Feral Ch. 07

Nick moved then, swiftly and silently and snatched the towel from the rack. He watched her continue to fumble around, searching for the absent towel.

"Damnit," he heard her curse under her breath as the slammed the door open.

Eva stopped dead in her tracks. Perhaps she had jumped the gun on this one. Sure she had known that Nick might discover her in his shower. That was kind of the point. However, the sight of a six-foot-four chiseled shirtless werewolf standing there—fists clenched, nostrils flared—was a whole other matter.

  With a low cry she clapped her arms over the important body parts and crossed her legs awkwardly. "Nick!" She screeched.  "Towel, please."

This wasn't just any man she'd decided to toy with. Not one of her college flings. She could see that now, and she knew she'd made a mistake.

He was huge. His bare chest was broad and liberally dusted with dark hair tapering down over bunched and rippled abdominals and disappearing into the black boxer briefs slung low below the enticing v at his hips. His body was hard and sinewy, heavily muscled arms radiating power—every inch of him conveying strength and wildness. The way he stood spoke to that power. It was the kind of incredible strength that was just barely held in check by immense will.  

His eyes had darkened from that changeling hazel to deep gold .He inhaled deeply, his broad chest expanding. Good lord, the way he was looking at her was turning her bravado to mush—leaving nothing behind but girlish apprehension.

"Nick," she said softer now and extended one hand, the other arm crossed tightly over her breasts.

Nick stalked forward—that was the only way to describe the predatory graceful way he moved.

His gaze raked over her form, a smile curving over his sensuous lips. He held out the fluffy white towel.

She snatched the towel from his outstretched grasp and slammed the shower door shut between them.
She let out a shuddering breath as she hastily wrapped the towel around her body, cognizant of the man separated from her by just a bit of admittedly flimsy fogged glass.

She glared at the glass, lifting her finger to scrawl a backward message on the glass. GO AWAY!!!

She could sense him resolutely on the other side of the shower door. Lifting her chin, she smoothed her hair back from her face and slid open the glass, her expression neutral. "Privacy not one of your strong suits, huh, wolf boy?" she quipped, her tone laced with sarcasm.

He blocked her path towering over her. "What are you doing in here, Eva?"

Holy mother, she loved the way his lips caressed her name in that deep slightly aristocratic drawl. She mentally kicked herself, 'focus girl.'

She lifted one manicured brow at him. "Showering, as if it weren't obvious. And now I'm leaving." She moved to side step him but he mirrored her movement, effectively blocking her way.

He moved into her instead. She retreated until her back was against the wall. He hovered over her—not touching her—but braced one arm on the wall above her head.

He lifted one hand to trail the back of his fingertips of her flushed damp cheek. Her scent was damn near inebriating. His wolf was near mad with need, clawing at him to take her—damn the consequences. He wrestled the feeling down, a low growl escaping his throat. He could hear the rapid staccato of her heart beating in her chest. He wondered if it was from arousal or from fear. His gaze drifted down the rapid rise and fall of her breasts against the edge of the towel. His lips twitched. Perhaps both.

"You couldn't have used Tianna's shower? Or your own?" His voice rumbled from his chest, reverberating through her.  "You had to trip down and get into mine, huh?"

Eva's lips moved but no sound came out. It was getting difficult to draw air into her lungs.

"Mmm..." He lowered his head and nuzzled her cheek. His lips trailed down her throat. She felt his teeth scrape lightly against the sensitive flesh then swiped his questing hot tongue over her pulse,  His spicy male scent filled her nostrils and she shuddered, knees trembling.

His large hands took her shoulders and drew her more fully against him. His mouth captured then, obliterating all thoughts and warnings.

Eva shifted her body against his for fuller contact as he swallowed her moan and eased  her back against the wall. She was slight in his arms but her entire body hummed with power as though his touch had awakened it fiercely within her.

He lifted her, mouth fused to hers and her legs wrapped around his lean waist. The towel had slipped from around her torso to bunch around her hips, baring her heavy breasts.

Nick groaned, feeling her breasts press against his heated flesh. He slid one palm to cup one glorious breast while the other slipped beneath that sensuously curved ass of hers to hold her more intimately against him.

She tightened her thighs, bringing her naked flesh against his lower torso and her pulse skyrocketed.  She returned his kiss eagerly, opening her mouth to him and winding her arms around his neck. She plunged her fingers into his dark hair. "Nick," she gasped his name between breaths.

The wondrous things his hands were doing halted immediately at the sound of her voice and he drew back slightly to look into her face. Her eyes bright with excitement and her breath panted from between her lush pink lips.

She was pliant and submissive in his arms. The very touch of her skin upon his sent tiny electric shivers of delight through his core. He made the mistake of dropping his gaze to her beautiful dusky tipped breasts. Unable to help himself, his hips bucked against her and his grip on her tightened. Letting out a low throaty moan, she rubbed hips against him creating delicious friction.

He slammed his eyes shut and swallowed thickly.

Eva felt the change in him immediately. She combed her fingers through his hair. "Nick?"

Pulling away from her and carefully set her on her feet. He resolutely kept his eyes on her face as he deftly wrapped the towel around her body.

His voice was tight and strained when he spoke. It was the kind of voice that told her all the blood had drained from his vocal cords to the immense bulge in his pants. It was at odds with the cool detached look he gave her. "You need to go now, Eva."

She blinked at him. Surely he couldn't be serious. She hugged the towel to her with one hand and reached for him with the other. "Nick—" She placed the palm of her hand against the heated flesh of his chest. She could feel his heart beating strongly under the warm skin.

He grimaced, jaw tightening.

His large hand captured her wrist in a move so fast it was only a blur. She jumped, startled by his sudden gentle but insistent grasp on her wrist.

"I don't understand," she murmured, her pretty growl wrinkled quizzically. She pulled fruitlessly at his grip.

He huffed in annoyance and began tugging her behind him, ignoring her when she nearly slipped on the damp tiles.

He bent quickly—not releasing her—and scooped up her discarded clothing, his grip still firm on her as he all but dragged her across the room.

At the bedroom door, he shoved her things into her arms. His face was hard. "What part of 'time to leave,'  get out, is hard to understand?"

Her brown skin flushed with anger and embarrassment. "What the fuck is your problem, wolf boy? You had no problem with my presence just a minute ago."

Wordlessly he took her arm in a none too gentle hold and wrenched open the door. "Get the fuck out, Eva." He practically shoved her into the hallway.

She whirled on him, furious and he leaned in the doorway taking in her shocked and angry expression. "Go ahead and play your games, Eva. There are enough men in the house, I'm sure one of them will give in eventually."

And with that, he slammed the door firmly in her face. Her enraged shriek, followed by the solid thump of one riding boot being thrown greeted in him response.

Eva spun away from the door, fully intending to stomp away but stopped short at the sight of Aaron Thorne standing just a few feet away, one dark brow quirked in wry amusement.
"Miss Clinton," he acknowledged, in that dry tone of his though his eyes crinkled and his lips twitched.

"Thorne," she snarled and swept past him.

"Oh, Miss Clinton," his voice followed her and she stopped dead in her tracks before turning to face him warily. "I would see you in the study when you are less..." he searched for a word. "Indisposed."

"Sure thing," she ground out and strode angrily down the hall away from him. Fucking werewolves.

***
Eva met Aaron in the study reluctantly. He was perusing the rows of bookshelves, his back to her. His broad unfettered shoulders were encased in a superbly cut navy blue jacket. Dark inky hair fell straight past his shoulders to brush between his shoulder blades. The look was dramatic yet fitting.

"Come here, Eva." He said, gesturing her to his side without turning. Apparently the man also had eyes in the back of his head. Steeling herself, she crossed the room to him to stand next to him.

He had opened a panel in the otherwise solid-looking bookcase and was removing a large cloth-wrapped bundle.

"Here you are," he handed her the bundle and the panel clicked closed, creating a seamless façade.

"Oof," Eva nearly dropped the heavy object he placed into her hands and she hugged it to her chest. She shot him a perplexed look.

"Shall we?" He turned her lightly, hand at the small of her back and led her to the couch, pretending not to notice the way she flinched and stiffened at his touch.

Aaron settled himself on the couch at a respectable distance as she seated herself, bundle in her lap. He draped his arm over the back of the couch. "Go ahead," he urged softly. "Open it.

She eyed him warily. He looked relaxed and at ease in his navy suit, the collar of an immaculate snowy white shirt open at the neck and revealing swath of deeply tanned smooth flesh.

She swallowed, averting her gaze and unwrapped the cloth bound object. As the fabric fell away, her mouth dropped open. "Oh my God," she breathed. The breath whooshed out of her lungs in shock. Her gaze flew to Aaron.

He was regarding her calmly, his expression inscrutable as his dark gaze roved over her features.

She tore her gaze away from him to stare at the book in her lap. She carefully—almost reverently—with a hint of trepidation traced her fingers over the leather bound cover of the book. It was very old, she could sense. She traced the pentagram on on the cover with light fingertips.

It was a grimoire, the first she'd ever touched. "Where did you get this?" she all but whispered. Aaron watched her as she seemed to pale and her eyes grew wide. "You didn't kill her, did you?"

Caught off guard, Aaron stared at her, mouth gaping. He surprised her by throwing back his head and letting out a bellowing laugh. When he finally regained his composure she was still staring at him, her changeling eyes wide.

He smiled at her. "You are truly frightened of me, aren't you?"

She lifted her chin at this, fire flashing in her gaze. He admired that.

He smiled running his fingers through his hair. "No I didn't kill anyone for it." Something almost like sadness flickered in his generally enigmatic gaze. "But the witch to whom it belonged is dead just the same."

Eva ran her hands over the aged leather binding. "It's very old isn't it?" She questioned, shooting him a glance.

"Quite," he shrugged. "But then again, so am I . So I suppose it's relative."

Eva glanced at him surreptitiously. "Just how old are you?"

Aaron grinned. "I was born in 1840 in Manchester."

Eva's mouth dropped open. "No way!" She was gaping at him, her eyes searching his unlined face for some telltale hint of veracity.

Aaron's lips quirked. "Way."

"How is that possible?" she breathed, a slight frown marring her brow as she cocked her head and continued to study him.

"I am a pureblood," he shrugged. "I am descendent from the original wolves. Like other members of the pack, I age slowly. The regenerative qualities of our DNA slow down the aging process as our cells don't degenerate or die. We don't grow old or sick or feeble."

She was looking at him curiously. "When will you start to look old."

He chuckled at her sudden interest in him. "Not for centuries."

"Wow. And this?" she gestured to the grimoire.

He sighed. "The witch was a friend of mine in the 1940s. We were very close," he hesitated. "And she was very powerful."

"Was it magick that killed her?" she ventured.

"No," he shook his head. "It was an air raid of all things. The blitzkrieg. I dug through the rubble of her apartment to find her body. She was surrounded by other people. The grimoire tucked in her arms." He frowned slightly then. "I think she revealed herself, attempting to save the people around her. She just wasn't strong enough."

Eva was staring at him, mentally trying to pick apart his motives—the sound of his voice when he spoke of the long dead witch, and the slightest flicker of emotion in his dark eyes. "And you're showing me this because..."

Aaron nodded at the book. "Because I want you to have it."

If possible, her eyes widened further. "Me?!" she squeaked, her fingers tightening around the grimoire so hard that the blood was leaving her fingers.

"That is, if it will open for you," he mused, enjoying her shock.

A slight frown flickered over her face. "What do you mean, 'if'?"

His gaze roved over her face intently. "Muriel," he said in a low voice. "That was her name. She spelled her grimoire, that even if it was taken from her...it could only be used by someone who was worthy of it."

She caught her lip between her teeth. She longingly traced the edge of the book. She was a fledgling witch with not training. She could feel herself deflating already.

Aaron's voice was soft and disconcertingly gently. "You remind me of her a bit," he said. "You have the same spirit, that same fire." One corner of his mouth lifted. "And she gave me nothing but grief before we became close."

He watched her lips twitch into a semblance of a small smile at this.

He waited patiently, waiting for her to gather her courage. And as easily as if she were opening any book at her local library, she cracked the grimoire open.

Aaron's brows rose.

She glanced at him furtively. "That's it?"

Aaron's dark brows were climbing toward his hairline. "I suppose so," he murmured. "I tried to open it once and it was almost like the damn pages were super glued together."

But Eva wasn't listening. She was carefully thumbing through the parchment pages, eyes taking in the intricate drawings and script. She noted that the handwriting changed as she flipped through them. "This is her family's book," she whispered.

If not for his supernatural hearing, he would not have heard her. "I assume your family has one as well. You come from two very powerful bloodlines."

He watched emotions flit over her features. Anger, grief, regret, longing. It was a lot of emotion for someone so young. "No, I've never had one," she said softly. "I ran away before my mother could stop me. I don't even want to know what's in our family's book." She raised her gaze to him steadily. "Why are you doing this?"

Aaron returned her unwavering gaze. "Why do you think?"

Eva studied him soberly. "You trusted her, this Muriel," she said quietly but with certainty. "You wanted to see if you could trust me too. If I could open the book, it would be a sign."

He grinned at her. "Good girl."

She bristled at that and hugged the grimoire to her chest. "You're not going to take it back are you?"

Aaron shook his head. "No. It chose you. That means it's yours."

She relaxed visibly, but just barely.

He leaned toward her. "But I want you to be careful with it, Eva. Balance."

"Balance," she repeated.

He was watching her intently with something she would have thought was concern if she didn't know who she was dealing with.

"It's part of your problem. You need to balance the light and the dark," he said, his sable eyes boring into her. "I know you fear your mother's blood in your veins, but if you avoid the dark completely, it will weaken you when the time comes to use it—if you need to use it. But temper your studies with the light, beat back that darkness when it threatens to take hold so that it doesn't consume you. Understand?"

She nodded, becoming unsure of herself.

He leaned back in the couch.  "And feel free to use me."

She lifted her brows at this.

He chuckled. "I've known plenty of witches. Perhaps I'll be more of a resource than you imagine."

She nodded absently at this and stood, then fixed him with her direct gaze. "Thank you, Aaron." She swallowed. "I can't tell you—"

He held up a large hand to stop her right there. "Just don't make me regret it."

She nodded vigorously and practically dashed out of the room before he could change his mind.

She crashed right into Nikolas. She winced, cringing at his glare and dashed up the stairs in search of some privacy and her new accommodations.

***
Julian Drake tugged his t-shirt away from his body to examine the long slashes in the fabric and the dark red stains.bThe she-wolf had shredded him with her nails but those wounds had healed almost immediately.  

The elevator doors slid open to the penthouse suite and he entered, pulling the shirt over his head and discarding it. He padded into the spacious bedroom, his eyes immediately falling on the figure beneath the snowy white sheet.

He crawled onto the foot of the bed, stalking up the woman's body to cage her between his arms and thighs.

A low growl left his throat as he nuzzled the dark hair back from her face and he inhaled her scent deeply as he brushed his lips over her toffee colored cheek. Jet black eyelashes trembled against delicate cheeks then fluttered open to reveal startling green catlike eyes.

"You're back," she murmured, her voice husky and seductive with sleep, causing a stirring in his loins.

"Yes," he answered simply, giving her a lingering kiss on the lips before she twisted her head away to survey him.

She took in the puffy pink scars crisscrossing his chest. Her eyes flew to him. "You were caught?"

He shook his head. "No. I came across Dominic Moore's daughter, the she-wolf." He shrugged his massive shoulders. "I couldn't help myself, but I was interrupted."

She sad up, firmly pushing at his chest. "The wolves," she demanded. "Did they see you? Did they recognize you?"

He sat back on his haunches. "No. It was something else." He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. "I think the little witch was there. She possessed Tianna Moore to fight me off. Got me pretty good too."

The woman's face hardened. "Are you certain of that?"

He shook his head. "I can't be sure, but—"

"But what?" She snapped, holding the sheet tightly in her fist to cover her naked breast and raking a rough hand through her dark hair.

He watched her face intently as he spoke. "She smelled like you all of a sudden—like jasmine, spice and blood oranges, but somehow different."

She looked at him consideringly. "This isn't necessarily the a bad thing," she mused. "They're together in one place. We can kill two birds with one stone." She smirked. "Literally."

His look was skeptical.

She let out a low bark of laughter. "Don't worry. You can still have the girl when I'm finished with them. You have my word."

He nodded at this, still regarding her intently. Sanaa Clinton was a beautiful woman, her body positively humming with power. But she got ahead of herself sometimes and forgot who was in charge.