Page 25 of The Howling
“You are wearing my dress. You are mine,” he growls.
“I don’t belong to anyone,” I retort, a rage rising within me that we arestillhaving this conversation. “Least of all any creatures in the Yeavering.”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” Reavely says. “Fate has given you to me.”
“You think I’m your mate?” I glare at him. “You’re wrong.”
“I am never wrong,” he says smugly.
My anger is a volcano inside me. I’ve had it with the Yeavering and its inhabitants. I need to make a stand, like I should have done the day they came to collect me when I lost the lottery.
It’s time to say no. It’s time to deal with this once and for all.
“You are today.” I stand and pull at the cords which hold the thing to me. The pain is immense because I’m twisting, but I ignore it. “And you can have your stupid dress back if it bothers you.”
I writhe at the fabric. It was hard enough to put on, and as I expected, it’s just as damn hard to get off, but my anger atthe monster who put me in this position is greater. I manage to extract myself from the thing and throw it at him.
Reavely catches it easily, which is annoying. His eyes burn brighter than ever, brighter than the flames next to me.
Flames I’m grateful for, briefly, because I am…
Stood here in a thin shift undergarment. One which is like gossamer. One which showseverything.
Yes, I got so angry, I got naked.
This was not a good move.
I am now very, very hot.
I wrap my arms around myself, knowing there’s no way I’m hiding anything. I’ve never been small in the boob department, and I’m more acutely aware of it than ever. Not that there’s any chance of being able to cover myself up properly.
“Give it back,” I say.
Reavely looks at the dress in his hand and then his gaze travels slowly up me from my feet to the top of my head.
“Come and take it,” he says, his voice a pit of gravel.
I shouldn’t do anything. I should run. I really should run, but then something primal inside me knows he will chase.
Knows he will catch me.
Knows it won’t end well.
A low, deep growl escapes his throat. Reavely tosses the dress to one side and closes the gap between us in a flash, his arms wrapping around me, his teeth at my throat.
I should be scared.
I am not scared.
The teeth trail down my skin and slice into the fine fabric, the only thing between me and him. My core pulses, and before I can say anything, my back is at the wall and Reavely has his snout between my legs.
“Ah! No! Bad dog!”
REAVELY
Iam not a bad dog.
I am averybad dog.
