Page 72 of Ravaged Wolf
Two nights ago, after we’d been going at it for several hours, he got in his head again and freaked himself out. He bounded out of bed like I’d bit him to go check a mysterious “noise” that was very obviously a raccoon in the trash. I broke down weeping and had a massive tantrum, the kind my parents never would have tolerated when I was growing up.
The only salve to my pride is that I kept it quiet enough so that Granddad didn’t hear through the walls Trevor put up so we have rooms of our own with doors that shut. Ikicked every sheet, blanket, and pillow onto the floor, and then I felt like an asshole, so I remade the bed just in time for Trevor to come back to report that Mr. Bandit was dumpster diving for chicken bones in our garbage can. He was so confused when I burst into tears.
So, yesterday, when Rosie came back from a foraging trip with some dragon’s tongue, I volunteered to teach a few of the younger females how to cook it down. Abertha taught me how at the beginning of my apprenticeship with her. Rendering the plant into its medicinal form is a pain in the ass, but luckily, a little goes a long way, and this batch will likely last the pack a year at least.
Trevor doesnotlike that I’m out in the mushroom clearing without him in the middle of the night, but I told him he can’t leave Granddad unattended on my account, and besides, the ritual for making the potion is sacred, and Abertha would be livid if I shared her arcana with a male. He didn’t believe me, but he didn’t argue, and eventually, after a lot of reassurance that Pritchard’s wolf would keep watch, he did leave me here with Nia and Drona’s older girls.
And now I miss him.
“I can’t believe I got roped into doing this again,” Nia groans as she stirs the thickening concoction.
The metronome app ticks on my phone, and several feet away, under a poplar, Avalon and Sara are conked out with their heads resting on the belly of Pritchard’s wolf, all of them snoring out-of-time. You have to stir the mixture on a very specific tempo. It’ll be a miracle if this batch comes out correctly.
“Want me to take over?” I ask.
“I have two minutes left in my turn.”
“I don’t mind.”
“No way,” Nia pants. “Never give up. Never surrender.”
“The pups lasted longer than I thought they would.” I roll my shoulders out and stretch my biceps, preparing for my turn. My arm muscles ache. They’ll be noodles tomorrow. Hand stuff will be completely off the table.
Not like Trevor and I have gotten to hand stuff. We’ve gotten close. Under the shirt, over the bra. Under the waistband, over the panties, but only the back side. No front action.
It’s not like I’m intolerably horny, but making out with Trevor feels good, and beyond that, it’s a normal thing that I never thought I’d be able to do, so I don’t want to stop right when we’re both panting and squirming and tense. I want to see where it goes.
So far, it ends with Trevor wrapping me in his arms in a way that his dick isn’t touching any part of me and whispering, “It’s getting late. Go to sleep, beautiful. Big day tomorrow.”
I blow out a sigh.
“Five, four, three—” Nia counts down. I get into position. “Two, one.” I open my hand. She slaps the ladle into my palm. I tune into the metronome and start stirring in time.
“Oh, lord,” I groan. The mixture is thick as concrete, and my biceps are nothing like they were when I was playing tennis every day.
“Yeah, each turn gets harder, doesn’t it?” Nia slaps me on the back and collapses onto her butt on the grass next to the fire. “Do you really think all the shit really matters? I mean, really? Bury quartz at the four directions on the night of the new moon, hallow the ground with a pint of spirits, and cook over a fire of cherry wood from last light to first light at exactly twenty to fifty beats per minute? I mean, it sounds like bullshit, right?”
“It’s called a grave tempo. Twenty to fifty beats per minute.”
“See?Gravetempo? Doesn’t that sound like the witch is messing with us?”
I smile. She’s totally capable of it, but in this case, she’s not. “I asked her about it when she taught me, and she said when the spell was passed to her, this is how it came. She says that when a spell or potion works, a good healer makes note of everything—from the phase of the moon to time of day to anything out-of-the-ordinary that happens, like you spill your flask of whiskey, whether you think it’s consequential or not. Then you just try to replicate it.”
“The witch and you are tight, eh?” Nia leans back on her elbows.
“I was her apprentice.”
“Rosie was, too, but it turned out that was kind of a ruse. The witch wanted to keep an eye on Rosie since she knew she was the alpha heir’s mate. Rosie doesn’t have that thing that you have.”
“What thing?” I’m so curious, I almost lose my rhythm. No one other than my parents have ever reallynoticedthings about me. Before I became the pack’s cautionary tale, I was basically a movie extra. I was nice. I did what I was told. Mostly, I was there.
“I don’t know. You move really quietly, but not in a scared way. Like you know what you’re doing, I guess.”
I snort. “I have no idea what I’m doing. I just decide to do it.”
Nia grins. “Now you sound like the witch. She’s always saying oxymoronic shit like that.”
I shrug. “It’s true. It’s been working for me until—” Until now, with Trevor. I can’t decide to take the next step for him.
