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He said he didn’t want me in his harem.
My mom had warned me what my mating ritual would be like and I’d been dreading it for months. But I couldn’t even be relieved it wasn’t going to happen, because he warned me there would be consequences. No room in my harem for a frigid female. We’ll sell you to another pack.
I think he took it as a personal slight that I didn’t get aroused by him, and he wanted to punish me.
A part of me shut down, right there; a part that had never had a chance. A bud killed by frost. Mating, pups. The whole thing. It wasn’t for me. I was as confused as hell. I’d never wanted this life for myself. But now I was being told I wasn’t good enough for it, it hurt like crazy.
That’s why my mom helped me escape—no, not my mom, apparently. But I’m not sure what else to call her. Not that it matters. I’ll never see her again. The woman who raised me without loving me.
We learned that I was going to be offered to a pack of vicious half-breeds. All kinds of weird species, united in their bitterness, because some of them couldn’t shift, or they could only shift half-way, and they’d gotten stuck like that.
She stole a car, and we drove overnight to Perdue Town—a place she’d heard was full of waifs and strays. She wouldn’t tell me how she knew about it. Just said it was the best place for me. She risked a lot bringing me here, and I’ll always be grateful to her for that.
Last night I thought she’d lied. That she’d delivered me to hell instead. But here I am, in the little home of a big wolf man whose eyes tell me he’s going to save me.
As I run my soapy hands over my body, I imagine it’s his touch. Gold dust tingles on my skin. Rivers of gold flow in my veins.
Beau Matherson makes me feel hot and soft and achy in a way that tells me he’s the only one who can fix it.
But that can never happen. When he finds out I’m a wolf without a scent, he’ll reject me. And already I can’t stand to see his eyes go dim with disappointment.
I’m a frigid female. Not fit for anyone’s harem.
I could stay under this blissful hot water for hours, but I go as fast as I can, guessing the tank is small. When I’m sure there’s no more mud, I finish rinsing my hair and step out of the shower. I towel off and get dressed. Thank goodness my clean underwear stayed dry, and the leggings, too. But as for the shirt Beau has put out for me… I button it up and it goes all the way down to my knees. It’s blue plaid and very soft. I roll the sleeves up to my elbows and try to smooth it down, so it looks more like a dress.
There’s no mirror in the bathroom and just as well, as I don’t want to see how ridiculous I look right now. Actually, I don’t care so much. Because I kind of like wearing Beau’s shirt. It smells freshly laundered, but I wish it smelled of him. I rub the collar against my cheek and I imagine how it usually rides against his strong neck, the hairs of his beard catching against it. I’d like to feel his beard chafing my skin, I think, and the thought wafts another breath of gold dust through my soul.
When I emerge from the bathroom, there’s an incredible smell of cooking coming from the other side of the bus. Beau is not in the tiny galley kitchen, though. My mouth waters and I remember I haven’t eaten for at least a day.
I hop down the three steps to the outside and dump my dirty clothes in a heap on the ground.
And my breath catches at the sight of him.
Beau is arranging something on the table. He’s got his back to me, a fresh white T-shirt pulled tight across his big shoulders. Deeply tanned arms setting off the dazzling white.
And then he turns, like his ears were pricked up. Waiting for me.
What an arrogant thought. My cheeks warm.
He looks me up and down and his chest rises and falls.
I go still. I know I look ridiculous, but suddenly I can’t stand to be humiliated again.
Can’t stand for this gorgeous man to laugh at me. I think my stupid heart would shatter to pieces, all over the parking lot.
He takes a step closer, and his lips part.
My heart pounds and my ears ring, bracing themselves for a sentence I’ll never forget.
“Well now, don’t you look—” Those sparkling eyes turn stormy, and the tip of his tongue runs along his upper lip thoughtfully.
And now my heart hammers even harder because I realize he’s not amused by me. No, there’s something else in the gaze that’s raking me from head to foot.
My eyes cling to the sight of his tongue sliding along his full, firm lips, and a shiver blasts through me. It prickles all over my skin, before alighting on my nipples.
What the hell?
For the first time in my life, I’m aware of my nipples. They’re no longer sitting quietly behind my bra; they’ve turned to aching, burning points. I fight the urge to feel at them. Instead, I risk a quick look. Yup, there they are, poking through the soft fabric of Beau’s shirt.
