Daryl could hear the crinkle of the protective paper as he set Jane down, and the snap of the rubber gloves Kessler was putting on. Brielle came back without a word, carrying the requested items on an exam tray. She set it to the side.
"No," Daryl answered. He wanted to watch as Kessler observed her, perhaps breaking every rule there was in order to pick his brain, but Daryl bit his tongue. He had to wait, just like he would if he didn't have the ability to read minds.
"When did you find her?" The doctor was hovering over Jane's back, using his gloved fingers to trace the cuts, check the blood. Her body didn't even flinch in pain.
"Minutes ago, if that," Daryl replied. His thoughts were so jumbled, it was hard for him to speak straight. How could he, when Jane wasn't even moving. Why wouldn't she move?
"What happened?" Kessler turned to Brielle, his crystal blue eyes softening a fraction as he held out his hands.
Brielle didn't need to ask him anything, it would seem. It was as though she could read his mind. She started taking off his gloves after giving him a curt nod.
Daryl ignored the question. "What are you doing?" he demanded. "What about Jane. You need to help her."
"Do I tell you how to do your job?" Kessler snapped, walking back over to Jane. "Don't tell me how to do mine." A pause. "What happened?"
"I heard her scream," Daryl told him, not bothered in the least by Kessler's grit. "I didn't hear anything that would lead me to believe she had been chased or followed. I didn't hear a growl or any struggle or fight break out. The only thing I heard was her scream."
He would also never forget it.
Doctor nodded but didn't say anything, turning his attention to Jane. He started talking to himself, or at least that was what Daryl assumed. It wasn't until he heard the scratching of a pen on paper did he realize the doctor was dictating notes to Brielle.
"Six inch apparent claw marks running vertical down patient's body." Kessler took out some kind of tool and stuck it gently into one of the wounds. He pulled it out just as quickly. "About ninety-three centimeters in depth. No sound except patient's scream." He looked over at Daryl. "Was she conscious when you found her?"
Daryl shook his head.
"Unconscious. Probably right after, possibly during the attack. Lost too much blood for a transfer."
Daryl's ears pricked up. "What?" he snapped. "You telling me she's not going to survive? You better—"
"Please, Professor," came Brielle's gentle voice, "Doctor Kessler and I know what we’re doing. If you can't keep calm, I'm going to have to ask you to wait outside."
"Fine, fine." Daryl put his arms up as a way to show them he was surrendering to the doctor's expertise. He didn't like it, but he couldn't do anything else.
Without warning, Kessler walked over to Jane and placed his hands flat on her back.
Daryl didn't even know how to react to that. For starters, he wasn't patching her up, cleaning her wounds, getting out a stitching kit or whatever doctors used to sew up wounds. Secondly, he was touching her wound without any sort of protection, no barrier to keep his germs from entering her body.
This was a mistake. Daryl should have brought Jane to the dean, not to some doctor clearly off his rocker.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Daryl barked, jumping up from the seat he so recently occupied. "You can't touch her with your bare hands. You could give her some kind of infection!"
"Brielle," came Kessler’s warning. He didn't even look at her.
"I'm sorry, Professor, but you have to wait outside," Brielle told him, trying to usher him out.
"I'm not leaving Jane alone with him!" Daryl insisted.
Brielle, with the help of her shifter strength, managed to get Daryl out of the room.
"It'll probably take a half an hour," she told him. "You can wait here, and I'll get you when it's done."
"When what's done?" Daryl demanded, his voice throaty. His fingers were interlocked behind his head and he was already pacing up and down the dimly-lit vacant lobby. He didn't like this. He didn't like this one bit.
"The healing process," Brielle told him. She offered him a soft smile.
"So ... So she'll be all right?" He couldn't believe it, had never heard of such a thing. However, his heart burst with gratitude when she nodded her head in the affirmative.
"It'll take a good seven to ten days to recover," Brielle told him, "but once that's finished, she'll be good as new."
When she went back inside the room, Daryl collapsed in a nearby chair and nearly wept with relief.
9
Virginity was a fickle thing to Sophie. It wasn't something tangible, and yet it could be taken, given, and owned. Yet that night, when Will made love to her, it was something she was grateful to still be in possession of so she could give it to someone worthy of having it.
It started with that kiss. It always started with a kiss. From there, they held hands on the way back to his cabin and he let her take the first shower, even though she always used the majority of the hot water.
During his shower, she started dancing around the living room without any reason as to why, her red hair still damp and dripping. She moved some of the furniture so she had more room and her poor shins wouldn't be completely black and blue from bumping into everything. Her heart was beating against her chest the same way a hummingbird's heart probably did. And for the life of her, she couldn't stop smiling. She couldn't get the stupid smile off of her face—and she tried! But her cheeks were magnets, drawing her lips up, and though she attempted to frown, it did no good.
Kissing Will was indescribable, and yet so many words came to her tongue. Magical. Blissful. Criminal. Hypnotizing. Paralyzing. Gravitational. True. Did all kisses feel like this? Certainly not. She had only kissed a handful of boys before Will charged into her life, and not one of them left such an impression on her.
This was it.
He was it.
It was as simple as that.
She couldn't even feel guilty about Jason because, at that moment, Jason didn't matter. It was harsh, but true. Nobody else mattered in the world except herself and Will. He was her soulmate, her destiny. She was made for him.
Maybe not literally. Biologically, she was a physical, and in order to produce other physicals, she would need to mate with a physical. Peculiars tended to stick to their own kind or unsuspecting humans who would probably never find out the true nature of their partner. Will had been with Dianna before they ended their little love game. Even friends with a particular set of benefits preferred sameness.
Yet, there was something about Will, there always had been. When he found her that day, her soul awakened—though she didn't know it then. After that kiss, she couldn't believe all the time they had wasted being apart. Sure, once they got back to school, they had to hide their feelings for each other. They couldn't touch, except for training, and they couldn't linger. She would have to break up with Jason because it wouldn't be fair to him otherwise. It would be tough, especially overhearing other women talk about how hot Will was and check him out without shame. It would be hard not to touch his skin when he was sweating and kiss him passionately just because she felt like it. But it would be worth it.
He was worth it.
When he stepped out of the bathroom, he was dressed in his typical fashion. His thick chestnut hair was dripping, and his white shirt clung to his muscled frame, and before Sophie could stop herself, she strode over to him with confidence she didn't realize she had. When she reached him, she pulled him into a kiss that developed into a passion, and she realized how silly Will was for even putting clothes back on. She hadn't expected to give her virginity away—because losing it implied that it was taken from her, and she very much gave it to Will—she hadn't even thought that her virginity would be at the forefront of her mind. However, she regretted nothing and would have made the decision again and again in each and every lifetime.
Will was gentle but possessive, touching her like a butterf
ly and kissing her like a bee. He didn't ask permission, which she was grateful for. He seemed to trust her well enough to know her own thoughts and her body, and if she had any doubt, she would most certainly express it. He took what she offered him without question and made it a mission to give as good as he received. Another thing Sophie appreciated was the fact that he didn't ask her if it was her first time or not. He treated her tenderly, with care and a bit of impatience, but he didn't ask and she didn't say. It was almost as if regardless of her past, he wanted to treat it as though it was their first time, because it was.
Sophie was positive it wouldn't be their last.
There were many times Will started to say something, but bit his lip, trying to keep the words trapped in his mouth. It was only after they finished that Sophie realized he was probably talking more to himself than he was to her, and from what she did hear, it was inappropriate and not the type of thing you would say to a lady.
So she told him to tell her more.
"Don't censor yourself," she whispered. Her voice was quiet and shy, which was silly because Sophie was not quiet nor was she shy. She bit her bottom lip and her cheeks turned red, and added, "I like it."
So he told her all the things he had wanted to do to her, touched her all the places he had wanted to touch. She wasn't shy about her body, but she was concerned if she pleased him the same way he pleased her. She might research the topic more. Perhaps she could borrow some of Jane's old Cosmo's. Perhaps she could even ask Jane.
Will used protection, and if he hadn't, Sophie liked to believe that she would have made him. She didn't think about what he was doing with a condom—if it was new or a leftover—the only thing that mattered was that he used it. She wasn't on the Pill, and pregnancy was the last thing she wanted at the moment, considering she was all but immortal and could have kids at any point in the future when she was ready. The moment was between her and Will, and nothing more. She didn't think about her school, her parents, her friends, or Jason ... The only thing she cared about was Will and his arms wrapped around her once they had finished and cleaned up, holding onto her bare frame.
"Let's be lazy today," he suggested, and she heartily agreed.
They drifted in and out of sleep, only emerging from the bedroom in order to eat. They made love—another fickle term that made Sophie blush at the cheese factor just thinking of it—twice more, although after the second time, Will did have to go to the local pharmacy and pick up more protection. Sophie stayed at the cabin, waiting and thinking, drinking water and dancing around in the living room. She wished she didn't have to return to AckPec. She wished the two of them were allowed to stay in his cabin for as long as they wished. They weren't terribly social, didn't need to go out in order to have fun. Certainly they had responsibilities back on the island, but it would be nice to forget them for just a little while ...
As nice as that sounded, it wasn't within the scope of possibility just yet. In a matter of three days, they would be on a ferry back home. He would be an instructor, a trainer, and she would be a student. She sighed, deciding to push those thoughts to the back of her mind, at least for now. If she didn't have to think about it, she wouldn't. She didn't want the looming reality to ruin what she shared with Will.
When he returned, they connected once more before falling asleep in each other's arms. Rain tapping against the glass window woke both of them up, and for a long stretch of time, neither spoke.
"Is it always this good?" She hadn't meant to ask the question, but it slipped out anyway. Her fingertips were dancing on Will's arm, currently wrapped around her waist.
"No." She appreciated the fact that he didn't treat her as ignorant, even though he was much more experienced in life than she was. He was always honest, sometimes to the point of being dickish. "It's not supposed to be this good, either."
Sophie felt herself blush at his statement, and she wondered if that was in reference to the fact that she had been a virgin before. She knew he was complimenting her, but did he need to bring it up in the first place? She was a quick learner and already knew little tricks she could do with her tongue in order to bring him to his knees.
"I don't mean—" His voice was rough with sleep and he stifled a yawn. "Have you taken biology yet?"
"We did a brief overview." Now, Sophie furrowed her brow. What did a biology class have anything to do with sex? Besides the obvious, of course. "They're trying to shove three years of peculiar education down my throat on top of all the stuff they're teaching me this year, so we didn't get too detailed about it."
"But you know about Darwin, survival of the fittest?" When she nodded, he continued. She could feel his breath on her bare shoulder, enveloping it in its warmth. "You know there are three types of peculiars."
"Shifters, physicals, and mentals," she listed automatically.
"Right, well even though we're from the same species—we're all humans, each of us is classified differently—the theory is, that's our drive telling us to repopulate the earth within our species. Our children will be stronger, we'd be more likely to survive, and the sex is supposed to be off the charts. That's not to say that it's unacceptable or impossible to mingle with other classifications."
"It's just in the best interests of all involved, according to science," Sophie finished. She turned her head so she could look at his face. "Do you believe it?"
"Believe what?"
"That it is in your best interest to mate with a shifter?"
Will rolled his eyes. "Knock it off, kid," he told her, his tone flat. "You should know me well enough by now to know that I don't give a shit what anyone says, let alone science. If I want to be with you, I'm with you, no matter what." He rigged her so she was on her back, looking up into his hazel eyes. "And I most definitely want to be with you."
Sophie smiled and felt that familiar tugging in her pelvis, that feeling that must have been there all along but had only been awakened by Will. She would be sore tomorrow morning, but quite frankly, she didn't care. And, it would seem, neither did he.
He was worth it. He was always worth it.
10
She could feel his eyes burning holes in her back, and she felt a familiar pull down in her loins. She stares out at the sunrise, currently sparking over the Pacific Ocean. It almost looked like the water was set on fire, and she was suddenly struck with the thought this was the definition of beautiful. It wasn't wrapped up in a person or a style, or even a piece of art. Beauty was natural, found in nature.
She wore a silk champagne dress that clung to her form and had no back. Her hair was loose and slightly messy, and her makeup was smudged from sleeping, among other things. The silk was wrinkled—she fell asleep in it at his insistence—but she still felt like a princess, like the most beautiful thing on this earth. With that feeling came this sense of power that she could do anything and be anything she wanted to be. She had never felt this way before.
"Come back to bed," came a voice from behind her.
Her smirk only deepened, and she craned her neck so she could look at him. He was beautiful, too, on his side toward her without a shirt, his dark copper hair falling in his face. Russian tattoos told stories up and down his arms, teasing his collarbone, his chest, even his stomach. His back was completely mapped out as well, but when he dressed in his pressed suits and slicked back hair, she never would have expected tattoos on his person. It made him dark, dangerous, and she felt privileged she was allowed to witness this secret treasure. His midnight blue eyes fixed on her frame and he wouldn't let her go.
Her smile deepened.
"You're going to miss this, Daryl Depogare," she told him, her voice soft but firm. "You're going to miss me. So, so bad. And you don't realize it."
He made a face, something she never expected to see on someone as stoic as he was. "You speak such nonsense," he told her, resting his head in his palm. "Come back to bed."
"I will." She turned so she faced him, but remained standing in front of the window. "Bu
t I want you to remember me."
His lips curled up into a smirk. "Remember you?" he asked, a tad skeptical. "Where're you going?" His Southern accent was coming out, something that tended to happen when he was sleepy. He was so cute when he just woke up.
She shrugged her shoulders and turned to look back out the window. "I don't know," she murmured. "I don't know where we are. I don't know where we're headed. I don't know if this is your dream or if it's mine. But I want you to remember what we could have had if you weren’t so darn stubborn."
"How can I remember something that hasn't happened yet?" he asked. He was humoring her, she knew, but she didn't mind. As long as he listened.
"No matter what happens," she said, her green eyes earnest, almost to the point of desperation, "don't forget me. Always remember us. This. Me." A pause, time to catch her breath. "I know why you did and said what you did. I get it. I was being naïve. I understand that just because we feel a certain way about each other doesn't entitle us the right to be together. You were right. I don't blame you."
He pressed his lips together, the playfulness disappearing from his eyes. She didn't want him to get serious, but she wanted him to understand that she understood.
"Lubimaya," he mumbled, looking away. "You don't—"
"I do." A soft smile touched her face and she walked over to him. She wasn't in any hurry and made her movement fluid, graceful. It was the only time and place she could be either of those things, truth be told. "I get it now."
"It's not that I—"
"I know." She took a seat on the edge of the bed, twisting her body so she faced him. Her fingers itched to caress his face, brush his hair out of his eyes at the very least, but she refrained. Instead, she buried them in the silk blankets, which were nearly as soft as her dress. "You'll tell me when you're ready." Having a sudden realization, she locked eyes with him, unsure how she felt about it. "You might never be ready ..."
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