Page 20 of A Wolf in the Garden

And now… now I don’t know what to think, because every day my resolve crumbles a little more, knowing that he’sright there, a short distance away. I don’t think I’ve misread the signs; I’ve seen the way he looks at me, his eyes lingering in every place they shouldn’t. Those brief moments when we’ve touched have replayed in my mind repeatedly, the memory of the solid strength of his hands on my waist and the gentle caress of his fingers never failing to make me wet.

We could be so good together.

There’s a pit in my stomach when I think about it, when I examine all the choices in front of me. A huge part of me screamsyou can’t trust him!every time I even consider the idea of beginning something with him. I don’t know that he won’t drop and leave me the next time life gets hard. I don’t know if I’lleverfeel fully secure enough in his arms. We’ve just signed a four month contract, and I cringe at the rumours that could possibly fly within my relatively small industry if people found out I was sleeping with a client.

And yet… I want him. I want his heart, his body, his soul. I want him just as badly now as I did when I was a naïve eighteen year old. I want to tell him I’ve forgiven him. The truth is that I have, but forgiving and forgetting are two very different things, and I may be brave on many fronts, but I’m terrified of allowing myself to feel happy in a relationship only for it to be ripped away again.

I look at the letter once more.

I was lying that day, when I said I didn’t love you.

“Oh,fuck,” I cry, a fresh wave of anguish catching the air in my lungs, so that my whole body shakes with my sobbing. Still, I don’t let go of thepounamu. It’s far too precious to put down. I cradle it to my chest, and eventually, when I’m no longer shaking and it seems that I’ve cried out every teardrop in my body, I slip the dark brown cord of the pendant over my head, adjusting the length so that it sits flat against my sternum.

I still don’t know what I’m going to do. If I’m going to pursue anything with Van, I’m going to have to tell him that I’m not exactly human first, something that I’ve avoided dealing with for so long. Fear still has its big old grip on me, that’s for sure.

I can take baby steps. Knowing Van, I’m certain he’s waiting to hear from me about the letter. I push myself up off the damp grass, brushing away the odd leaf, and carry his letter inside, leaving it on my kitchen counter. I grab my phone and open my camera app, switching it to the front-facing camera, grimacing at my swollen eyes and red nose on the screen. I aim the camera so that it captures me only from the lips down, my small breasts looking as flat as ever since I’m not wearing a bra, the image on the screen the antithesis of a sexy photo. But thepounamuis there, and that’s what I want to show him — that I’m accepting his gift, that I’m wearing it, that I appreciate the gesture. I take a single photo, acting fast before I can overthink things or chicken out.

I have his number; we used it to organise our meeting at Lost Moon. I open up the short message thread and begin typing, using a mix of English and the littlete reo MaoriI know, because it feels natural to, given the context.

I got your letter, and your gift. Nga mihi nui ki a koe e Evander. Thank you. He tino ataahua te marama hua, the pounamu is so beautiful. There’s a whakatauki — a saying — about pounamu. It has a deeper meaning too. Ahakoa he iti he pounamu: although it is small, it is pounamu. It’s widely understood to mean that something may be small, but still be a treasure. I will treasure this.

I hit send before I can change my mind, and then attach the photo and send that too. I snort, dropping my phone on the table and burying my head in my hands, because of course that’s not the end of my anxiety around all of this; now I’m going to be waiting to see if he messages back.

I force myself to start making some breakfast, switching on the kettle to boil water for a cup of tea, and popping down a couple of slices of bread in the toaster. My phone vibrates with a notification and I practically lunge for it, hands shaking as I swipe to unlock it.

It looks beautiful on you. Does that saying apply to people, too? You are both small and a treasure.

I laugh, just as another message comes through.

I’m looking forward to getting started on this project together. I’ll see you tomorrow.

I type back quickly.

Thank you. Yes, see you tomorrow. I’m looking forward to it too.

I close my phone, setting it down, only to pick it up again and look back over my messages, second-guessing everything I wrote out.Did it sound okay?My toast pops up, and I butter it distractedly, then stare out the window while I chew. It’s only after I finish my toast that I realise I forgot to actually brew any tea, so I switch the kettle on again, rolling my eyes as I grab a mug and a teabag out of the cupboards above the kitchen sink.

I can already tell it’s going to be a struggle to focus on any work today.

* * *

By midday I am done. Not in the sense that my to-do list is complete — far from it — but my brain feels fried from all the emotional energy I expended this morning, and I have spent far too much time flitting from job to job and achieving nothing in the process. Working for myself means I can afford to take a day off here and there; I just have to make up the time elsewhere, so I close my laptop with a defeated sigh, giving up.

I step outside on my deck, closing my eyes and breathing in the fresh air. It’s a hot day for November, the sky bright blue and the air still, and I take that as a cue that I should probably just head to the beach, go for a swim, and try to clear my head. The water will still be fairly cold — it’s not quite summer yet, even if today feels like it — but hopefully that does the trick and wakes me up out of this current daze, where every few minutes my mind slips back into thoughts about Van. I shake my head as I pull a bikini set out of a drawer built into the stairs that lead to the bedroom loft, stepping into my small bathroom in order to change away from the view of the street.

Stripped down to nothing but thepounamuaround my neck, I stand in front of the full-length mirror and wonder what Van really thinks of me now. My B-cup boobs haven’t grown at all since he last saw them, but my hips, ass, and thighs have filled out, and there is no way that I’ll ever have a thigh gap; my body just isn’t made that way. It’s not something that bothers me; on the contrary, I like the way my body looks. I like my big butt, and I love that I can go braless if I need to, since there’s barely anything to hold up anyway.

It’s just… Van is an incredibly gorgeous guy. He is, quite literally, the most beautiful man I have ever met, and I have no doubt that he’s had women,beautifulwomen,supermodel-levelwomen, throwing themselves at him the entire nine years since things ended between us. I don’t think being a wolf would have changed that post-Unravelling; if anything, I’m sure he’s had even more women eager to jump his bones, because it’s no secret that the uniqueness of wolf-men and their knots is a huge turn-on for many. I don’t want to think about how many women he’s slept with, not because I’m judging him, but because I don’t think I can live up to what he’s already experienced. I can’t stop my mind from automatically assuming that he must have encountered at least one sex goddess that would laugh at my lack of experience outside of anything vanilla.Let’s face it, there’s probably actual sex goddesses out there in the First Realm, and they’d be crazy not to go for Van.

“You said you weren’t going to go there with him, anyway,” I tell my reflection, but even as I do I think about him, think about what it would be like to have sex with him now, now that his true body has been revealed, even taller and bigger than before.I bet his dick is bigger, too. It was already huge to begin with.

I sweep my hands up my waist and over my breasts, biting my lower lip as my thumbs brush over my nipples. I have, up until this point, resisted the urge to masturbate to thoughts about Evander because I know it will only make things worse, will only cement this infatuation I have for him further, but as my right hand skims lower, my resolve crumbles entirely. I lower myself to the ground, leaning against the cool glass of the shower door behind me, my legs spread and pussy in full view of the mirror. The back of my head hits the glass with a softthunkas I sigh out a breath, my fingers circling my clit, dipping lower again to gather the wetness already dripping out before returning to my clit with a faster pace.

It’s not going to take long.

I think about Van, remembering the way he smells, all spice and musk, delicious and perfect. I imagine those big hands of his gripping my waist, his teeth scraping my skin, those sharp canines biting down at my neck. The feel of his cock, thick and swollen as it enters me, isn’t something I’ve ever forgotten; he still holds the award for the only man that could make me orgasm through penetration alone, and over the years I came to truly appreciate how lucky I was that he was my first.

But now the press of a knot would be different,exciting. My breath quickens, as does my hand, at the thought of discovering him anew, seeing him in his true body. The idea of being tied to him by his knot has me gasping; I think about those gold eyes of his… they would shine bright in the dark, I’m sure, watching me, missing nothing; a wolfish growl, not at all human, as he thrusts fully into me, knot and all, his cum —

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