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But a growl could never share such things.
A snarl, a whimper, a nuzzle, a lick.
None of those would convey the depth of what was in my overflowing, hope-stricken heart.
I sighed heavily. “How can I make you understand me?” Fear trickled through me as I studied her; drank in her beauty that was as sublime as the cloudless sky. “If you don’t speak my tongue then...”
I froze.
Maybe I had it all wrong. Maybe she wasn’t the girl I’d dreamed of. Maybe she wasn’t mine after all and was just some stranger I’d pounced on with all the excruciating longing inside me.
Raking both hands through my hair, I struggled to catch a breath, spiralling into the same despair that I’d dwelled in for far too long. “If you’re not her, then who are you? Why does my blood burn when we touch? Why does everything—”
She muttered something, cutting me off.
I studied her as she scowled deeper, her forehead tracking into furrows. Looking past me as if searching for something, she slowly shook her head. Her nostrils flared as she inhaled hard, her chest rising beneath the fur.
She licked her lips and spoke again, a string of words that made no sense.
I shrugged and stayed where I was.
She wasn’t running.
As long as she stayed here with me, I was content.
I would always be content as long as we were together.
“Where did you come from?” I asked gently. “Are you like me? Do you remember your past or is it hidden like mine?”
Her head tilted as her eyes narrowed, drifting over me with flickering surprise. Her honey earthen cheeks pinked as her gaze dropped between my legs, lingering on my naked flesh. Her stare was as potent as her touch and my maleness reacted, hardening the longer she—
She gasped and looked away.
I wore no fur like her or the wolves.
I was bare and dirty, but I’d put on the weight I’d lost from walking. Salak had ensured I ate my fill which allowed muscle to form thanks to our long runs together.
What did she see when she looked at me?
Someone strong? A protector like my alpha? A male that would fight for her, die for her, and do anything it took to prove that he was worthy?
Silence prickled between us as her gaze returned to my skin. This time, inquisitiveness replaced some of her wariness. I let her study me, puffing up my chest so she saw power and a worthy mate.
My own eyes took liberties, drifting from her amber calculation to the healed scars on her collarbone. The bleeding mark on her thigh, and the corded muscle running on either side of her flat belly. Her arms were slender, and her face...
My fingers rose to touch my own, running over my nose, mouth, and hair-shadowed chin.
Do I look like her?
We shared the same features, but hers seemed so beautiful. So delicate. So female. Her eyelashes and eyebrows were darker than her white hair, a shade of dusk just before the sun bowed to night. Her cheekbones were high, nose small, and lips plump and pink.
Words spilled into my mind. Words that I had to share, even if she couldn’t understand them. “I don’t care if you aren’t the one I’ve seen in my dreams, I know you’re special. I know by the way my heart is pounding to a new beat, slipping into a different rhythm now you’re here with me.” I wedged a fist over my chest. “I’m grateful. So thankful to feel something other than despair. I’ve been so alone. So—”
She held up a trembling hand. “W-Why can I suddenly...understand you?”
I froze, crippled by a wash of joy.
I rushed forward, needing to touch her, but she backed away, keeping her hand outstretched as if the action alone would keep me obedient.
“Why can I understand you?” she whispered. “Why can I speak to you? Why has a language I didn’t know suddenly appeared in my mind?”
My knees locked as I swayed on the spot. “I-I don’t know.”
“But you speak as if you know me.” She lowered her arm slowly, balling her fingers. “You look at me as if—”
“You’re mine?”
“As if you’ve seen me before.”
I nodded. “I have.”
“When?”
“In my dreams. My nightmares. My fugues and exhaustion.”
“But...you just said I wasn’t. You said I wasn’t the one you dreamed of.” She backed up another step as if I’d frightened her again.
“Is it wrong to recognise your spirit but not your face?”
She frowned. “Well, yes.”
“But I know you.”
“And I don’t know you.” She studied me with another flush of fear.
That hurt. Badly.
Self-preservation and anger etched my tone. “I was drawn here.”
“Drawn?” she gasped, her tone clipped with disbelief. “To me? How...how is that possible?”
“Because you’re the one I lost.”
She shivered as if refusing to accept the truth.
How could my honesty frighten her? It was taking everything I had not to snatch her into my arms and imprint every part of her against every part of me. Perhaps I’d recognise her by feel instead of sight. Maybe my past would return if I kissed her, tasted her—
