll get there.

  I jump down, grab the straps of my backpack and continue walking.

  HOW DOES THIS PLACE even exist?

  I stand outside what has to be the strangest location for a bar in the entire world. I mean, there isn’t even a real road to this place, though there’s a handful of snowmobiles outside that tell me how people have gotten here.

  What’s strangest is there’s no town. No houses, no other buildings, j
ust this one. Lights run on a generator and noise I can hear from out here that lets me know that wherever I am, there’s a party going on that I’m missing.

  I feel like Alice and wonder what kind of rabbit hole I’ve fallen down.

  The lights suspended from the tavern ceiling blind me as I enter, the sound of men’s drunken laughter an assault to my ears as their breaths are to my nostrils. As soon as they see me, though, a curtain of silence falls, all gazes on me.

  I ignore them, heading straight to the bar.

  “Excuse me.” I lean on the counter as I try to call the attention of the stocky man behind it, pouring a stein of beer.

  He doesn’t answer, busy with his task.

  “Excuse me,” I speak louder.

  He raises a bushy eyebrow. “What do you want? I ain’t got no rooms.”

  “I don’t want a room. I just need to use your phone.”

  “Use my phone?” He chuckles. “Hear that, boys? This missy wants to use my phone.”

  The tavern erupts into laughter even though I don’t have a clue what’s funny.

  Strange. But I’m not hearing any thoughts at all. Not a single one.

  “What do you want to use the phone for?” the man asks me. “Call your boyfriend?”

  “No. I...”

  “No boyfriend?” He gives another roar of laughter. “Hear that, boys? She’s got no boyfriend.”

  The laughter turns to jeers and whistles.

  I ignore them. “So, will you let me use your phone?”

  The man’s grin vanishes. “How much you gonna pay for it?”

  “Well, I don’t have any money on me right now but...”

  “Hear that, boys?” the man shouts. “This missy has got no money on her.”

  I roll my eyes. Really, does this man have to tell everyone in the tavern everything?

  I don’t feel threatened. It takes me a minute to figure out that maybe I should. This time, the crowd does not make a sound. Seconds later, I hear the scuffle of boots, a customer standing beside me, the stench of lust on him as strong as the stench of alcohol.

  It makes my stomach turn. Things are about to go south, and I’m surrounded by a bunch of drunken rednecks.