Vivian threw a glass across the room. It shattered on the window frame. Even her mother would gladly hand her over to a mate she didn't want.
All day Vivian came out of her room only when she was sure Esmé was elsewhere. She knew it drove her mother crazy. Serves her right, she thought. If I hadn't had to save her ass, I wouldn't be in this fix.
The phone rang constantly, it seemed. Nosy bastards, Vivian thought. Don't they have their own sex lives to keep them busy? She turned her television on loudly to drown out the ringing, but there were only stupid game shows on and a program in which fat women complained that their boyfriends couldn't accept them as they were. She turned the TV off in disgust.
Vivian stared at her unfinished mural of running wolf-kind, and the fine hair on the back of her neck bristled. She wondered if she had enough paint to obliterate it, but a pang of loss cut through her at the thought. Nah, she told herself. That was the good times. The harmony. That's the stuff I want to remember. An ache awoke for the blissful oblivion that seeped through her when she painted, and she went so far as to lift a brush from the jar on her desk, but the grip hurt her still-bruised fingers. I'd have to go get water, she realized. She tossed the brush down.
A squeak on the landing warned her Esmé was close again.
"That boy's on the phone," Esmé announced outside her door.
She means Aiden, Vivian guessed.
"Tell him I'm sick."
Esmé went away without arguing. She'd just as soon put him off, Vivian thought. She only told me because she hoped the phone call would get me out of my room.
After Esmé left for work, Vivian tried to phone Orlando Griffin and find out what her options were under pack Law. There was no answer. She slammed the receiver down. Then Rudy came home, and she didn't want to call again with him around. She was relieved when he opted for an early night and left her alone with HBO. She fell asleep on the couch on purpose so she could snarl at Esmé when her mother woke her up to send her to bed.
Rudy rose early on Saturday to go bicycling before the temperature soared into the nineties, and Esmé slept in late as usual, so Vivian found herself alone when she wandered downstairs. She tried phoning Orlando, but again there was no answer.
"Where on earth has that old wolf got to?" Vivian muttered to herself. She thought old people stayed put and had routines.
The phone rang, and she answered before the bell had a chance to wake Esmé; then she cursed herself silently. What if it was Gabriel?
It wasn't. "Hi, Vivian. Feeling better?" Aiden had called again.
For a moment she felt out of sync with the world. His voice was so normal, so innocent.
"Not really," she lied. "I'm still kind of weak."
"Flu?"
"Yeah."
"That's a bitch," he said. "It's even worse getting sick in the summer."
"Yeah. Still grounded?" she asked.
"Yeah. But relief is in sight. My parents are going out tomorrow night. They're seeing old friends. People who keep them out late. Get it? Huh, huh? Wanna come over?"
"What about your sister?" Vivian asked. His sister seemed the type to squeal in a second.
"Going to a sleepover."
"That's convenient."
"You don't say. So how about it?"
She hesitated. The invitation was tempting in the extreme; any other time she wouldn't think twice, but with what she had done to Astrid did she dare let herself be alone with Aiden no matter how much she longed for him? She'd thought she was in control of herself; now she was no longer sure.
"Please, please, Viv. I miss you." Aiden's voice was hushed and seductive, as if his head lay on a pillow next to hers. Desire stirred in her. "I miss your toes," he continued, "I miss your feet, I miss your calves, I miss your knees, I miss your thighs, I miss your . . . intellect."
Vivian burst into laughter. How could that funny, sweet boy bring out the violence in her? He wasn't like Astrid. "Look, I'll call you tomorrow and let you know how I'm feeling," she said.
"Early, or I couldn't stand it."
"Early," she promised.
"Cool."
Vivian was still smiling when she walked into the living room, but what she saw there wiped the smile off her face.
"How did you get in?"
Gabriel lounged in an armchair. "Rudy." Even at rest he looked powerful, and she kept her distance. She noticed the white of a bandage under the hem of his shirt, and the shiny pink and white of new scars on his arms. She thought of the damage he could inflict and shivered.
Gabriel grinned lazily. "Don't be pissed off at him. I pulled rank."
Yeah, Vivian thought. And I bet you loved doing it. "What do you want?" she asked.
Gabriel raised his eyebrows. "I thought you knew."
"Well, you can't have it," Vivian snapped. "So go." Inside she was trembling. She marched out of the room and to the kitchen, where she banged the toaster oven open, then grabbed a bagel and began to saw at it with a serrated knife.
Gabriel came up behind her and placed his hands over hers, stilling her motions. The heat of him scorched her from the backs of her knees to the nape of her neck. "You're gonna cut yourself that way," he murmured, his breath in her hair.
"Who cares?" She thought briefly of slicing his hand but dismissed the idea. He was much bigger than her and didn't mind hitting females.
He took the bagel and knife from her, and she ducked under his arm and left the heat of him behind. He cut the bread carefully. "Toasted?" He was so damn calm, so irritating.
"No."
He placed the bagel in the open toaster oven and pressed the lever. "Sure."
She folded her arms across her chest and glared at him. "So. Are you going?"
"We can take it slow," he said. "You can learn to be with me. Find out what I'm all about. You never know, you might like what you find."
"Don't hold your breath," she said.
He stepped toward her casually, amusement flickering around his lips. She tensed, her eyes checking for a way to run.
"Or ..." His hand lashed out, grabbed her, and whipped her into his arms, where he held her tight. "We can take it fast and rough." His mouth came down on hers and his hot tongue parted her lips. She pulled back, but he caught her hair in his fist and pressed her close. She pushed on his chest and struggled in his arms, but he wouldn't let go. Damn him, she thought, tears forming. I don't want fierce, I want gentle.
When she tried to knee his groin, he pulled away of his own accord, laughter in his eyes.
"You think you're such a stud, don't you?" she said.
"Don't you?" he asked.
She stormed out of the kitchen to the dining room.
He followed her. "I see I'm required to court you in every room of the house."
"Not likely," she replied.
"I'm looking forward to the bedrooms," he said.
"Go to hell!"
His grin faded. "I will court you," he said. "And I won't give up. I will wait for you like I waited for you outside that cave, and I'll follow you like I followed you home that night, keeping you safe. I will wait for you because you are meant to be mine" - his voice grew husky with desire - "and because you'll be worth the wait. Goodbye, Princess Wolf. Let me know what deeds must be done to win you."
When he'd left she could still smell him in the room as if he'd claimed her whole life.
"I'll choose my own mate," she swore, and walked to the phone.
Chapter 18
18
"What if I were a magical creature?" Vivian asked Aiden. She could hear him breathing on the other end of the line. She wished her heartbeat were as slow and steady.
"What kind of magical creature?" he asked.
"What if I could change into something else?"
Aiden laughed. "Like a selkie in a Scottish fairytale?"
"Or . . . like a wolf," she said.
"You'd be a very beautiful wolf," he said.
She smiled. "I am."
"And, Mademoiselle Wolf, what do you want from me?" he asked.
"I want you to think about what I've just said," she told him. "I'm coming to you tonight, and I'll make it true."
It was after nine, and the fat, lazy night hummed with the gossip of insects and wallowed in too much perfume. The heat of the day had yet to fade, and Vivian plucked at the damp material of her dress as she crossed the main road and entered the tree-lined streets of Aiden's neighborhood.
Fear fluttered in her chest. She was defying pack Law. But no one had to know, she thought. Just Aiden and me. What harm can there be in that?
She knew Aiden thought she was playing on the phone that morning. She knew she would have to show him to make him believe. But if she had started him thinking about her changing form, that might help him accept it more easily when she finally did. She imagined the look of wonder on his face as she changed before his eyes. He might even be a little frightened at first, but he loved her, didn't he? She could see it in his eyes. He would know that she'd never mean him harm. He loved her and she loved him. She shivered with excitement. She had never put those feelings into words before. I want to share my life with someone I care about, she thought. What gives them the right to tell me who to love?
But what if the pack found out? Would she and Aiden have to run away together? Surely he'd want to when he found out she'd been claimed by another. He chafed under his father's rules. He wouldn't want to stay. They could go somewhere far away. They wouldn't starve. She could hunt for them both.
She laughed abruptly. She sounded like one of those romance novels Esmé consumed like popcorn. Aiden needed his parents to pay for college. She didn't want to ruin his life. But she did want someone who'd appreciate the sheer beauty of what she was. He would understand why she didn't want to make light of life, or use her strength to lord it over others. He'd understand that being was enough.
Maybe there was even a way to change him. She'd never known it done, but there were legends - survive the bite of a werewolf and a human became one; drink water from the paw-print of a werewolf; smear on a magic salve - legends were often based on a nugget of truth. Oh, he would love that. She knew he would. He wanted so much to be special. But he wouldn't lord it over her, or soil his new ability with blood and power. He would be her true mate.
She walked up the flower-fringed path to Aiden's house. She paused to take a deep breath and speak a prayer to the Moon. The Moon looked after lovers. A bead of sweat trickled down the low neckline of the soft cotton sheath she wore. Her rat-a-tat knock echoed the beat of her racing heart.
"It's open," Aiden called from inside. "Count to ten, then come in." There were excitement and secrets in his voice. He echoed her mood as if he were her soul's twin. Her eagerness for him eclipsed her fears.
She was curious and impatient, but she indulged him. Slowly she counted, then tried the knob, and the front door opened easily. She stepped from the thick night heat into a shadowed hallway filled with cool, discrete air.
She didn't bother to search the first floor. He wouldn't be there. She understood his game. Instead, she quietly ascended the stairs. As she came closer to the landing the apple-sweet warmth of him filled her nostrils. She knew exactly where he was.
She approached his room languorously, enjoying the soft slide of cotton across her thighs. She was torturing herself as well as him, drawing out anticipation with excruciating delight. To hell with telling him right away, she thought. Maybe I'll love him first.
Hot steamy air that mimicked the night lingered outside an open door. She drifted inside and saw a bathroom, the tub still full. He didn't have to bathe for her. She would have devoured his sweat, licked it from him, and rubbed herself against his fragrant body until she became his essence. No matter, she thought. I will make him sweat more.
A delicious shudder went through her. She dropped to her knees by the tub, then lowered her head and lapped up a sip. The water tasted of him. I'm coming to get you, she thought delightedly.
She hummed the catchy refrain of a popular tune with wicked words as she neared his room. At his bedroom door she stopped. "Am I still cold?" she said aloud, and waited a moment. She reached for the knob. She thrust open the door. "Or am I hot?"
She let the door slide from her hand to thud gently against the wall and stood framed in the doorway. Her triumph transmuted to wonder as she saw the candles. A motley assortment of every shape, size, and color covered every spare surface. There had to be at least a hundred. They gleamed like stars and turned his room into a glittering grotto.
"Where did you get them all?" she asked breathlessly.
"Oh, I scrounged," Aiden said. He was in his bed and, apparently, naked under the sheets.
"I expect you need them to keep you warm," she said.
He blushed and looked away from her amused scrutiny, obviously wondering if he'd miscalculated.
She felt a familiar tightening of her spine. The change? she thought. Now? Her knees popped. Was the Goddess telling her not to waste time making love?
"It's a lovely way to be met," she said to Aiden, and her voice wavered. Aiden smiled despite his red face. He probably mistook the tremor in her words for sentiment. A ripple rode down the flesh of her back. "This is the perfect setting for the magic I was planning to show you tonight." But she had expected more time to prepare him.
His smile grew wider.