Page 17 of Runt of the Pack
I open my eyes to pale fading moonlight filtering through the room’s small window. Anya lies facing away on the opposite edge of the mattress, dark hair fanned over her pillow. Her breath comes slow and even, still claimed by sleep. Something about watching her unguarded stirs an unexpected protectiveness within me. At rest, she seems young, innocent—a vulnerable creature to be shielded from the harsh world.
But I know that perception is only an illusion. Beneath her placid exterior lies a strong spirit, a survivor tested by trials unknown. Anya has a restless wildness too, carefully leashed. I wonder if she dreams of running free, as I often do. Does she feel something similar to me, when my spirited wolf paces relentlessly against the confines of this mundane existence?
What dreams and longings stir beneath those tranquil features? In her waking wariness, I doubt she will allow me to delve deeper anytime soon. But I find myself longing to breach the walls around her heart, to earn passage into her trust. An unaccustomed yearning, for one accustomed to solitude. Yet being near Anya awakens an instinctive protectiveness, a fundamental need to prove myself worthy of her faith.
I startle from my pensive thoughts as Anya stirs and turns to face me. Her eyes flutter open, meeting my intent stare. For a breathless moment she simply gazes back, lips parted softly. Then recollection sweeps over her features and she pulls away, flustered at having been caught off guard.
“Hey, there…” I offer, hoping to set her more at ease.
“Hey,” Anya mumbles, sitting up swiftly and putting more distance between us. She avoids looking directly at me now, a pretty blush tinting her defined cheekbones.
Amused, I ask innocently, “Sorry, I woke you. Did you at least sleep well?” I prop myself up against the headboard to appreciate her reaction fully.
Anya’s blush deepens. “Well enough,” she says shortly. “And… you?”
“Better than I have in some time.” I keep my tone light, though the words ring true. Having her comforting presence nearby tempers the bleak thoughts that often haunt my waking mind.
Anya finally meets my eyes again, lips curving into a shy half-smile at my admission. “I’m glad to hear that,” she says, voice softening.
Impulsively, I reach out to brush a stray lock of hair from her cheek. Anya’s pulse flutters wildly at the brief contact. Emboldened, I let my fingers graze her jaw, captivated by the smooth silk of her skin beneath my rough palm.
“Vlad...” Anya’s whisper holds an endearing mix of wanting and uncertainty. I trail my thumb over her parted lips, watching her closely. She does not retreat from my explorations, though her breath comes faster. I take that as permission to continue this intimate study, forging new paths of trust.
With exquisite care, I trace along the graceful slope of Anya’s neck, feeling her quickened heartbeat pulsing beneath. She tips her head back instinctively, eyelids sinking closed as she yields to my attentions. Each newly discovered sensitive spot elicits a delightful shiver or hitched breath. I catalog every nuance eagerly, determined to uncover all that will please her.
When my fingers skim lower, grazing her collarbone peeking above her linen shift, Anya’s eyes fly open. She seizes my hand, stilling its progress. For a suspended moment, we stare at one other, the growing heat between us near tangible.
“We shouldn’t,” Anya finally whispers, though she makes no move to break contact.
I entwine our fingers lightly, keeping my touch reverent. “You’re right. Forgive me.” Anya’s safety and dignity are paramount to me, no matter what my reckless instincts may demand. I make to withdraw, but Anya suddenly grips my hand tighter, holding me fast.
“It’s alright,” she says, eyes drinking in my face as though seeing me clearly for the first time. Her free hand rises tentatively to brush along my bearded jaw. “It’s just... I don’t give my trust easily.”
I turn my head to press a kiss against her delicate palm. “I know. And I am prepared to wait, for however long it takes to earn what you so carefully guard.”
Emotion swells in Anya’s gaze. No more words are needed. Some doors cannot be rushed or forced, only gently opened when the time is right. Anya gifts me with a smile that sets my pulse racing anew. But there is a solemnity in her expression now too, an unspoken understanding passing between us. From this point on, nothing will be the same.
As Anya’s fingertips graze my lips with excruciating tenderness, the atmosphere hangs heavy with promise. But I know all possibilities must wait for her, left to blossom further. Patience has never been my strength; yet for her, I will temper the wildness in my blood however needed.
When Anya finally withdraws her hand, the loss leaves me bereft. Yet her shy parting caress awakens hope as well. She does not reject this dangerous fascination growing between us—she merely slows its pace for both our sakes. Wise, compassionate Anya. In her capable hands, perhaps even one as battered and burdened as I may find healing…
Suddenly, she leans in and presses her petal-soft lips to mine in a gentle kiss. I freeze, stunned by her bold initiation. But soon, instinct takes over and I return the kiss reverently, letting Anya set the pace.
Her mouth moves slowly against my own, sending sparks arcing through my entire body. The kiss remains relatively chaste, but conveys a well of longing. When we finally part, Anya looks slightly embarrassed by her audacity.
“Was that alright?” she asks in a whisper.
I brush my thumb over her kiss-swollen lower lip, desire coursing wildly through me. “It was perfect.”
Anya’s expression morphs into pure joy. She kisses me again, more firmly this time. My heart soars at this new level of trust and intimacy we’ve attained. I’ve never felt such a profound connection to another soul. Her name becomes a prayer upon my lips as we lose ourselves in this unhurried exploration of each other.
Every touch, every stolen breath, seems to deepen the bond between us. Anya’s hands find their way into my hair, her fingers tangling in the strands as she pulls me closer. Our bodies melt together, a perfect fit, as if we were made for each other. Time loses all meaning as we traverse this uncharted territory of desire and vulnerability.
In one painful moment, Anya breaks the kiss, her chest rising and falling with an intoxicating mix of anticipation and uncertainty. Her eyes search mine for reassurance, seeking confirmation that what we’re embarking on is real and true.
I caress her cheek, my thumb tracing the curve of her jawline. “Anya,” I whisper, my voice filled with a newfound tenderness. “We don’t have to rush this. We have all the time in the world.”
It’s a big step for her, and I refuse to push any harder. My inner wolf may be growling in protest, but I quell him with ease. It becomes clear to me then—nothing will ever take precedence over my beloved Anya.
