Page 46 of Sigma
She’s always been the type to brighten at the aspect of a rainy day, saying she loved being inside while it rained, the curtains open while she drinks her tea and reads her romance novels.
I take a big wine glass from the basket and pour myself a full honey mead before I open all the blinds. The sky is stormy-looking, the color of Jared’s wolf, and I don’t expect it to let up soon.
I prefer being outdoors rather than inside in a library or a cozy reading nook like my bestie. I’m not the type who’s afraid to get her hair wet, either. Rain never stops me from having a good time. In fact, I love shifting and hitting the forest, getting all muddy while I run at full speed.
I’m scrolling on my phone in the bed for ages while listening to the rain hit this little silver house on wheels, and that pitter patter music seems to act like a lullaby as I catch myself drifting off, my phone bonking my forehead.
After I put it on the little table beside me and roll over, I run my hand across the sheets, caressing the space he should be inhabiting. I sink into sleep, imagining how nice it might feel if he were here, warm, spooning or holding me, pressing his lips to mine, making me feel safe.
And I dream. But I don’t dream of that safety, of the comfort. I dream of running in the rain, as wolf, my paws hitting the muck and splashing it, of the vivid scents of the wet forest. In my dream, it’s pouring hard, drenching my fur, and I find I can run faster and harder, so I do. I run like the wind, until I skid to a halt in the mud and find myself on the edge of a cliff, looking at a dark abyss below.
The deep, rumbling sound reminiscent of a muscle car’s engine sounds behind me in the dream, so I look back and there he is, yellow eyes, jagged teeth, and menace.
He’s stalking me, moving closer, saliva dripping from that angry mouth.
He won’t kill me. He’ll recognize I’m his mate.
Only, he doesn’t. When we’re almost nose to nose, he growls and snaps, catching my throat. And the muck underneath us falls away. We fall and fall and as we do, he’s shaking me, tearing my throat to shreds.
16
JARED
The ear-piercing scream that rips me from a dead sleep isn’t just an external alarm attacking my ears; it has an internal layer, too – one the likes I’ve never experienced until now.
Stark fear and heartbreak. Not mine.Hers.
Frigid cold shrouds me as I sprint to bolt in her direction, but since I’m restrained, I’m jerked back painfully, landing on my ass. I don’t know if I’m about to shift or not, this chill is different, but I do know something’s wrong. Cataclysmically wrong.
If I shift, I’ll become the problem instead of the solution, so I box-breathe to the count of two for each edge instead of four while I unlock all the locks. I leave the mask on and sprint for my Airstream. It’s dark, but she’s there.
No other scents; just her. And the door is fucking unlocked!
She’s sitting upright in my bed, eyes full of fear, looking disoriented.
“What?” I demand.
She’s breathless, breathtaking, too. She wears one of those sports bras and a pair of bikini underwear. The blanket and sheets are half-off the bed.
She drags her hands through her hair and shudders.
“I…”
“What?” I demand and it comes out harsher than I want. But I’m amped, because of her.
“I…” She bursts into tears and buries her face in her hands.
And I stand still like a fucking idiot. Because what else would I do?
I don’t even last fifteen seconds before I’m out of there, folded forward with my hands on my thighs, pulling in the wet night air, feeling like the muzzle is stealing the oxygen from me. I hate this fucking thing on my face, part muzzle, part bridle, but it’s all I can do to minimize the danger of damage to her.
She’s behind me.
“What the fuck?” she accuses.
I turn to face her, and she immediately shoves my chest with both hands.
I take a step back. She shoves me again, fire in those eyes.
