Page 40 of Defiant
Black ends his howl with a groan and his hand clutches his hurt side. I can see pink edges to the wounds, but it’s nowhere close to healed yet and I know he has to lay still for a bit longer. Whenever Mom’s like this, I give her a bottle of wine and set up the television. She likes crime shows best. I glance back over my shoulder at the t.v. “What do you like to watch?”
“You.” Black’s statement is instantaneous and I roll my eyes as I move to climb off of him, but his hands clamp down on my hips and I marvel at their size. If he spread his fingers, he might be able to cover half my upper legs.
Before I can get caught up in inappropriate imaginings, I flick one of his hands with my finger. And that gives me an idea. “Hold on, one second. I’ll be right back.” I scoot backward out of his grip and then crawl off Black and set down my nursing equipment on the nightstand before turning toward the door.
“Don’t you dare leave—” He starts to get up with a groan.
“Relax. I’m grabbing drinks. Lay down, fucktard. I do this all the time for my mom. You need to get drunk and you need a distraction while you heal.” I grab the doorknob and give Black my best Mother Hen impression to get him to lay back down on the gray comforter.
He does so with a dark look that might have intimidated me an hour ago, but at this point, he’s given me so many that I’m starting to feel immune.
“I’m listening for you. If you put so much as a foot on those stairs—”
“Yeah, yeah, you’ll monster out. Got it,” I say with a nonchalance I don’t feel.
Actually, stepping outside the doorway of the bedroom, leaving Black’s presence, nearly gives me a panic attack. I keep picturing another alpha shifter walking down those stairs, his eyes finding mine, body contorting…
My heart twirls a set of drumsticks and then taps out a staccato rhythm against my ribs and my face grows hot—I have to force my feet to walk across the short distance to the bar.
I grab a bottle of whiskey since that’s already open and won’t require any effort. I don’t bother with glasses because I’ve got an idea to keep Black occupied while he heals, which, in my semi-professional opinion (based on the dozens of times my mother’s come home with similar wounds) will take at least a few hours. I grab what I need.
My eyes do stray toward the basement stairs as I walk back, but this time, they don’t symbolize freedom. When I look at them and think of what’s beyond them, I worry that it’s a whole lot more violent and unpredictable than the man in that bedroom I’m returning to.
He might be a monster himself … but better the monster you know, right?No, that doesn’t even make sense,I argue with myself.I don’t know him. I only met him this afternoon. God, that feels like light years ago.And still, despite the fact that I don’t really know Black, despite the fact that he’s manhandled and manipulated me and I should be running in the opposite direction, I find my feet turning toward his bedroom.
I might possibly be just as stupid as my father.
15
Black
I feela strange twinge inside my chest when Elena steps back into the bedroom, like something inside of it tightens. I brush the feeling aside; I probably twisted and hit a nerve aggravated by my injury when I’d leaned up to watch her go.
I had flipped onto my side when she left, eyes glued to the tiny sliver of the stairs I could see from the bedroom door, certain that she’d try to run. I’d skimmed my foot off the side of the mattress and let it dangle halfway to the floor so that I could sprint after her fleeing form and save her from herself—and any other monsters that roamed tonight. Because the only monster I’d ever let Elena face was me.
My muscles had coiled, tensed, and readied to strike. But she hadn’t even tried. The predator in me is equal parts fascinated, excited, and disappointed by her return. My wolf is cocky, sitting back on his haunches with a smug smile.
“Couldn’t resist coming back, huh?” I ask casually, but underneath my solemn gaze, my heart beats quickly and I find myself interested in her reaction. I want to know if she’s returning because she’s drawn to me or if it’s fear guiding her choices right now.
Her expression immediately hardens like a shell and I can’t tell the true emotions lying underneath as she arches a brow and cocks a hip, making my huge sweats sway down the length of her legs and drawing my attention. “More like … thought about running and decided it’ll be better to do so after you’ve passed out drunk.” Her eyes dance when she says that last line, however—I swear this girl gets off on being a smart ass.
I’m surprised by the fact that her sass turns me on so much because typically when someone pokes and prods at me that way, I want to quash them flat and see them cower at my feet. The urge for submission is strong. With Elena, though, it feels almost—affectionate isn’t the right word, and I’m not quite certain what is. But the alpha in me doesn’t feel threatened, just amused. I have to force a frown, instead of the smile that wants to cross my face at how cute she looks with smug satisfaction radiating out of her. Maybe I like that expression on her because it’s close to the one she wore after I made her come hard on my fingertips. Or maybe I just like it. It’s hard to tell as her scent fills the room again and sends my mind into a lazy spiral like a coin dropped into one of those plastic wishing wells where it rolls on its side in a hundred circles before dropping to fulfill its destiny.
Elena saunters in and perches on the side of the bed, grabbing my hand and setting a little glass bowl of trail mix in it. “Here. You need to practice,” she asserts, before unscrewing the cap of the whiskey and raising the bottle to her lips. I watch her take a long pull, her lips wrapped around the tip of the bottle. My wolf and I both imagine her mouth wrapped around something else. Damn. I need to breed her soon because my every thought is turning into a carnal obsession and I can’t afford that. If I’m going to keep her, I need a clear head to deal with Stone. Thoughts of that brutal alpha are a boner killer and help me focus. Somewhat.
“I thought that whiskey was for the patient,doctor.”
She squints as the burn of the alcohol hits her. “We are not playing dirty doctor.”
“You’re the one who said it aloud,doctor.”
“You were thinking it—”
I cut her off as I set the little bowl of trail mix on my abs and reach for the whiskey bottle. “Well, since you mention it, I do think my dick got hurt in the fight. Maybe you should check it.”
“Your dick is about to hurt in half a second when I kick it.”
“Climb up on the bed and prove it, princess. I dare you.” I grin before I lean up carefully so I don’t tip over the bowl, ignoring the whine of my ribs so that I can take a long drink of whiskey as she glares at me. But Elena refuses to rise to the challenge and climb back up on top of me. I try to tamp down on my disappointment, knowing she’s right and my side could use another couple hours to heal. If she had straddled me again I would have pulled her down on top of me and then flipped us so that she couldn’t get away.
