Page 51 of UNAwere

I ignore the flashes of lightning that course through my body at the feeling of his skin against mine. Jeepers, this is why I need a cigarette.

‘Sybbie,’ he says.

‘Jude,’ I spit back.

His lip curls. ‘Go to bed.’

‘No.’

I reef my hand from his, succeeding, but before I can celebrate, I’m pinned to the door. Briggs has my arm against the small of my back, my other arm squished between my belly and the wood I’m pressed against. I gasp, struggling, but he presses in close, his legs trapping mine.

‘Go to bed,’ he says, and the sound of his voice by my ear makes me whimper.

He takes a deep breath, hearing me, and freezes. For a moment, I think he’s going to let go. But then I feel his nose brush against the nape of my neck, and something within me breaks. My spine arches and I moan, my hips thrusting back until my arse is pressing against him.

Briggs’s hold on me tightens. His crotch shifts against me, stiff jeans scraping soft cotton. He lets out a shuddering breath that skims across my aching skin, and I writhe, nodding my head, needing more. I need his mouth on me. I need his teeth.

‘Fuck,’ he hisses.

It happens too fast, and then it’s gone.

There’s a slam, and I slump against the door when he lets me go and pant against the wood, trembling. When I gather myself enough to glance over my shoulder, Briggs isn’t in the room, and the bathroom is empty, and I realise he must’ve slipped out of the door.

It takes me a while to collect myself. I go to bed and lie down, covering myself in as many blankets as I can, cocooning. My body is still shaking, my blood thrumming in my veins. I have no idea what just happened, and I’m too scared to question it.

I force my eyes closed, squeezing them.

‘Please sleep. Please, please, sleep.’

Briggs paces in the grass in his wolf form, watching me Turn as if it disgusts him.

When I finally claw my way out the other side, he lets out a soft grunt.

You’re fighting it.

Definitely not. It just doesn’t like to do it.

You don’t like to do it. She wants to. She wants control. She’d love for you to submit.

I’m trying. I’m panting, exhausted and aching. This is the third time I’ve Turned this morning, and I’m close to throwing up.

The second time I did, I didn’t even bother to hide my nakedness from him. Which is a feat, after what happened between us last night.

He’d come back into the motel room at some point during the night. I’d been asleep, and he hadn’t woken me until this morning, with a coffee and a packet of cigarettes on the beside table. I’d stuffed them in my overnight bag, no longer in the mood.

You’re trying to stop it from happening, Briggs says, snapping me back to the present. The very fear of you thinking it’s going to hurt is what’s making it hurt.

I’ve been told that my entire life. Do you think I haven’t tried?

I’d believe it. He huffs, still pacing. With how disconnected your pack is from Were customs. Blended into society with humans. You’re all confused. It’s no surprise to me, Red, that Turning hurts for you.

You know, you’re quite the bigot.

He grunts. Do it again.

I’m tired.

Aren’t we all.