Wild and Untamed (Netherworld Series Book 4)

by Olivia Hutchinson

  “Yes. I’m going to make eggs, and then we’ll run to the store before it gets too crowded.”

  The store sounded good, but eggs sounded terrific. “Where were the eggs hiding? I searched your entire kitchen last night.”

  She almost felt sorry about the guilt that crossed his face. Almost. “They were in the cooler downstairs. I picked some up a few days ago and never made it upstairs to put them away.”

  “Damn,” she muttered. She’d never thought about checking the bar’s beer cooler. “Well, whatever. Feed me, and we’ll go.”

  She was in desperate need of a shower to boot. Getting up from the table, she refilled her mug before heading toward the bathroom to hose off while he cooked.

  “Towels?” she asked.

  “Towels and washcloths are in the closet in the bathroom,” he told her as he cracked an egg in the pan. The sound of the sizzle made her hurry. She didn’t want to eat cold eggs, but she needed to bathe especially if they planned to leave the apartment.

  Grabbing her backpack from Gabriel’s bedroom, she went into the bathroom. The hot water eased some of the tension she’d begun carrying around in her shoulders. If only it would wash away the magic that clung to her, she’d be okay. It was tempting to stand in there and forget everything, but she forced herself to wash. No way was she going to have Kaleb change his mind about going on a food run.

  She’d brought her own toiletries since she hadn’t been sure what the men had. Putting her things in the shower right next to his own Old Spice, she made herself at home. It was far more practical to keep her stuff in the shower rather than bringing it back and forth from the bedroom.

  When she was finished, she turned off the shower and quickly dried herself. Her hair was wet when she emerged from the bathroom dressed in a pair of jeans and a gray long-sleeved shirt that came down past her hips and showed a bit more cleavage than her usual work scrubs.

  She didn’t bother trying to tame the damp mess of curls on top of her head. She just brushed her teeth and joined Kaleb back in the kitchen a minute later.

  It was perfect timing. Kaleb put the last egg on the plate before setting two plates on the table. Three eggs over medium each.

  “I’m still going to be hungry after this,” she warned before taking a bite. It had been too long since her last meal.

  Kaleb seemed to relax, sitting back in his chair and watching her as she began stuffing her face. “I know. I will be too, but I didn’t want to go out with no food on my stomach because we’d end up buying the entire grocery store.”

  “We still may end up buying the entire grocery store,” she said after swallowing.

  “We’ll make sure to get us plenty to eat. I’d prefer not to leave here very much if we can avoid it, especially to go to public places.”

  She rolled her eyes.

  “What?” he asked, catching her response.

  After swallowing, she said, “I’m bored, and I just got here. There's nothing to do, nowhere I can go and you won’t even let me downstairs to socialize.”

  “I'm sorry, but I don't want to risk it.”

  “Risk what? The only risk I can see is perhaps having a few too many while you're in the same room as me.” She shook her hands in the air. “Oooo… danger.”

  He was shaking his head and it irritated her.

  “You can't expect me to just stay locked up in this apartment while you're downstairs working for how long? Three weeks?”

  “I know it sucks.”

  “Sucks?” she asked in exasperation. “Sucks doesn’t begin to describe it.”

  When she’d finished everything on her plate, she picked it up and grabbed his empty one before taking them to the sink.

  “I can do the dishes,” he said, rising to his feet.

  She shook her head, turning on the water. “Go get ready, and we’ll get the shopping trip over with. Maybe I can buy a book or fifty while we’re out.” She had to find something to do that wasn’t staring at her phone. Or him.

  Kaleb felt terrible for holing her up in his apartment with minimal entertainment, but he didn't want to risk her coming downstairs. The questions he’d have to field wouldn’t be good for either of them. Later in the week when the crowd was smaller, he could re-evaluate whether it was okay for her to come downstairs or not. Maybe.

  He tossed on a pair of khaki pants and a t-shirt before pulling on his boots. The water ran in the kitchen as she did the dishes and he instantly felt guilty for not at least ordering her a pizza or something the night before. He’d eaten earlier in the day and while he'd never meant to go so long without eating himself - usually his appetite was ravenous - he’d been otherwise distracted.

  Probably by the mouthy blonde in his kitchen.

  He’d come into the apartment the night before and was slapped in the face by the scent of her arousal. Coming toward the room had been involuntary. He hadn’t even realized he was moving until he almost walked inside. Managing to stop himself at the door, he’d struggled to get control of the beast that threatened to burst forth.

  If she hadn’t been covered with the blanket faking sleep, he would’ve gone in there. Forcing himself to turn away from her had been almost physically painful. He left his misery under a frigid spray, trying to shock her out of his system.

  It hadn’t worked.

  Instead, he’d roughly gripped himself until the thoughts of bursting into the bedroom, flinging her on her belly, and sinking himself deep within that sweet heat eased.

  When he'd come out of the bathroom, she’d been asleep, her soft snores filling the bedroom. He went to his own room, making sure to close the door as a weak attempt to put barriers between them, and forced himself to try to rest.

  It took a while, but sleep finally came, as did the dreams of pulling her hair and sinking his teeth into her shoulder. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to control the beast that was stirring in him again.

  It was relentless.

  Food, he reminded himself, his stomach still grumbling after the eggs. They’d polished off the half-dozen. He'd have to fully stock the fridge for her. He should’ve stopped on their way home yesterday.

  The dishes sat in the dish rack when he went into the kitchen and Beth was drying her hands on the hand towel. She hung the towel on the oven door before turning to him.

  “Ready?” she asked, tucking her hair wild, damp curls behind her ears.

  He nodded. “Let’s go.”

  She pulled on her sneakers, grabbed her fancy little wallet case she stored her phone in, and followed him down the stairs.

  The drive to the store took less than two minutes. The parking lot was blissfully empty thanks to it being early on a Sunday morning. Everyone was either at church or still in bed. There were only two cars parked in the front.

  Beth pushed the buggy but he helped fill it as they weaved through the small store.

  “How long are we shopping for?” she asked him. “Do you have plans to come back out in the future or am I going to remain locked inside for the remainder of my stay?”

  He groaned. “We can come back out if we run low.”

  “Just making sure. I wouldn’t want to starve to death while waiting for you to provide sustenance.”

  She was in a fine mood that morning, and he couldn't help but wonder if it was because she was just as frustrated as he was. Beth could run her mouth all she wanted to, it just gave him more ideas as to how to shut her up.

  He shook himself, trying to focus on the matter at hand, but instead caught himself staring at her ass as she walked in front of him. The sway of her hips held his focus. She was still talking, but he was no longer listening, too enticed by the way she bent over in the freezer section, removing a half pint of ice cream from the bottom row.

  When she turned to face him, he caught sight of her nipples poking through her shirt.

  He growled, unable to stop himself. Beth startled at the sound at first, but then she looked at him and then down at her o
wn chest, a grin playing on her face.

  Wench knew precisely what she was doing.

  “What's wrong, Kaleb?” she asked, pretending innocence, her full lips curved in a small frown.

  “Don’t play with me, woman,” he ground out. “Not here.”

  She shrugged her shoulders and gave him her back before heading down the aisle; her hips swayed back and forth, more pronounced than before.

  They went through the check-out with no problems. The cashier was a pimpled teenager that appeared more annoyed at having had to wake up early to go to work than anything else. He rang them up with barely more than a grumbled greeting.

  When Beth pulled out her debit card, he put his hand over hers.

  “I got it,” he said, pulling his wallet out of his back pocket.

  “You don't have to,” she said. “You’re doing enough.”

  He shook his head, ignored her protests, and slid his card through the reader.

  “It's all good,” he told her, taking the receipt from the kid. He took the buggy from her and pushed it into the parking lot. She kept up with his long strides.

  She quieted as he loaded the truck and drove them back to the Wolf’s Den. He asked her to get the door and loaded his arms down with most of the grocery bags. She followed with the few that he couldn’t fit on his arms.

  “Can I grab some beers?” she asked from behind him as he went up the stairs.

  “Yes. There are some bottles of local craft beer if you want to grab them from the cooler.”

  He heard her rustling around in the cooler as he pushed open the apartment door and went inside, setting the bags down on the kitchen table. He was putting away a pack of chicken when she came into the room, closing the door behind her with her foot.

  She tilted to set down the bags but then stopped. He looked at her, seeing the beers sliding from her grip.

  "Take these before I drop them,” she told him, thrusting her upper body toward him.

  He dropped the milk on the counter and reached forward, plucking the bottles from her grasp, his hand brushing against her boob. Ignoring the light contact, he put the beer in the fridge as she dropped the bags she carried onto the floor.

  When the groceries were put away, he began making them sandwiches to tide them over until lunch. He figured he'd just throw a pizza in the oven at that point.

  She ate the roast beef and cheddar with no comment, sitting at the table while drinking a can of soda. He studied her as she seemed deep in thought. He leaned against the counter, trying not to be too apparent that he was watching her.

  Beth glanced up at him a moment later. “What’s the plan for today?”

  “It’s Sunday,” he said. “I have to do inventory before I open at four.”

  “Can I help?”

  He felt terrible that she was excited at the prospect of counting bottles rather than staying in the apartment.

  Nodding, he said, “Yes.”

  It wouldn't hurt if she were downstairs while they were closed. No one would see her, and it would make his day more manageable. He already wasn't happy about telling Lacey he was working. He would've preferred spending his time locked up in the apartment with Beth, even if she was ridiculously tempting while managing to irk his nerves at the same time.

  They went downstairs after they finished eating and he went through the motions. This time it was Beth standing on the stool, counting bottles of liquor while he wrote down what she said.

  “What does it feel like?” she asked, moving bottles of tequila around.

  He flipped the page on his clipboard and looked up at her. She stared down at him, stopping her count.

  “What does what feel like?” He didn't know what she was asking.

  “When you go beast mode? What does it feel like?”

  He laughed. “Beast mode?”

  Shrugging her shoulders, she said, “The word seems fitting.”

  He couldn’t disagree with that. “It's painful.”

  “As in ‘I stepped on a thumbtack’ painful or ‘I’m covered in third-degree burns’ painful?”

  Wondering how honest she wanted him to be, he set the clipboard on the bar top. He went with the complete truth.

  “It feels like a sledgehammer is being taken to every bone in my body.”

  She grimaced.

  “The first time I changed was when I hit puberty. Gabriel had already been changing at the full moon for the past two years, so he gave me the heads up as to what to expect, but even then...I wasn't prepared. No one is that first time.”

  “How do you deal with it?”

  “You adjust after a while. The pain is intense but it doesn't last long. At least I don't think it does. I’m not aware of what happens once the beast takes over but when I'm myself again, I feel okay.”

  She frowned at him, her brows furrowed before turning back to the bottles.

  “Five,” she said.

  He picked up the papers and wrote the number down.

  “If you changed now would you recognize me?” she asked, facing the bottles.

  Staring at her luscious behind, he answered, “No.”

  “Would your beast recognize me?”

  “What do you mean?”

  She shrugged. “Would he remember seeing me yesterday?”

  “I’m not sure,” he answered, perplexed. It wasn't something he'd ever thought about before. “I suppose. There seems to be some thought process there with other werewolves. I don't know how good the long-term and short-term memory spans are.”

  “Do you have sex as your beast?”

  The question almost made him drop his clipboard. One second, he's engrossed in the way her jeans clung to her bottom and the next she's asking him whether he'd fucked in his beast form.

  “No,” he said. It was an honest answer. “I change with my brother and my cousins. I never changed with non-family members before.”

  “You wouldn't want little were-babies running around with no recollection as to how they got there I supposed. Two.”

  He wrote down the number. “It’s highly unlikely a male could impregnate a female he’s not mated with. And he would know if he mated a female as his beast.”

  “It’s so strange,” she remarked. “My world has gone crazy. Four.”

  The corner of his mouth twitched as he wrote down the number. “I imagine it has for you.”

  “Yesterday morning I was focused on going to work and then Lila had to open her big, fat mouth and ruin my good mood.”

  “Maybe you should thank Carey for dragging you into this,” he commented, “instead of Lila for telling you about it.”

  “Carey?” she asked him, glancing over her shoulder at him. “Why am I thanking Carey?”

  “She's the witch.”

  “I guess she’s not just full of crap.”

  “You never realized that before?” It was difficult for him to comprehend how women as intelligent as Beth, Lila, or Natalie could be friends with Carey and never know she wasn’t just leading them on. Carey was open – too open in his opinion – about what she was with a few people, her friends being on the top of that list.

  She blew out a harsh breath. “She always talked about magic, potions, spells, whatever, but I never took her seriously. I’ve gone out into the woods with her when we were growing up so she could twirl around in the moonlight and be all witchy.” Beth shrugged. “That’s just how Carey is. That's why when she suggested doing the spell we all went along with it to humor her. We didn’t think anything would come of it. We’d get a good laugh, she’s happy, and life goes on.”

  “She's wicked powerful,” he told her.

  He'd known Carey and her grandma, Ruby, for years. He didn't get close to Ruby because she preferred the werewolves kept their distance. The only werewolf Ruby willingly dealt with was Declan but even so, she did it because Declan controlled the territory she lived in, not because she liked his presence. Carey seemed to be able to tolerate them, however.

  From w
hat he could discern, Carey probably didn't realize how powerful she was because she was overshadowed by her grandmother who had decades upon decades of experience. But when it came to raw, unfiltered, uncontrolled power, Carey took the cake.

  “How powerful?”

  He frowned. “I'm not sure, really. Let me put it this way. I've been to Boston. I’ve met some of the strongest witches around and none of them seem to possess the raw power she does. It almost oozes off her.”

  “Is she dangerous?” Beth asked him.

  Shrugging, he said, “She could be. Carey has a lot of self-control but it wouldn’t hurt her to learn a little more.”

  Climbing down from the step-stool, she faced him, her hands on the counter behind her. “Did you learn to control your beast?”

  “Controlling the beast is always a struggle,” he admitted. Especially when Beth was around, but he wasn’t about to admit that to her.

  She touched his arm, her fingers grazing over his triceps. He was torn as to whether he wanted to pull back from her or crush her lips under his. Instead of doing either, he froze.

  Heat flooded his veins, stemming from where she touched him. The pull was there, reeling him closer to her. Pretty pink lips glistened in the harsh lighting of the bar, lush softness in the harsh environment. Too tempting.

  Big, innocent brown eyes stared up at him. “Do you ever want to just lose control?”

  Kiss me.

  She silently willed him to lean in, to steal a taste. Biting her bottom lip, she waited, her heart thundering in her chest. She couldn’t hide her disappointment when he took a step back, ending their contact.

  “Losing control is not an option,” he said, turning away from her. “It’s never been an option.”

  Frustrated, she let it go.

  Taking a deep breath, she asked, “What now?” They’d finished counting the liquor bottles on the shelves.

  “I’ll submit the liquor order and then I have to get ready to open up.”

  She groaned, her eyes stretching heavenward. “You’re going to lock me upstairs again to stare at the wall, aren't you?"

  “I didn't lock you upstairs.”

  “You may as well have,” she said with a frown. “I’ve been here one day and so far the most excitement I've gotten is going to the grocery store and counting bottles of liquor.”