Scarred Wolf by Charlene Hartnady
20
Jaxon
I’ve spentthe whole night sitting up against the headboard of my bed, waiting for scratching and whining at my door. I’ve awakened a beast.
No, I didn’t. I’m just helping to tame it.
Yeah, right.“What the fuck are you doing, Jaxon?” I ask myself as I rub my face with both hands. There are nail marks on my arms and shoulders – the remnants of Evie’s nails on my skin – and I feel myself harden at the memory of how I earned them.
Scrap that. I’ve been hard since I left her in her bed. Even beneath the pelting onslaught of cold water as I showered, desire raged within me. I hadn’t been dreading the sound of her at my door; I’d been waiting for it. Holding my breath till she came. But she didn’t. Perhaps she’s sated. Though somehow, I suspect not. I sure as hell hope not…I’ve never encountered a female who swept me away so wildly. Swept me away? She fucking knocked me down and had her way with me. I shake my head ruefully. The sun is filtering through the window, replacing the moon that has faded from sight.
The moon.
Everleigh Moone.
Last night I was a hair’s breadth away from becoming the fated to one of the Moone clan. Our sworn enemies. The ones who took my mother from me. Maddened killers. Ones who would turn on their own kind.
“She’s not like that,” I mutter. “She’s different.”
Oh really?She had her teeth at my throat.
“She was…mating,” I tell myself. “It’s not the same thing.”
No, you asshole, it’s worse. You’d be mated to the enemy.
“She’s confused. Still figuring things out. She didn’t know what she was doing.”
Yeah. But you sure as hell did. Filling her up with seed. What the fuck were you thinking?
The fact of the matter is, I could have pulled away if I’d tried hard enough. I didn’t. I was driven just as hard by instinct as she was. My balls practically exploded when I came. I saw damned stars. And yet…yet… “What was I thinking?” I groan. If she’s with pup… A Moone-Skau litter. It would be an abomination. My father would have our young destroyed at birth. If he ever let their mother live that long. There’s no doubt in my mind he’s going to have her killed – and not by me, because that ship has sailed. If there was ever a chance of it happening, it was dashed last night, the moment I felt myself sinking into that tight, yielding sheath. I was lost.
“Pull yourself together, Skau,” I say abruptly as I throw my sheets back and slide out of bed. The whirring sound of her infernal blending machine is cutting through the air, as annoying as sand beneath eyelids. Good. I need to be annoyed. There’s nothing between me and this female. She needed fucking. I did the job. End of story. If she needs it again, sure, I’ll do it. I’ll take pussy when it’s offered on a platter.
Cursing under my breath, I haul on a pair of sweatpants and fling open the door, glaring into the kitchen where she’s standing in her pink Hello fucking Kitty nightdress. Her hair is mussed, and there are dark smudges beneath those astonishing eyes.
I feel nothing. Less than nothing!
“Morning,” she says softly. She’s holding a giant glass filled with frothy pink liquid. Another one of those revolting “health” smoothies. There’s a little pink mustache on her top lip. I pad over to her, barefoot, trying not to flex as I move. My wolf wants to show off for her. Back down! She’s seen all you’ve got.
“Morning,” I reply, equally softly. “That doesn’t smell like a strawberry smoothie.”
Her cheeks turn pink, and she clears her throat. “Raw liver,” she finally whispers. I choke on a laugh and raise an eyebrow.
“Oh-kayyy,” I say. “Interesting choice.”
“Well…I-I have to get to work, and you…you said the green sludge won’t feed my wolf. So, I improvised. I don’t want her to be hungry around my old folks. They’re so vulnerable, and Mrs. Arbuthnot—”
I reach for her shoulder and notice her twitch a little at my touch. Kinda makes me wonder what other hungers she thinks she needs to attend to before she heads to work. “You’re not going to eat Mrs. Arbuthnot, Evie,” I say, fighting down my laughter because her eyes are huge with worry. I take the glass of pink gloop from her hand and take her other shoulder, squaring up with her.
“You’re not out of control, okay? You’re just finding your way. Remember when you were a kid, and you would put your hand in the cookie jar when your mom wasn’t watching?” I’m struggling with the analogy as I say it, because my image of her mom isn’t a good one. But she’s nodding. “Now think of your wolf as yourself as a child. And the woman you are now as your mom. Tell yourself to keep your hand out of the cookie jar. You can have one, when the time is right. Teach your wolf to understand the difference.”
“But what…what if she won’t listen to me?” she whispers. “Last night…she wouldn’t listen to me. When I told her to stop.”
“Because maybe you didn’t want to stop her,” I respond. My thumbs are stroking over the curves of her shoulders, and she sways toward me slightly, lips parted. I don’t think she knows she’s even doing it when she licks her lips…slowly. I see something flare in her eyes and for a moment—
She pulls back, steps away from my grasp. And something in me deflates. “I can stop,” she says firmly, then reaches for her glass and empties it in several long gulps.
“Of course you can,” I agree. She’s progressing quickly, gaining power over her impulses. I can sense it. The infant I cradled in a blanket yesterday was a child by noon and a willful adolescent by dinner. Last night, the she-wolf emerged and almost overwhelmed me. It’s dawning on me that the Everleigh before me is just moments away from coming into herself. And when that happens… I feel a tightening in my groin and turn away in case she catches a glimpse of what’s going on beneath my sweats.
I’m so fucked.
She wipes her lips with the back of her hand and sets the glass down. “I’d better get ready for work,” she says briskly, turning on her heel and giving me a stomach-churningly tantalizing glimpse of her upper thigh.
“Good idea,” I say, equally briskly, as she leaves the kitchen area. “And, for future reference, yes, definitely stick with the liver smoothies and ditch the other ones,” I call after her as she heads to the shower.
“Because my wolf needs liver?” she says over her shoulder.
“No, because the green ones make you fart,” I tease as I duck into my room, laughing at her outraged squawk. The whole farting thing is bullshit, which makes it all the more hilarious. I’m pretty sure she’s going to be just fine. She’s grasping her food urge and getting a handle on the mating call. What could possibly trigger her wolf at an old age home?
* * *
Everleigh
When my butthits the seat of my little car, I feel a pleasant tingle that isn’t quite pain nor is it pleasure. It’s the delicious memory of having my pussy pounded by a whole lot of hard wolf last night. Because that’s what he is. A wolf. Just like me. I’m a wolf!
I laugh out loud like a crazy person, but it can’t be helped. I know it now for sure. I may have spent the past day feeling foggy and uncertain of what’s happening to me, but if I’m honest with myself, I’ve always known that there was something different about me.
My parents were wonderful people. The most loving mom and dad a girl could imagine. That’s probably why I was devastated when the fire took them five years back; we were so close…unusually close. We lived in our own little bubble. They never had close friends – it was just them and me. We moved often when I was a kid. And in the face of what I’m rapidly discovering, that is all starting to make sense now. My parents were wolves, exiled by the pack. And they raised me in secret. So secret they never even told me.
Why didn’t they tell me?
I want to be angry, but I can’t. They had a good reason. I know it. But god, this situation would be so much easier if I’d had a little warning.
A little warning?
Like what?
“Oh, by the way, darling, when you turn twenty-five, you’ll become a wolf when there’s a full moon, and you’ll want to fuck everything in sight. Or eat it.”
Yeah, sure. I can just imagine this conversation with my mom. It’s hard enough telling a kid about the birds and the bees. But this? Holy crap! This is next level! I’m sure they would have told me when the time was right. Then it was too late because they were gone. Fact of the matter is that I am what I am.
Even now, I can feel something swirling in my gut. I’m not sure if I can identify it. My head wants to say hunger. My wolf wants to say lust.
Why didn’t you fuck him again this morning?
“Quit it, Smokey!” I snap out loud; too loud…the woman in the car next to me at the traffic intersection turns to give me an odd look before staring straight ahead as if I don’t exist. I smile blankly, hoping she’ll think I was having a conversation on my phone.
I’m going to have to get a handle on this. The only thing weirder than my own freaky thoughts are the random thoughts popping out of the mind of the beast that seems to have a hold over my body. I’m starting to behave like a woman possessed.
Except I wasn’t possessed last night. I was the one doing the possessing then. I wanted pleasure, and I took it.
From Jaxon.
Would I have taken it from one of the men I’d seen while we were out?
No! Jaxon! A husky voice takes hold of my thoughts.
Well, alright then. Smokey likes the man…she likes Jaxon. If I’m honest with myself, she craves him – though I don’t want to admit that I feel the same way. Frankly, I can’t imagine any of the guys we bumped into matching up with the man I took home last night. He’s pure power. I felt it in my core…and yet, it never troubled me.
I’ve never been a particularly ‘out there’ kinda girl. I have my moments of being different, sure. Buying my freaking insanely indulgent apartment is right up there with that shit. If I was smart, I would have taken my folks’ insurance payout and invested it wisely, not plowed the whole lot into some highbrow penthouse that I’m now hanging onto with everything within me.
“God, Evie, pull yourself together,” I whisper to myself as I pull my little convertible into the parking bay at Rambling Rosie’s. “Time to get to work.”
I snap myself out of my murky musings and turn my attention to what I know. This little haven of happiness. This place where things make sense.
I hop out of my car and reach for my purse, slinging it over my shoulder as I skip toward the entrance, waving a casual greeting at the morning receptionist as I make my way in. It’s quiet at this time of day and there aren’t many folks around, aside from the regular attending staff. I nod greetings as I pack my things and go about my duties for the day. There are the usual rounds, and then after breakfast, I’ll be interacting with the guests. Aside from my duties as a health care practitioner, I also run group activities, and I head to the admin office to check my schedule. After my regular rounds, I’m leading an outdoor craft class with the patients before mid-morning tea, and the thought of it settles me. I hate the smell of urine masked by disinfectant that seems to have taken over the atmosphere of this little center in the past couple of months.
Aside from my recent issues, I’ve had growing concerns about life at Rosie’s recently. Something hasn’t been right, and although I can’t put my finger on it, I know there’s trouble afoot. I just wish I could clear my head enough to focus on what might be wrong.
“Morning, Mrs. A!” I say brightly as I bustle into Mrs. Arbuthnot’s room. I don’t like to admit that I have favorites among the residents, but of course this bright-eyed bird of a woman has my heart.
“Hello, dear,” the diminutive woman replies from where she’s sitting at her small dressing table in the corner of the room. She’s looking a lot brighter than she did during our previous interaction, shortly after Mr. Harding’s passing. My heart melts a little at the sight of her. She’s applied a soft apricot shade to her lips, and her hair has been carefully combed and brushed back into a sleek bun. Olivia Arbuthnot may be rushing toward her first century on earth, and may have occasional lapses into confusion, but at moments like this, I can see the woman within. I could have been besties with this woman in another time and place. I still think of her as a dear friend now.
“Ready for breakfast, Mrs. A?” I ask. Some mornings, she needs assistance to get to the dining hall, but today I can see she’s in no need of the chair I had wheeled up and set outside her door. She rises from her seat with the grace of a queen and moves to my side, linking her hand through my arm.
“The usual feast, dear?” she says, winking. “I can’t wait.”
I look at the satin robe she has draped about her. It’s a wild combination of flowers and golden ribbons and dashing birds. “Will you be wearing this, or did you have something else in mind, Mrs. A?” I ask.
“Why, yes, this, of course,” she replies, pulling the satiny trimmed edges of the silk robe about her, and raising her chin. “My Lennie got me this robe,” she goes on. “Did I tell you that?”
I nod because I remember the story. Her “Lennie” passed nearly a decade before, and although Mrs. Arbuthnot was not averse to the attention of new suitors, she never forgot the man she’d spent over fifty years of her life with.
“You look lovely in it,” I say, and grin as I guide her out and down toward the dining hall. I settle her at a table with several other elderly folks, who quickly include her in their conversation about the evening’s upcoming bingo tournament.
After a couple of hours of interaction and tending to my wards, I head to the staff room, grabbing a quick mug of tepid tea. I love the babble of conversation of my coworkers – now more than ever. It distracts me from the unsettling events of the past couple of days. The impossible happenings that don’t make sense in any way I look at it. I don’t try to make sense of it now. I’m in my happy place, with my gentle elderly people about me.
I can do this.
I’m not thinking of Jaxon Skau, or his insanely beautiful body.
I’m not.
Just. Not!
Leaving the room with my bag of paints and brushes over my shoulder, I head to the main living room where a gaggle of silver-haired men and women are waiting for me.
“Everybody ready for some creativity?” I ask brightly, glancing around the growing gathering of people. It’s warm out, and my group of art enthusiasts is growing in size.
“Are we doing nudes today, Miz. Miller?” a cheeky voice chirps out from the back of the crowd, and I fight back a giggle.
“Absolutely, Mrs. Carstens,” I reply. “Mr. Hastings has volunteered to sit for us.”
There is a chorus of complaints from the ladies in the group, along with some well-meaning ribbing among the menfolk.
“Don’t worry, Mr. Hastings,” I laughingly add as I spot the old gent looking flustered. “We won’t take your clothes off…today!”
“Why not?” a female voice calls out from the group, eliciting a smattering of chuckles and I shake my head as I guide the group out toward the deck where our art session is scheduled for the day. I glance around, looking for Mrs. A’s familiar silver shock of hair, but don’t see her among them. I frown. Strange. She’d been so excited about joining.
“Hey, Mitzy,” I call to one of the ladies, who is settling onto a bench nearby. “Is Livvy coming along soon?”
Mitzy shakes her head. “She said she’d changed her mind. Wanted to get some rest. She wasn’t feeling well after…” She pauses and then turns her attention to the easel in front of her, fussing with getting the legs settled evenly on the paving stones.
“She wasn’t feeling well after what?” I press, not sure if the woman is distracted and has lost her train of thought, or maybe is deciding not to tell me something. Her continued silence and the set of her jaw tells me it’s the latter. “Mitzy?” I prompt her. The woman casts a vague look at me and shrugs. I’m not comfortable with this. Something’s up.
After several minutes of guiding the group through their craft assignment for the morning, I quietly slip away from the deck and make my way into the care center. Looking around me as I walk, I grow increasingly concerned about the fact that Olivia Arbuthnot is nowhere to be found. Her room is the last place I check, because all along, I’ve been hoping that she’s simply decided to have a morning to herself. Perhaps she went off somewhere in the gardens that generally draw her. She loves the outdoors.
“Mrs. A?” I murmur as I tap on her door and then push it open. The sight that greets me as I open the door has my heart sinking. Mrs. Arbuthnot is lying on her bed, curled up like a small child. No sign of the cheerful woman I’d escorted to breakfast earlier this morning seems to exist.
“Mrs. Arbuthnot?” I ask again. The sight of her grabs my heart in a vice; all of the confusion and questions about my own situation pale in the face of this small person’s obvious distress. I hear a tiny whimper and my heart clenches. I rush to her side. She’s pale. Too pale. I reach for her hand, feeling the frail bones of her fingers pressing through her fine skin as she grasps my hand. She turns her face into her pillow, and I hear a muffled string of words.
What on earth happened? Just a few short hours ago, Mrs. Arbuthnot was bright and ready to get on with her day. Now she’s curled up on her bed like an infant. What went wrong? I lower myself beside her, trying to look into her face, which is still scrunched into her pillow. I gently pull her around to face me. The agony in her eyes is enough to break my heart.
“I’m sorry, Mama,” she says brokenly, not meeting my eyes. “I’ll be good now, I promise.” Her frail frame is shuddering, and her faded pillowcase is wet with tears. And then I see it. A growing purple smudge under the line of her cheekbone. It streaks toward the corner of her eye and I’m pretty sure that by tomorrow, Olivia Arbuthnot will be sporting a shiner.
“Livvy!” I gasp, leaning forward to get a closer look. She recoils, but it’s too late. I can see more bruises spreading down to her jawbone and onto her throat…beyond the neckline of her gown. “Oh, my goodness, Livvy,” I continue, “tell me what happened.”
She curls a hand up to the edge of the brightly colored robe and I see an ugly tear in the beautiful fabric. I don’t know what hurts more – the bruises, or that vicious tear. I swallow hard.
Livvy shakes her head as she focuses on my face. It seems that recognition is dawning, although there’s still fogginess to her stare. I can sense she needs to tell me about something, so I keep her hand in mine and stare deeply into her tormented eyes.
“It…it was… It was nothing,” she says. Her words are slightly slurred.
It wasn’t nothing. I can sense it. Some part of me can feel the pain in her. I think I might even be able to scent it too. My wolf is pissed at the unfairness of this situation, sensing that the woman I take care of is being threatened somehow.
Pain!
I feel the word as much as I can recognize it. Mrs. Arbuthnot is in pain. Not just physically, she’s deeply tormented. Beyond the pain, there’s something else. Something…chemical. I inhale deeply, detecting the lingering scent of… I frown. It makes no sense. I can smell medication. Heavy duty stuff. The type we keep locked away.
How the hell can I be smelling that? Aside from the freakishness of it, it’s also wrong. Olivia Arbuthnot received her medication at breakfast. This is something else. Something that should not have been given to her.
A dark fury begins to unfurl inside me. I see her fighting the fogginess again, and I stroke a stray strand from her forehead.
She attempts a small smile. “I just need a little rest. I’ll be alright.”
She’s not alright, as much as she’s trying to hide her distress. I straighten, but keep her hand in mine. “Who did this to you, Livvy?” I ask. The voice is not mine…yet it is.
She licks pale lips. “Nobody…” she begins, and then she reconsiders and her body sags. “It was…her…”
She doesn’t have to say anything more. I keep stroking Livvy’s silky hair until her eyes flutter shut. Then I silently leave the room.
I know exactly who she’s talking about.
Hilary.
My boss. The only woman with access to such high-schedule drugs. The woman is up to something cruel and devious. I can feel it in my bones and I’m going to get to the bottom of it.
