Page 53 of Ravaged Wolf
I check on my wolf. She’s conked out. I give her a few mental pokes, but she’s dead to the world. “I don’t think my wolf has the energy.”
“She wore herself out,” he says, the corners of his lips curling again. I like his smile. It doesn’t seem intentional. It kind of slips out by accident.
“It’s going to suck without shoes.” Scavengers go barefoot whenever they can, so they have tough soles, but I’ve never walked outside without shoes, not even as a pup. My mom would’ve lost her mind and called me abog rat.
“I could carry you,” Trevor offers. His cheekbones darken. It’s funny.Nowhe blushes, while his dick has been poking me this whole time. The tip is actually kind of pulsing.
And now I’m blushing, too. “I’m too heavy. You couldn’t carry me for an hour.”
He scoffs. “Bullshit. You’re super-compact. I could carry you one-handed.”
“Super-compact? Like a car?”
“I mean, I wouldn’t say you’re as big as acar, per se, but if you were, I could still carry you.” He pauses, his eyes dancing. “Maybe not one-handed, but—”
By some miracle, I giggle, even though I’m naked with Trevor and a bunch of dead leaves are stuck to my hip. I even let out a little snort.
A big, delighted smile straight-outbreaksacross his face, and the air in my lungs leaves in a whoosh.
“I—maybe—uh—we should—uh—I don’t want to get up. You’ll see me naked,” I say in a rush, so discombobulated that what I’m actually worrying about spills from my mouth.
“Oh. Yeah.” He winces. “I guess, I could, uh, not look?”
“Yeah. I won’t look, either.” I’m cringing so hard that I can’t help but squirm—and then I realize I’m squirming against him naked. His dick jerks. He grunts, embarrassed. I freeze. “Sorry,” I squeak.
He blows out a breath. “No. No worries. I’m good. You’re good. Everything’s fine. Don’t be scared. I can control myself.”
“I know.”
He plows on, the smile and blush gone, “I’m not like that. Like I was that night. I swear to you, that was—I lost control, but I never will again. I’ll die before I do. Okay, Izzy? Iswearto you.”
His voice has dropped to a raw growl. For the first time, I can smellhisdistress. I guess I’ve never been able to scent it over my own fear before. I hate the smell. It’s not gross, or anything, but it needles me. I have todosomething.
I brush his hair away from his face again, even though it isn’t tickling me anymore. It feels forward—and I amneverforward—but it settles my nerves, and his scent sweetens almost immediately. He pokes my belly harder, too.
“I don’t want you to die,” I mumble. I can’t meet his eyes. It’s too much to look at him and touch him at the same time.
He ducks his head, catching the hand smoothing his hair so I’m palming his cheek instead. “Did you know I was here?” he asks.
I glance up, surprised by the question, and I’m caught again. His eyes are windows. I can see everything. He wants me to say yes, so bad, but he’s braced for me to say no. He’s waiting for my answer with bated breath. His chest froze mid-rise, and it’s pressing against my achy breasts.
“I knew you might be,” I say.
“You came anyway.” He’s trying to school his face, but he can’t. Not with those eyes.
I could nod and agree with his assumption that seeing him was a risk I decided to take. I don’t have to let him in.
I don’t ever let anyone in.
But that’s not quite true anymore, is it? I talked to Nia, Rosie, and Flora. What was it I said? I want to go back to the start and do things differently.
Of course, that’s impossible, but—I could start doing things differentlynow. I could decide. On a random whatever-day-of-the-week-this-is.
“I came to see you,” I admit. “I was hoping you were here.”
“Why?” There is panic on his face and in his scent. No, not panic. Dread. What does he think I’m going to say?
My panic rises in response to his, and my scent sours. Thank goodness no one else is here. Westink.
