Page 63 of Rescued By the Beast
Hours drag on. My eyes are heavy with exhaustion when, finally, the door opens. My heart races and my paws race with it, ready to run to Mark — but I freeze in place. My stomach sinks.
It's not him.
Ethan looks at me with an easy smile, his dimples pronounced. He closes the door behind him and lifts a bag.
"Mark asked me for a favour, Kitten. I came to bring you some food, since he's stuck at work."
My tension dissolves in a shaky sigh. He's alive.
But the relief is short-lived. My nose wrinkles in disgust when Ethan pulls out of the bag... dog food.
Seriously? After getting used to the succulent meals Mark prepares, now I have to settle for this?
I'm not even hungry anymore...
My stomach growls, betraying me.
"I brought the best dog food there is," Ethan continues, pouring the food into the bowl. "Mark practically threatened me."
He crouches down, running his hand over my head in a quick pat before standing up.
"I have to get back to the clinic. Bye, Kitten."
I glance indignantly at the bowl. I approach cautiously and sniff the food. It's not so bad... maybe...
I chew a small piece.
Dry. Bland.
Argh.
I walk away, drinking water to try to fill my stomach and get rid of the strange taste on my tongue.
The sun sets. Darkness fills the house. I try to transform again, but nothing happens. My essence is there, still trapped,but it doesn't have enough strength to push the barrier again. I sigh, frustrated, curling up near the door.
It's past eleven o'clock at night when the doorknob turns.
This time, it's him.
Mark is wearing different clothes than when he left that morning. He doesn't look hurt. Just tired.
My muscles relax and I run to him, rubbing myself against his legs, purring loudly. He's fine. He's come back to me.
"Kitten," his voice is low, almost a prayer.
He picks me up in his arms, pressing me against his chest. His stubble scratches my head as he breathes deeply against my fur. My purring grows, vibrating against his skin, synchronising with the beat of his heart.
He carries me upstairs and places me on the bed. His fingers slide behind my ears, eliciting another satisfied purr from me.
"Sorry for leaving you alone for so long... and for not preparing your food today," he murmurs.
He looks exhausted. And upset.
I rub my muzzle against his palm before he walks away to get a change of clothes and go to the bathroom. When he returns, his scent of fresh soap fills the room. He lies down, wearing only sweatpants, and places me on his chest.
I purr. If I could, I would live here, on his warm skin, listening to his heartbeat.
The silence lingers. The wind howls outside. An owl hoots. And then, his voice breaks the stillness:
