by Lizzy Prince
“The only idea I'm getting is how I can permanently avoid seeing you. You like walking away so much, well watch this!” I’m shouting as I spin on my heel and stomp to the door. I shove my earmuffs back on and throw open the door.
“Call me later, Remi,” I shout over my shoulder, refusing to look back. Even though part of me is dying inside to catch a glimpse of Silas’s face.
My stomach is churning, and confusion smacks through me, because I thought it would feel good to tell him off, but I just feel sick. Like I’ve ruined things between us. But it’s not possible to ruin something that never existed. I don’t know why I want to cry, but I’m afraid the tears might start falling any second now. It prompts me to move faster to get outside and to my car.
My hands are trembling as I go to open the door of my car, and my gloved fingers slip when I try to pull the handle. For goodness sake. I need to get a pair of adult gloves instead of these little knit ones. Something with some grippers, I guess. I blow out a noisy breath and grab the handle again only to be stopped when a hand presses against the car door. I startle and still, knowing exactly who that large hand belongs to.
There’s a brief pressure against my lower back when Silas places his other hand there. He must think better of it because it disappears before I can tell him to stop touching me.
“Bridget. Can we talk?” Silas’s mouth is too close to my ear. He must be bent at an awkward angle to reach because I’m so much shorter than him. “Can you turn around? Please.”
I don’t know if the please is what decides for me, but I’m turning around before I’ve given my body permission to do so. Silas is far too close, and he’s all but got me caged between the car and his huge body. Still, I’m not intimidated by him like I was with Dante earlier. I don’t know what it is about Silas. I should hate him for the way he walked away from me, but I can’t seem to do the job properly.
“What is it, Silas?” His eyes nearly slide all the way closed when I say his name. It’s as if he enjoys the sound of it, and my lips part in surprise. I’m so confused and frustrated by him that my eyes prickle with tears, again. Something snaps in my brain, and I bring my hands up to his chest and push him away. Surprisingly, he moves, though I know my wimpy shove couldn’t have moved him unless he allowed it.
“What? Why are you doing this? Do you enjoy the chase? Is that what it is? And once someone is caught, you’re not interested any longer?”
Silas opens his mouth as though he’s about to speak, but I cut him off, slashing my hand through the air as if that can magically shut his mouth.
“Because guess what. You don’t have to chase me. I’m not interested. You can’t chase if someone doesn’t run. Leave me alone, Silas. Go find someone else who wants to play your games.”
I don’t know if I want him to let me go or if I want him to grab me and kiss the hell out of me. Well, actually, I know what my body wants. It wants Silas to throw me over his shoulder, take me to his house, and make me forget my own name. But it appears that my mind still has a tiny speck of pride left, and it won’t allow me to give into those urges. This time, when I turn back around, I manage to get the car door open on the first try. Take that, mittens!
My noisy car doesn’t exactly leave Silas in my dust, because it can’t accelerate that fast. But I can see him standing in Alarik’s driveway from my rearview mirror. Exactly where I left him. At least I make it out of the long driveway, rounding the bend until I can’t see Silas any longer, before the tears start to fall.
Chapter Seven
Silas
Bridget’s entire body is shaking when she pushes against me for space. I’m so damn confused about what I’ve done to make her this angry at me. I feel like I'm missing so many pieces, and whenever I try to think about it, to recall if I’ve done something that I should be ashamed of around her, a searing pain lances through my head. I let her go, not knowing how to defend myself for a deed I can’t even name.
Just being around her gets me fired up, but seeing her so angry, something that is not her normal state of being, has both me and my wolf feeling wrong. Aggressive. Territorial. I want to go and claim her and get my scent all over her. My skin is itching to shift and run off some of the anxiety working its way through me. There’s so much I can’t comprehend right now. Most importantly, why do I have the urge to claim her if she’s not my mate?
I walk without noticing the direction, needing to calm down. I kick off my boots, wanting my feet on the ground, to be connected to the earth. My wolf howls in frustration, and I give in, ripping my clothes off and shifting. Then I’m running, letting the ground pass beneath me in a blur of dirt and leaves. The woods have frozen from the cold temperatures, and the trees are bare of leaves. It’s a gray day outside, like mother nature is matching my mood.
I run until my breath streams out in long barrels of fog from the exertion and then tip my head back and howl when I realize I’ve come to Bridget’s house again. There’s a longing that aches deep in my chest, and all I want is to climb her little porch and go into the warmth overflowing from the house. But I don’t. I force myself to go back to Alarik’s to find out what’s going on with him and how I can help.
I hadn’t exactly stuck around long enough earlier to figure out what was going on. Alarik’s been my friend for a long time, and the least I can do is see if he needs my help. Once I get back to Alarik’s, I quickly find out what he needs is my butt in a seat. Alarik and his girl, Hazel, need help trying to contact some ghosts, because there are too many shadows in town. Or something like that. To be honest, I don’t really understand what’s going on, but I’ll still be there to help however I can. Plus, I know Bridget will be there. Even if she doesn’t want me near her, I still need to protect her. To keep her safe. Whatever is going on with Alarik and Hazel sounds like it’s mainly their problem. Still, I can’t sit back and knowingly let Bridget walk into a dangerous situation, and neither can my wolf.
I’m not sure what I expected but sitting in on a seance definitely isn’t it. Obviously, I believe in the supernatural—I’m a werewolf, how can I not? My oldest friends are vampires, reapers, and demons, so it’s not like weird shit isn’t par for the course. But I’ve never tried to contact the dead. Hazel is being haunted by some kind of creepy shadow spawn that only she can see. Well, her and apparently Dante. Go figure that fucker can see evil shadows.
Alarik and Hazel have gathered a small group of us. Besides the two of them, there’s Dante, Remi, Bridget, and me. Bridget’s been avoiding looking at me since she walked into Alarik’s house, looking like one of her confections. I’m dying to taste her. She’s got this flowy skirt that stops at her knees, but it clings to her legs with every step she takes. Her hair is braided, crossing in the back, and it highlights the delectable curve of her neck. All I can think about is grabbing those braids and tugging her head back so I can taste all the skin from her jaw to her collarbone. I’m purposefully standing on the other side of the room so I don't do something rash and instinctive.
Hazel is fussing over a table laden with all kinds of spooky looking shit: herbs tied off with black ribbon, a collection of bottles and vials filled with who knows what kind of liquid. It could be fucking unicorn tears for all I know.
Once everyone is congregated around the table, Hazel starts moving people into seats, alternating between man and woman. When Hazel moves Bridget next to me, I feel a pathetic sense of triumph. God, have I sunk so low that I’m happy just to be sitting near the woman? I want to talk to her about what she said earlier. I don’t understand where all her anger toward me is coming from. Not that we’ll be able to chat during a seance, but I’m still embarrassingly happy to be next to her. Bridget starts to protest, but Hazel stops her with barely a look. With an annoyed grunt that I find disturbingly cute, she flops down in her assigned chair.
The seance is unsurprisingly uncomfortable. Bridget is obviously annoyed that she’s stuck sitting next to me, but Hazel essentially told her to suck it up. S
he’d said our strong emotions would help to call the ghosts. Those words have me wondering if the emotions are all negative. I know they aren’t on my side, but I can’t say for sure what’s going through Bridget’s head. I don’t bother trying to be covert as my eyes trace over Bridget’s face. If her rigid posture and averted eyes tell me anything, it’s that she knows I’m looking at her. When she makes a huffing sound and shuffles in her seat, I try not to smile.
I turn my attention to Hazel as she instructs us to hold hands. Bridget bristles beside me, and it makes me feel like an awkward teenager, because the possibility of holding her hand has me breaking out in a sweat. When I slide my hand beneath hers, I find her touch is cool and her fingers slim and delicate. I think about all of the amazing food she’s made with those hands, and the strength in her small grip fills me with pride. I know it’s ridiculous, and completely not my place, but I can’t stop the swell of emotion.
As Hazel calls out to the ghosts, there’s a wave of burning energy that pulses out to the group. I really hope I’m not the only one who feels it, because getting turned on by a seance is really fucking weird. Bridget’s fingers twitch in mine, and I feel my palms start to sweat. I’m back to being that damned teenager who is holding a girl's hand for the first time, and I can’t get over my reaction to her.
The only thing that can distract me from Bridget is the fucking craziness of the seance around us. What happens next isn’t the weirdest thing I’ve ever seen, but it’s definitely a shit show. A horny red headed ghost keeps trying to molest half the table before telling Alarik that he needs to look at what’s going on in his own house. Then the windows explode, and everyone is freaking the fuck out as the lights pop and crack, winking out and drowning us in darkness.
Thankfully, the windows shattered out so we’re not covered in shards of glass, but it’s a cold night, and the empty windowpanes are letting in blasts of frigid air. Bridget's entire body is shivering, probably only partially from the cold. I’m going to guess that she’s not used to supernatural shit, and I think she might be in a little shock.
The next moment Alarik shouts when Hazel slides out of her chair and starts convulsing on the ground. Bridget jumps up from her seat and rounds the table, falling to the ground beside her friend. She’s chewing nervously on her lips and looks like she’s going to burst into tears. But Alarik already has Hazel bundled in his embrace, his forehead pressed to hers, and I can feel the magic surrounding them. Bridget probably can’t see more than shadows in front of her, but Alarik, Dante, and I are able to see in the dark. I share a look with Dante to see if he senses what Alarik is doing. His reaper magic is blasting full force at Hazel, and I suspect he’s binding himself to her. Shit. Well, how about that.
Dante looks mildly surprised, but Remi distracts him, giving his arm a slap as she says, “Generator.” Considering the reason we’re all here is because of the shadows hunting Hazel, light is a good idea.
The two of them hurry out of the room, and I move to stand over the huddled mass of Alarik, Hazel, and Bridget, seeing her shoulders shake as her entire body is overcome with shivers. I want to pick her up and hold her tightly to me, to warm her with my heat, my embrace, to make sure she never feels this lost and uncertain again. But I don’t. I wouldn’t take her away from her friend. Instead, I loom over her, digging my hands through my hair to give them something else to do other than picking Bridget up.
Hazel’s eyes open, and she levels a stare at Alarik.
“What did you do, Vlad?” Hazel sounds more amused than pissed, but I apparently can’t read women at all, so what the hell do I know? She and Bridget murmur a few words to each other before Bridget shifts out of the way so Alarik and Hazel can get up. They leave the room, obviously caught up in whatever just went down between them. Bridget is sitting back on her heels, her head bowed and her palms resting on her thighs. I lay a hand on her shoulder, and she startles, head swiveling to stare in my direction, though I doubt she can see much. Her eyes are haunted, and to be honest, she looks sad more than anything else. It stabs me through the heart as though she’s wielded a knife. With just one look.
I shift so that I’m facing her, and I reach out to stroke my fingers over her cheek, her skin cool to the touch. She looks conflicted, and I can hear her heartbeat racing in her chest. She’s at war with herself, both wanting my touch and struggling with that need.
Remi and Dante must find the generator because all the lights burst back on. Bridget sucks in a breath when she sees my face. I guess feeling my touch in the dark and seeing me in the harsh light of reality are two different things. A frown pinches her brow but not before I catch the longing simmering behind her eyes. My wolf rears up, and I struggle to keep him leashed, tamped down so I don’t spontaneously shift in front of Bridget. I don’t want to scare her. I want to soothe her fears, to take away all pain, and to make her mine. I give my head a small shake, trying to jostle my thoughts in place. How can it feel like she’s my mate when I’ve touched her and never experienced the flash telling me she’s my mate?
Bridget must see the shake because her eyes narrow, and she sits up straighter, obviously interpreting it to mean something else completely. I reach out to help her up, but she shifts her body to avoid my touch and scrambles to her feet, hurrying out of the room. I’m giving her chase before I have a chance to acknowledge what I’m doing.
“Bridget, wait.” I run after her, feeling like a slave to this raw emotion that’s trying to claw its way out of my chest. My wolf is practically pacing inside of me, raging to get out, and telling me I need to have this woman. I need to please her and make her happy again, although I still don’t know what I did in the first place to piss her off.
She’s still rushing away from me, but her legs are so much shorter than mine that there’s no way she’s getting away. Part of me gets a boost of confidence when she doesn’t run out the front door. That instead, she ran upstairs like that was a good place to escape me. If she really wanted to get away, she could have walked right out the front door.
Whatever the hell happened at the seance has all my senses firing in overdrive. Holding her hand, hearing every little breath that eased in and out of her mouth, smelling the intoxicating scent of vanilla and sugar that wraps around her, it’s a miracle I didn’t hoist her onto my lap and start licking her. Fuck, thinking about licking her is doing messed up shit to my head. My wolf is urging me on, telling me that licking her is the best fucking idea I’ve ever had.
“Bridget, stop.” My words come out as a growled command, even though that wasn’t my intention.
She’s halfway down the hallway on the second floor. I think there are bedrooms up here, but who the hell knows. This place is too damn big. All the doors are shut. No one uses any of these rooms. It makes it feel like we’re standing in an endless corridor. Something about my demand works because Bridget stutters to a stop, and I catch up with her.
It’s not until she starts to turn around that I realize how fucking pissed she is, and I take a tentative step back. From the five-foot nothing woman, with her hair braided and twined together at the base of her head like some medieval princess. As if I’m not six four, two hundred and twenty pounds of pure muscle. She takes a step toward me, pressing a finger into my chest until my back hits the wall. Her face is a painting of pure anger and frustration.
“You don’t get to tell me what to do.” She jabs her finger into my chest a little harder, and I don't know who enjoys it more. Me or my wolf. I love that she’s got fire and isn’t afraid to put me in my place. A smile creeps up my face, and that only makes her snarl at me. “Don’t you dare smile at me.”
That sounds an awful lot like a challenge which, of course, my body rebels against, and my grin only gets wider. Oh yes, I do like this woman.
“Fuck you, Silas. Fuck you and your god damn dimple and your Toots and your asshole ways.”
She takes a breath to continue my ass chewing, but I can’t stand it anymore. Everything inside of
me is throbbing with the need to please her, to make her feel good. I snatch her from in front of me, picking her up and turning her so she’s against the wall. A gasp of surprise leaves her mouth, and I take the opportunity to dive in, to kiss her perfect, sweet mouth.
She responds like I’ve unleashed Pandora’s Box and demons are rushing out of her. Her hands fist in my hair, and she pulls, hard. But not for me to remove my mouth, just out of some need to make me feel pain, I think. Because the second I start to pull away, she follows, biting my lip and locking her legs around my hips. I groan because, holy fuck, it’s so hot I’m about ten seconds from embarrassing myself like a hard-up virgin. Pressing her up against the wall, I grind my cock against her, practically fucking her with our clothing on. For a second, a wave of dizziness washes over me as a flash of a very similar scene rips through my mind, and I think about cherries. But it’s gone before I can wrap my head around it, and the feel of her is too distracting for me to think.
I break the kiss as my hands shove her skirt up her. The damn thing has been taunting me since she walked in the door. Some sort of pleated thing that went all the way down to her knees. It doesn't reveal much, but it shifted and clung as she moved, hinting at what is hidden beneath. There’s no finesse to my movements. I have no control, and the need to feel her pleasure, to make her feel good, is so great I can’t be patient or slow.
Sucking and biting at her neck, I slide my hand up her thigh and find the lace edge of her panties. Pushing the fabric aside, I nearly lose it when I feel how soaked she is. The contact elicits a groan from us both, and I slide a finger over her slit, circling her clit and then sinking my finger deep inside her tight sheath. She’s so hot and tight, and my eyes drift shut as I imagine burying my cock inside her. I graze my teeth over her neck as I try to contain the shudder of pleasure that being this close to her brings me.
