Page 18 of Ravaged Wolf
Trevor’s wolf rattles his chest, and my wolf prances, calling out to him, howling her need. Why is he standing over there, his face so bleak? Why doesn’t he wrap us in his arms?
“Go back,” he says, his voice guttural. Strangled.
The bond sings, then roars, stoking a craving in me, a vicious, jagged longing. I fold my forearms over my breasts and press down, as if that’ll keep me together, ease the ache.
I can’t think straight.
I need a nest.
I glance around. We’re in a small clearing, and there’s not much to work with—paper thin, brown leaves that survived the winter, thick green moss, a rotten log. It won’t do. I need warmth. Softness. I pace, searching for what I need, knowing it’s not here. My nest, for what it’s worth, is back in my room in the Tower. We should go there.
No, no, we can’t. We’d be caught. I do need to go back, though. I’m not allowed out here. Why again? I can’t remember.
I stare up at Trevor. I’ve wandered close to him, and forthe first time, I notice the bruise circling his left eye and the crack in his swollen bottom lip.
“What happened?” I ask, stepping closer, raising my hand.
He ducks his head away, hissing, “No. You have to go back. I didn’t mean for you to come out here.”
Tears spring into my eyes. “Why not? It hurts, Trevor. It hurts so bad.”
He growls in agonized frustration and grips the back of his neck. There’s no doubt—his arm muscles are bulging much bigger than they were. Delicate silver stretch lines glow against his tanned skin. “Izzy, it’s not safe. I’m— I can’t—It’s too hard to hold back. You have to leave. Now. Before—before something bad happens.Please.”
My tears reach my mouth, salty from my sweat as I lick them away. Trevor’s throat rattles, a sound of pain and warning and terrible desperation.
I know I’m not supposed to see him, but why? I want him to kiss me again and hold me and smile gently and tell silly jokes. Make me feel safe. Wanted.
“Help me,” I beg. “I can’t take it anymore.”
He squeezes his eyes shut. “You can, Izzy. Youhave to. Go back now.”
“My wolf wants out, and I hurt.” I clutch between my legs to staunch the terrible pulsing ache down there. “Why can’t I be here? I can’t remember. Do you?”
“Izzy, please. Please go.” He grabs the oak behind him, digging his claws into the bark, slicing the moss and sending a lush, earthy scent into the air. He’s so anguished and beautiful, like the print of Saint Sebastian tied to a tree and shot with arrows that hangs in the art studio at the Academy.
I reach out to touch his jaw, to tilt his tormented face down so he’s looking at me instead of up at the moon. My fingertips graze the bristle under his chin and slip to tracethe vein throbbing in his neck. I’m going to bite him right there, and then he’ll be mine, and whatever is wrong will be fixed.
His wolf rumbles, rattling his ribs, and I smile. For the first time in my life, my fangs descend, pricking the inside of my lower lip. I run my tongue over the pointy tips experimentally and moan. They ache to sink into flesh.
I’ve never wanted anything before except to escape notice and get along, but now, I want everything—the moon, my wolf, freedom to run, the male in front of me.Mymale.
I step closer so that when I inhale, my sore, heavy breasts touch his chest. Every muscle in his body goes as tight as a stretched bow, flexing, swelling. I want to lick the hollow at the base of his throat. I want to sink my claws into the meat of his forearms like he’s digging his into the bark of the tree.
“Go back, Izzy.Please.” He’s desperate, pleading, but he’s wrong. I’m supposed to be here. He’s supposed to touch me.
“Why?” I curl my fingers around those hard forearms, and they’re like steel, like stone, except I can feel the blood rushing through his veins slug against my palms.
“Izzy, you have to focus,” he pants through jagged breaths, drawing my gaze back to his face. “If we do this now, they say they’ll strip my dad of his rank. They’ll take his job, and my brothers’, too. We’ll lose our apartment. They say the scavengers won’t even let us stay in the bogs once they’re done with us.”
“Who says?” I ask, but I know. Dad. Uncle Howell.
“We just have to wait, Izzy. Not much longer. We can do it.” I watch him muster up a smile, but it’s nothing but clenched teeth and sunken eye sockets.
Tears roll down my cheeks. “I can’t.”
I don’t want to admit it. I want to be strong, too, like him.I reach for bunched chest muscles that cover the place where the bond connects us. His wolf snarls. I pat his pecs to calm him.
“Izzy,” he begs. “I promise it’ll be okay. Go back now, and I’ll follow, and in a few days, we can be together, and it’ll be so good, I promise. I’ll make shelves for your dolls. I’ll make them beach houses and convertibles and whatever you want. I promise. But you have to walk away now.”
