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If I’m being honest, part of me actually wanted to shift to my fur and curl up beside West. Only knowing that he would see that as another victory spurred me to close the door again, returning to my “territory”.
He wasn’t exaggerating when he called it that before. Once he said it was mine, I went through every nook and cranny in the room. From the closet to the bathroom, and even the oversized dresser on the other side of the space, I searched it all.
I don’t know what exactly I was looking for. Under the sink in the bathroom, I found a small brush and dustpan set. Since I didn’t want to slice open my feet, I begrudgingly cleaned up the smashed vase and flowers on the floor. When I peek in the closet and find three separate pairs of shoes all in my size, I snort. That would’ve helped before I stepped on a shard of glass earlier.
That’s not all that’s in the closet. West has at least twenty dresses hung up inside of there. Countless different colors and styles, they’re all something I could see myself wearing.
Makes sense. West made it clear he has no intention of bringing me back. Since it’s just as obvious I won’t leave on my own, I’ll need clothes. He provided them.
Underwear, too. The first drawer of the dresser is full of panties in my size. Bras, too, though not as many; West knows that I’ll never go pantyless, but bras are a different story. In the second drawer, I find boxer briefs and t-shirts for West. Silky nightgowns fill the third drawer, while the last has more jeans than comfortably fit in the space. Considering how quickly some shifters go through jeans—exploding them during a shift when they don’t have time to take them off—I understand why he has so many. Doesn’t stop me from cursing under my breath when I have a hard time closing it again.
See? That’s exactly why I prefer dresses. Not only are they so much easier to shed before a shift, but I could probably fit all those simple shift dresses into this drawer and still have room left over.
I almost swap them. Before I do, I think about how West would react. Would he think that I’m actually making the territory mine? Not only am I imprinting on it, sleeping in the bed, but changing it around to suit me better?
With that thought, I leave the bottom drawer half open, then return to the bed.
I don’t know how late it is when I finally fall asleep, but I’ve only been awake again for about twenty minutes when I hear a gentle rapping at my door.
I’m still in the same dress as yesterday. Even though I found the nightgowns in the dresser, I didn’t bother changing. Good thing, too, since the knocking becomes a little more earnest. I wouldn’t have time to change back or cover up unless I snapped at West to go away.
I almost want to, but I can’t find it in me to do it right now. Especially not when all I see in my mind is West as his wolf, snuffling softly, kicking his leg out in an obvious nightmare.
I sit up, and his shifter’s hearing picks up on the rustle of the sheets. He knocks again, calling out, “Helene? Are you awake? I have something for you.”
Breathing in deep, I try to see if he’s trying to bring me food. When all I get is a lungful of sandalwood, I regret trying.
Already moving toward the door, I tell him, “If that’s breakfast, no thank you.”
“It’s not. You can trust me.”
Hmm. I’m not so sure I can.
However, Iamcurious to see what West’s next move is. I so wanted to believe that everything he’s done so far—from the quicksilver to running away with my unconscious body—was an impulsive reaction. He found out I was leaving before the next full moon and he panicked.
But then I searched the cabin. Maybe I could believe that he was lucky enough to stumble upon an abandoned lone wolf’s den and made it his. But add in the stocked-up kitchen, the full dresser, the closet full of clothes specifically for me… he’s been planning this for a lot longer than I thought.
Despite myself, I’m interested to see what he’s going to do next.
I pull the door in, narrowing my eyes on him.
West has a sheepish expression on his face. His hair is damp, patted flat with his palm. He’s still wearing the same outfit as yesterday, wrinkled from where he’s pulled them off and left them on the floor while he was his wolf, but he’s made some effort to freshen up in the kitchen sink, I’m guessing.
And, in his hands, is a small cardboard box only a little bigger than the one a phone comes in. He holds it out to me.
“What’s that?” I ask.
“A gift for you, Helene. Or, if you prefer, an apology.”
“I don’t want an apology. I don’t even want any explanation. I just want to go home.”
Instead of reminding me that I can leave if I want to—especially since we both know I won’t—he jiggles the box. “Maybe this will make staying here with me a little more pleasant.”
Okay. He’s caught my attention now.
“You’re going to spoil me, West,” I say wryly.
“Nothing’s too good for my bride.”
