by Amira Rain
While Sam gurgled and cooed in her playpen beside the table, I told Warren I couldn’t agree more.
Later during the meal, he asked me how my dad was doing, and I told him, and then I asked him how his Graywolf-hunting mission had gone. He reported that it had went well, and that all the Graywolves had been “caught and dealt with,” which I was pretty sure meant killed.
“Unfortunately, though, we couldn’t catch them all before one of them did some serious damage in a village in the FDS, killing an elderly female gas station attendant, assaulting a young widow in a farmhouse, and killing the two teenage farmhands who came to her aid, all apparently just for fun, just before I and my men arrived.”
Turning my gaze to my plate, I pushed a few pasta curls around briefly, thinking, before lifting my face to look at Warren again. “Do you swear to me that the Graywolf was really assaulting and killing people before you killed him? Do you swear to me that’s true?”
Frowning, Warren set his whiskey glass down. “Tara, who told you that the Graywolves aren’t a bad group of shifters, or where did you get that idea?”
I still didn’t want to reveal that I’d met Brooke and had heard an entirely different story about the Graywolves, because for one thing, not being a hundred percent positive that the Graywolves really were who Warren said they were, and therefore not knowing if Brooke herself might share in any collective evil of the group, I didn’t want to get her “in trouble” in any way for trespassing into Greenwood territory.
For all I knew, she was completely innocent of any ill intent. Even if her people were murderous and evil, she personally might still be innocent of any ill intent. For another thing, I didn’t want to tell Warren that I’d spoke with her because in doing so, I’d have to reveal that I’d taken a long hike down the trail that he, through Mary, had explicitly told me not to hike.
It wasn’t only my chat with Brooke that had initially made me doubt Warren’s claims about the Graywolves, though. It had also been the fact that Warren had ordered me to be kidnapped. I’d believed then, and a small part of me still did believe, that a man capable of ordering a kidnapping was also a man more than capable of obfuscating the truth.
After all, most people didn’t pick and choose what areas of their life they were going to be moral in and which they weren’t. Usually, a person capable of one crime was capable of many, I thought. Regardless of how kindly and lovingly a person treated their child.
I didn’t want to say all this to Warren, though. Honestly, I was trying to give him a chance and soften my heart toward him, just kind of tentatively trying to test myself to see if I might be able to move past everything that had happened in the past. And I was half-afraid that if I brought those things up again, it might shatter the newfound relative peace between Warren and me, and that wasn’t what I wanted.
So, in response to what he’d asked me about where I’d gotten the idea that the Graywolves weren’t bad, I just issued a very brief response that was really the heart of the truth anyway. “I just don’t completely trust you yet, Warren… and because of that, I don’t feel like I can completely take your word about the Graywolves as gospel yet.”
With his frown fading, turning into an expression of resignation, Warren sighed. “I understand, and I know it may take you a while to fully trust me. That’s fine. I realize that I do need to earn your trust, and I plan to.
But in the meantime, just know that I’m not saying that all of the Graywolves, every single one, are filled with pure, murderous evil. Some of them are just simply greedy when it comes to land, and they’ll go to great lengths, and even violent lengths, to get it.
But as for the others… there’s a sickness in some of the Graywolves. It goes beyond simple greed for land. It makes them lust for blood, and death, and destruction. This makes them the enemy of everyone in Greenwood who wants to live in peace and safety, including you, I’m assuming.
This is why all of us in this community have to be vigilant about keeping any Graywolves from entering our community. This is why some of us shifters have to spend countless, untold hours away from home, running guard patrols around the town.”
I said I understood and went back to finishing the rest of my pasta, and Warren did the same. Eyes closing in her playpen, Sam began taking an evening nap, which she often did. Being a baby as sweet and smiley as she was could be very tiring work.
After we’d both cleaned our plates, Warren knocked back the rest of his whiskey, leaned back in his chair, and just looked at me for a long moment with his vivid blue eyes twinkling before speaking. “Oddly enough, I missed you, too, while I was gone. Isn’t that what you said? ‘Oddly enough?’ Only when it comes to me missing you, it really wasn’t that odd. I like being around you even when you’re irritated with me.”
Secretly pleased, I fought a smile. “Well, there’s more where that came from.”
A short while later, while I cleared the table, Warren went upstairs to shower, then went out to accompany his men on evening patrol. For some reason, I couldn’t go to sleep a few hours later, almost feeling like I was waiting to hear his heavy boots on the hardwood stairs, announcing that he was home.
And then what, I wasn’t sure. I pictured us kissing out in the darkened hallway, Warren’s strong hands roaming all over my body, but I wasn’t sure how I intended to get from A, hearing his footsteps, to B, indulging in my fantasy. Not to mention that I wasn’t at all sure if I ever wanted that fantasy to come true. Before Warren had left on his trip, I’d been sure that I never wanted anything to do with him on a romantic level ever again, but now I was definitely having some doubts, to say the least.
In the end, around midnight, when he still hadn’t come home, I fell into a fitful sort of sleep, repeatedly dreaming of Warren pulling me into his arms and then vaporizing.
Several days passed; spring kicked into high gear with back-to-back seventy-degree days; and to my great relief, Kevin reported via text that our dad was doing okay, was still on the wagon, and wasn’t having withdrawal symptoms anymore. Also, he’d resumed going to the AA meetings, bringing donuts for everyone his first time back. Kevin ended his text with a single line that melted my heart and made it soar at the same time. He took me, Derek, and Joey out for hamburgers last night, and it was kind of nice.
Whenever Warren was home during the day, he took care of Sam with me, once taking her into town for a “daddy-daughter errand day” to the hardware store and the grocery store so that I could have lunch with Ally and help her repaint her kitchen.
Every evening, Warren and I ate dinner together, getting to know each other better little by little, and little by little, my trust in him grew, as did my desire to become closer to him in other ways, ways that made me blush even when thinking about certain things when completely alone.
However, I still wasn’t sure if I wanted my desires to become reality. Also, the Graywolves had begun causing frequent problems, “more than usual,” Warren said, with some of them attacking his patrol guards, apparently in an attempt to get into the town, though to do what, no one knew. Because of this, Warren continued leaving to rejoin his patrol guards after dinner every night, not returning until very late. And I always fell asleep before he did.
On the fourth night after he’d returned home, though, I just happened to be up at one in the morning, after having nursed Sam, when I heard some faint sound out in the yard that made me get out of bed and pad over to the windows to have a look.
The day had been exceptionally warm for a spring day in an area of North America so far north, actually reaching eighty-one degrees, so I’d left all my windows open, along with Sam’s, before going to sleep. Warren had offered to turn the central air conditioning on, but the house really never got that stuffy, and I also loved falling asleep to the sound of crickets chirping.
Now I put my face as close to one of the window screens as possible without actually touching it, straining my eyes to see what, in the dimness of the backyard, could have caus
ed the noise I’d heard. It had sounded something like a dragging noise, like stone being dragged along stone maybe, though it had been so faint I hadn’t really been able to tell.
Intensely curious to know what the sound had been and if Warren had made it, and slightly anxious that he had not made it, and perhaps some kind of intruder on the property had, I peered out into the darkness for at least a minute, but I didn’t see anything or hear anything, either.
But then, puzzled and wondering if I’d just heard the wind or something, because the night was a little breezy, I was just about to turn around and head back to bed when I heard the noise again, this time just slightly louder. It was definitely some kind of a scraping sound, like stone on stone.
I still couldn’t see anything, though, but with the hairs on the back of my neck rising, I continued watching. And within a few seconds, I saw a sight that made me back up from the windows, making a little gasp. The darkness above the massive stone box by the eastern woods was suddenly glowing with bright white light.
CHAPTER 15
After dashing over to my nightstand, I grabbed my phone and typed out a text to Warren. I heard a noise, and now there’s bright light above the stone box. I’m not sure what it is. A little alarmed.
Once I’d hit send, I realized that it might have been quicker to just call him and verbally say what I’d typed, but in my state of anxiety, I just hadn’t thought things through. I debated calling him anyway, but before I could make a decision, I received a text in return. The light and noise was just me. I’m sorry if the noise woke you. I’ll try to be quieter.
I breathed a sigh of relief, realizing that while I’d been worried about some kind of possible intruder on the property, in the back of my mind I’d also had some slight fear of something supernatural happening in the big stone box. Now I felt more than a bit silly. However, I was also feeling more than a bit curious as to what Warren was doing out there. So, I texted him again. It’s no problem about the noise, but what are you doing out there? And where is that light coming from?
This time it took him a little longer to respond. The light is from a floodlight. I’m doing something out here.
That didn’t really help me much. Again, I texted him. Doing what, though? I’m just curious. And what’s out there in the stone box?
Once again, he responded in a vague way. I’m just doing some late-night work. Just general things. With all the patrols, this is the only time of day I have time. As far as what’s in the box, it’s just a lot of odds-and-ends.
The more he put me off, the more intrigued I was becoming, so I sent another text. Just please tell me what you’re doing out there. I don’t mean to hassle you, but why won’t you tell me? Are you doing something that might make me mad or something?
Waiting for his response, I crept back over to the window and looked out, now able to see some fairly large object against one of the walls of the box. It seemed to be just a shade or two lighter than the walls themselves, just light enough to stand out against them. I couldn’t tell its exact dimensions or anything, but it was an object that appeared to be about waist-height and flat on top, maybe like some sort of a table or a bed.
Having a strange idea, I texted Warren again before he’d even texted me back. Are you turning the box into some kind of a dwelling or something? With furniture? And if so, why? Are you going to make it a stone prison for Graywolves or something?
Warren responded in a minute or so. No, but that genuinely made me chuckle. I need to get back to work now. Get some rest, Tara. Sweet dreams.
Like I’ll be able to sleep now, I thought, with none of my questions answered and my curiosity in overdrive. However, I had the feeling that Warren wasn’t going to answer any of my questions about the box no matter how many more times I texted, and I really didn’t want to hassle him.
However, I fired off another text, wondering if he’d at least be amenable to letting me find out the answers to my questions the next day. I saw a while ago that there’s a new key plate for the box. Will you give me the key tomorrow so that I can let myself in and see what’s going on in there?
I heard another scraping noise, stone on stone, coming from somewhere out in the box, followed by a brief silence, before I received Warren’s response. No. I have the only key, and I’m keeping it. Goodnight, Tara. Sweet dreams.
Knowing he wasn’t going to budge an inch, I took a last look at the brightly-lit box before padding back to bed and closing my eyes. After a few minutes, though, I found I just couldn’t sleep, and in fact, wasn’t getting anywhere near sleep. The longer I remained in bed, the more keyed-up I was becoming, thoughts going in all different directions, and not just about the box.
I was also doing a bit of wondering about how Warren might look out there doing whatever he was doing, moving stones or whatever was making the scraping noises. I wondered if he was wearing the jeans and t-shirt that he usually wore out on patrol. Because if he shifted into bear form to run patrol, with his clothes shifting right along with him, he usually came home with his clothes clean, although they always bore a hint of the scents of fresh air and trees, a heavenly combination with Warren’s own masculine, woodsy scent.
I’d started doing his laundry along with mine and Sam’s, and sometimes I paused just to smell his shirts, actually holding them right up to my face and breathing in deeply. Once, from her basket car seat on the floor, Sam had watched me do this, wide-eyed, and when I’d noticed that she was watching me, I’d tossed the shirt in the washer, hot-faced for some reason.
In addition to wondering if Warren was wearing his usual jeans and t-shirt, I wondered how the muscles in his arms might look while he was moving the stones or whatever he was doing. I often covertly watched him do things around the house just to see the muscles rippling in his back and arms. Once I’d asked him to move a fairly heavy armchair in the living room just for this purpose. Really, I’d grown a bit obsessed with his long, hard body, frequently recalling how it had felt against mine when we’d kissed.
Feeling like sleep was probably a long way off for me, I got out of bed, padded downstairs, and made a cup of caffeine-free herbal tea, nibbling on a couple of vanilla sandwich cookies while I did so. Even after my tea, though, I still felt a bit worked-up, or maybe energized was the right word, and I went out to the living room to look out the east-facing windows.
Though I could barely see it in the distance, the floodlight was still on out in the box, and it actually looked like Warren had added another. I became so curious about just what, exactly, he was doing out there, and why he’d been so nonspecific and evasive about it, that it actually crossed my mind to go out and investigate.
I quickly realized I couldn’t, though, because of Sam. Even if her baby monitor might work that far away from the house, which I was doubtful it even would, I knew the box was too far away for it to be a safe or wise parenting move for me to go out there with Sam still in the house. Just on the horrible off-chance of a fire or something, I always wanted to be able to get to her within seconds.
After a little while longer of just looking out at the box, I went back upstairs, brushed my teeth, and got back into bed. I still wasn’t tired at all, though, more still just somehow edgy or energized, with thoughts of Warren and the box each occupying equal space in my brain.
Not wanting to just toss and turn, I got up and took a lukewarm bath, not wanting to get overheated because the night was warm, but thinking that a bath might relax me. However, it really didn’t. In fact, being naked in the warmish water, sliding black cherry-scented body wash all over my skin just to enjoy the scent, only seemed to increase my thoughts about Warren, turning them in a decidedly racy direction.
Turning them in a direction where I ceased thinking about how he looked in his jeans and t-shirt and started thinking about how he might look wearing absolutely nothing. This led me to think about what his manhood might look like, if it might be just as large as the rest of him was. I already had a clue that he might be g
ood in bed, just based on his whole way of being, and also because I’d heard all the rumors about shifters’ increased strength and stamina in that department.
It had been quite a long while since I’d been a part of any bedroom activities with anyone, good or otherwise. I’d had two fairly serious boyfriends in my adult life, and both of them had been decent in bed I supposed, though with each of them, I’d always had a feeling that our lovemaking could or should be something more. I’d sometimes heard friends and workmates talk about having had “mind-blowing sex,” and I just couldn’t ever relate. I could, however, relate to phrases like “okay sex” and “it got the job done sex.”
Even that kind of sex was far behind in my rearview mirror. I’d dumped my first serious boyfriend at twenty-one, when I’d caught him in a unisex bathroom at a car show in downtown Detroit, on the receiving end of a sex act performed by one of the models paid to strut around the cars in high heels and not much else. Suspecting that this wasn’t the first time my boyfriend had cheated, I’d just been glad to get out of the relationship without having contracted a disease.
My second serious boyfriend I’d broken up with when I was twenty-three, although it had been more of a “fizzle-out” than a formal breakup. He’d moved to the suburbs for work, and in time, I realized that I hardly missed him. I’d stopped calling, he’d stopped visiting, and although we’d never had any kind of an official relationship-ending conversation, within a few months, he was posting pictures of him and his “new friend Madison” on his social media page.
The following year, I’d become pregnant with Sam, and of course hadn’t dated at all during my pregnancy. So, it had been maybe a good year-and-a-half since I’d indulged in any bedroom activities, although it somehow felt like far longer. Reclining in the bathtub, with thoughts of Warren and his manhood floating around in my mind, it felt like it had been several years since I’d had physical satisfaction of any kind.
