Page 6 of His Beast

The shrill sound of my phone’s ringer cracks through the silence, echoing off the stone walls. Scrambling to find it in the mess of overturned milk crates, I manage to grab it the second the call goes to voicemail. The screen lights up with a missed call from Quinn,as if he was summoned by thoughts, and my heart thuds in my chest. Ignoring the incoming voicemail, I quickly dial him back, hoping we won’t have to play a game of phone tag.

“There you are!” Quinn’s bright voice comes through the receiver, soothing the storm that rages within me. “I didn’t know if your fight was over, did you win?”

“No. It was an unscheduled loss.”

“Oh.”

There is confusion in his voice, which is to be expected since I don’t elaborate, and I appreciate that he doesn't push. Sighing, I sit on the floor next to the knocked over crates, resting my head on my arms.

“There are certain nights, low-risk nights in the betting game, where I’m scheduled to lose. This gives people a false hope that they can beat me or bragging rights when we rig the fights. Tonight was not one of those nights, but I was distracted and lost.”

“I see.”

Silence follows his words, but I can hear soft movement and banging on the other end of the call. I sit in the silence, closing my eyes, while I listen to him. I can hear what sounds like the metallic clank of a pot being placed on the stove and the burner being flicked on. There is a long pause of silence before Quinn broke it with his hesitant words.

“Do you…maybe want to come over?”

“What?” I blink, raising my head as my brain tries to comprehend what he just asked.

“I can make us dinner if you want to come over.”

“What about your deadline? That’s coming up soon, isn’t it?”

“I’m not worried about deadlines, Zee.”

Quinn

Zayn stands at my front door, his face swollen with bruises and caked in dry blood, soaked to the bone from the rain that started a few minutes ago. Even in the summer, you can almost always count on rain in the Pacific Northwest, I just hadn't anticipated it to come down hard enough for him to be soaked. Over the phone his voice sounded empty and disengaged, my inner Omega longing to reach for him, to comfort him, which had prompted me to invite him over.

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t nervous. This is the first time having anyone outside of Blake and Alec in my space and I had spent the past twenty minutes panic cleaning and straightening my nests to appear somewhat presentable should he want to look at them. Reaching forward, I gently touch Zayn’s swollen face, my heart sympathizing with him. He winces at the pain but straightens his face quickly, as if he doesn’t want to show me how much his face hurts. Moving to the side of the entrance, I gesture him through the front door, where he takes his shoes off and looks around before looking down at his soaked clothing.

“I don’t want to drip in your house.”

“Oh please.” I wave him off. “I might have some clothes you can change into, but I can’t promise they’ll fit. You’re huge.”

Grabbing his wrist, I pull him into the open plan living room, smiling as his head swiveles around to try to see as much of the house as he can on his way through. In the bedroom, his eyes widen as he spots my bed and nest in the corner, his gaze darting toward me quickly while his cheeks blossom with a pink tint.

While I don’t consider my shower complicated, I did feel the desire to turn it on for him anyway. It’s rather large with glass doors, a standard shower head on the wall, and a rain shower head hanging from the ceiling. The shower handle has a separate knob that will activate the rain shower, but I left it alone so only the standard head is running. Without thinking, I turn around and reach for Zayn’s shirt, pulling it over his head and getting my first glimpse at his torso in person, and I have to fight the urge to reach out and touch him.

Holy fuck he was stunning.

His defined chest is absent of any hair with dusty pink nipples standing at attention either from excitement or from the cold, I’m not sure which. His chest and abdomen are riddled with pink scars of different lengths, some raised while others smooth against his skin. His broad shoulders with bulging biceps flex slightly as he moves, crossing his arms over his chest as if he were shy. As I reach for his pants, he steps back, the blush returning while his smoked birch scent deepens, filling the room.

“I-I got it.”

“Shit, right, sorry,” I reply, suddenly embarrassed.

I find that I just want to take care of him, and in my haste to do so, I probably crossed a boundary, making the situation more awkward than it already was. Yet, as my hands fall limply at my sides, I’m itching to reach for him again.

“You can use any of the products in the shower, spare towels are in the cupboard to your right. I’ll leave a change of clothing on the bed and shut the bedroom door.”

Retrieving the first aid kit from under the bathroom sink, I glance at Zayn once more, my eyes roaming over him while my heart thuds against my rib cage. I feel slick gather at my entrance, forcing me to quickly leave the bathroom before my honey rich scent betrays me, shutting the bathroom door behind me.

Refusing to give myself a moment to think, I quickly go through my wardrobe, pulling out a shirt and a pair of pajama pants that are slightly too big on me and hope that they will fit him decently enough. Setting them on the bed, I make my way into the kitchen, placing the kit on the kitchen island.

Moving to the fridge, I pull out three of the four salmon filets I hadn’t separated for the freezer yet as well as the broccoli that needs to be used soon before it goes bad. Retrieving the rice cooker from the cupboard, I make sure to also grab the bag of rice. I had gone through my kitchen while on the phone with Zayn, hoping I had something I could offer him and was happy to find something that could potentially meet his dietary needs as an athlete. Most athletes I know need high-protein meals, so I hoped grilled salmon with steamed broccoli and white rice would be enough.

The clothing doesn’t fit at all like I had hoped, and I’m momentarily distracted as Zayn emerged from the bedroom, tugging on the shirt as he enters the kitchen. The shirt has stretched against his chest due to his shoulders, with the hem of the shirt just above the waist of his pants while the pajama pants hang low on his waist. He moves stiffly like he was worried he’ll rip the seams around the ass and thighs, the pajama pants hid nothing, like the fact that he wasn’t wearing underwear, or the fact that there was nothing small about him. My mouth waters at the outline of his soft cock, taunting me as it’s squished against the fabric of the pajama pants. His birch scent mixing deliciously with the fresh scent of body wash and the shea butter shampoo I use.