Page 5 of Wolf Proclaimed

"Thought you might be hungry," he said, his voice low, almost soothing. There was a gentleness in his eyes, a warmth that contrasted with the calm, composed exterior. He held a tray in his hands, the smell of food wafting toward me. My stomach churned, not in hunger, but a mix of anxiety and apprehension.

His gaze met mine as he set the tray down on the table. I tried to look away, to ignore the simmering heat rising within me. Was I so transparent that he could see through my defenses and the desire I was desperately trying to bury?

As he moved about the room, adjusting the quilt around me and checking the heat of the fireplace, there was an undeniable tenderness in his actions, an undercurrent of care that should've comforted me. Instead, it twisted a knot of resentment deep within me. His care felt like shackles, a reminder of the vulnerability I hated.

"I don't need your help," I snapped the words echoing loudly in the quiet room. I crossed my arms over my chest, the quilt held tightly against me.

Bastian paused, his gaze meeting mine. His expression remained steady, unflappable even in the face of my apparent hostility. "I'm aware," he replied simply. "But that doesn't mean you don't need help."

I gritted my teeth, my fists clenching beneath the quilt. My mind flashed back to Jezebel, her overbearing concern, her constant coddling. It was the same pattern all over again. Different person, same dance. I was not a child. I was not helpless.

"But you're not the one to give it," I spat back, my tone icy. I could feel my hackles rise, my inner wolf snarling at the perceived intrusion.

Bastian simply nodded, his calm demeanor not faltering. "That might be true," he said quietly. "But right now, I'm all you've got."

His words hung in the air, a bitter truth I didn't want to swallow. He was right. And it made me hate him even more. My gaze unconsciously wandered back to the open buttons of his shirt, my thoughts a whirl of frustration, resentment, and a begrudging acknowledgment of his allure.

I sat there, tangled in a knot of my own emotions. My irritation at Bastian's insistence to take care of me and an unfamiliar, unexpected attraction towards him was at odds with me. It felt like I was being drawn towards him despite myself. The unbuttoned shirt, the gentle concern in his eyes, and the warmth of his presence were disarming.

I glanced at the scarlet scarf he'd left on the chair and the borrowed clothes. An idea sparked within me. I could turn the tables. I'd make him as uncomfortable as he made me. The wolf within me growled in approval, the idea of a playful tease a pleasant distraction from the bitterness of our interaction.

I stood and let the quilt fall away and grabbed the scarf, wrapping it around my waist. The cold air bit at my skin, but it was a welcome sensation compared to the heat growing within me. Dancing had always been a source of joy for my sisters and me, a way to express what words often failed to convey. And now, it would serve another purpose.

I moved into the space between the bed and the table, catching Bastian's eye. His eyes widened slightly as he took in my near-naked form, but he quickly masked his surprise. I smiled, a wild, teasing grin, and started to move. The rhythm was in my head, the music of my heartbeats filling the silence.

My hips swayed to the beat, my arms undulating like serpents. The scarf fluttered around me, a flash of red in the dim light. Bastian watched, his eyes never leaving me. I danced, putting on a show, pouring all my frustration, irritation, and stubborn independence into each move.

A spark of pleasure shot through me as I caught him eyeing my swaying breasts, and his gaze lingered just a moment too long on the curves revealed by the dance. He quickly looked away, but the look of disdain on his face did little to hide the fact that he was affected. Seeing how he shifted his weight in the chair was satisfying, revealing that he was not as composed as he initially seemed.

I ended the dance with a flourish, the scarf twirling around me before I let it fall to the floor. Panting, I met his gaze, a challenge reflected in my eyes. This was my defiance, my refusal to be treated like a child. But as I looked at him, his expression hard, the satisfaction I'd felt was replaced by a gnawing feeling of having pushed too far.

There was a brief lull in the atmosphere as we both recalibrated, acknowledging the taut tension that hung in the air. Finally, I pulled on the clothing folded on a chair. The loose fabric of the borrowed clothes hung over my frame as I watched Bastian move about the room, his actions both deliberate and graceful.

He reached for a bottle of wine and two glasses resting on a shelf, his movements precise and methodical. The liquid swirled as he poured, the ruby color catching the flicker of the fireplace and glinting in a dance of light and shadow. His gaze never left mine, curiosity mingled with something else—something unreadable—reflected in his eyes.

He took a long sip, the line of his throat shifting as he swallowed, his gaze holding mine. His posture, the rigid line of his shoulders, suggested a restraint, a containment of his emotions. It was an intriguing contrast to the raw power I'd felt in his presence before. An unexpected feeling stirred within me. Curiosity? Fascination? I quickly shoved it aside, the irritation that bubbled up much easier to comprehend.

"Sit," he instructed, gesturing to the table he'd set with the tray of food. His voice was void of emotion, the calm exterior unaffected by my previous dancing as he turned to stoke the fire. "After such a display, you must be hungry."

I remained where I was, the borrowed clothing rustling slightly as I crossed my arms over my chest. His command hung in the air between us, adding to the already tense silence. He paused, looking over his shoulder at me, the firelight casting an enigmatic play of light and shadows over his face.

"I won't touch you, Mira," he said quietly, his eyes returning to the flames. His words were unexpected, a concession that I hadn't anticipated. It was a promise, one delivered with a surprised gentleness despite the aloofness of his actions.

Bastian's odd mix of detachment and subtle caring was unnerving. I was accustomed to individuals wanting something from me—my power, my status, my body. But Bastian... he was different. An enigma. A mystery I wasn't sure I wanted or was ready to solve. Yet, as I watched him tend to the fire, the dance of the flames reflecting in his eyes, I felt drawn into the maze of his enigma, with no map to guide my escape.

As Bastian's words resonated in the silence, my body turned rigid, a wave of shock washing over me, followed closely by something else... embarrassment. His rejection was like a slap, a raw, bitter sting I wasn't accustomed to. I was Mira, a witch, wolf, seductress, and survivor. Men yearned for me. They lusted after me. They didn't push me away.

But Bastian had.

Dressed in these ugly borrowed rags, I felt a metaphorical nakedness that pricked at my pride. I felt I exposed my vulnerability on display for him to see. I wanted to reach for the colorful scarf I'd just dropped, or even the quilt from the bed, and use them as a shield against the piercing gaze of the alpha male—anything to cover this unpleasant feeling of foolishness.

My cheeks burned hot, and my heartbeat pounded a wild rhythm in my ears. Fury bubbled within me, hot and scalding, blurring everything else. I lashed out at Bastian, my voice low and icy, each word a pointed dagger.

"You have no right to treat me like a child!" I snapped, my fingers balling into fists at my sides. "I am not some helpless damsel you can coddle and protect. I don't need your charity. I don't need you."

The room was swallowed by silence as my words hung heavy in the air. The fire crackled in the hearth, the flames dancing and casting long, writhing shadows on the walls. Their flickering dance seemed a cruel mockery of the icy tension that had enveloped us, transforming the cozy cabin into a cold battlefield.

Bastian remained silent. His gaze was steady on me, his silence more unsettling than any words he could have uttered. But beneath his cool exterior, I caught a glimmer of something in his eyes—a flash of surprise, or was it pain? But it disappeared before I could be certain, consumed by his unnerving calm.

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