Page 5 of Twist of Fated Mates
“New?”
I mumble an affirmative. My fangs ache, despite gorging myself on animal blood before attempting an evening at the pub in search of that scent. In search of Charlie. Stupid. I should have known better.
“Won’t you look at me?” His voice holds a trace of vulnerability. I’m crushed to have put it there.
I glance up.
He knits his brows. “How new?”
“A few months.”
Charlie’s eyes widen. “Oh, my. Very new, then.” He kneels in front of me and gently frees the daisy from my death grip. His fingers are warm on mine. “You must still be adjusting.”
That’s one word for it. Another would be floundering.
Reeling.
Mourning.
Enduring.
He lifts his hand. I freeze and hold my breath as he slides my hair back from my face and tucks the flower behind my ear.
That done, he lays his hands softly on my knees. “What happened?”
This is not a conversation I can have while he’s naked. Or possibly at all. But definitely not while he’s naked.
Gently, I remove his hands from my person. “Go inside.” I nod toward the old cabin. “Grab a blanket or something and come back when you’re decent.”
He glances at his body as if only realizing his nudity. Typical. It’s not something a normal werewolf would care about. But I’m not normal anymore. Every vein composing the faint blue lattice beneath his skin sings to me, a delicate map of life just under the surface, full of temptation.
I avert my gaze as he rises. “Okay, but don’t run away. I’ll just follow you again.”
“I won’t.”
Ishould, but I won’t.
Chapter Three
Charlie
Nigel doesn’t know it,of course, but when my cousins and I were cubs, we used to play in this very cabin. Sometimes I would be a runaway prince in need of rescue. Other times I would be a wicked villain, plotting the lovebirds’ demise. Or, you know, a frog. Because children are silly.
As old memories flit through my mind, I inhale a deep chest full of my favorite new scent. The tiny interior thrums with Nigel’s presence. He must have been here a while. A few nights at least.
Otherwise, the one-room cabin is mostly unchanged from my memory. A small round table with two chairs to the left, hearth straight ahead, and the bed frame with its tattered straw mattress to the right.
Only now a tangled heap of blankets and an old leather sack lie atop fresh straw. I’m tempted to snoop, curious as ever to know what’s in Nigel’s bag. What things does a werewolf-turned-vampire take with him on the run?
But no. I’d never encroach on his privacy like that. Instead, I choose the only blanket that doesn’t look scratchy, a green linen throw, and wrap it toga-style around my body. It smells of him but also of sunshine, honeysuckles wafting in a warm spring breeze, and… humans. I scrunch my nose. Stolen from a clothesline, perhaps?
With no belt to secure it, I tuck the tail into the tight band around my waist, call that sufficient, then hurry to join him outside.
“I’m decent!” Hopefully, Nigel will look up and flash those caramel beauties in my direction. But his gaze remains steadfastly on his dirty black boots. His posture is a thing defeated, shoulders sunken inward, back curved. I soften my voice. “It’s okay now.” I’ll doanythingto make him feel better. “We can talk.”
He stands. A sigh shudders its escape from ruby lips. “I’ll answer your questions. Then you’ll understand why you have to stay away from me.”
Anything but that.
