Taming the Beast

“I don’t want anyone here. They can’t come.”

“Unfortunately, I don’t think you have a say in the matter. You got him, Mary?”

She dragged her tongue across her pink lips and then swallowed loudly.

She was afraid of him. He didn’t want that—didn’t like that. She was a goddess. Goddesses shouldn’t be frightened of pitiful beasts.

He took a step toward her, and she backed away.

“I… I think I’ll be okay for a bit.” Her voice dripped with equivocation, but Adam didn’t seem to notice. If he did, he didn’t call her out.

“Okay. Don’t wait too long to call me.” He disconnected.

Mary didn’t go for the phone, wherever it was. She curled against the front of the chaise, pulling her knees up against her chest and staring at him.

He stared back, uncertain of what steps to take next. He’d scared the hell out of her, and he was a goddamned werewolf. That was a lot to process all at once.

Slowly, he crawled toward the heater. The controls didn’t make immediate sense, although he’d worked them countless times before. The memories of using the machine were disjointed and scattered, as if something had plowed through and pushed the parts to different sides of the road in his mind.

Finally, the heating element glowed red.

He sat back on his heels, head hanging, hands shaking.

She moved behind him and he turned rapidly—too rapidly, perhaps—to look at her. He was faster, somehow. He didn’t understand the things his body was doing.

She’d only moved a couple of feet, and she had her hands up as if he’d threatened her.

“I was just going over there”—she pointed to a stack of moving pads near a support column—“to shake out some of the dust in one of those big blankets. Adam said that you needed to get warm.”

“Why did you call him?” he asked pleadingly. “Why? Why would you send people after me?”

She shook her head. “No, you don’t understand. I was only trying to get you help, Andreas. Can’t you understand that? I called someone I could trust.”

“And now they’re coming here to, what, kill me?”

“No! Why would they do that?”

“Wolves are territorial creatures. I know that much.”

She backed slowly toward the column, looking alternately toward him and behind her.

She needn’t have watched him so closely. Even if he’d wanted to leap after her, he didn’t have the energy. He barely had enough in the tank to keep his head up.

He needed to lie down. Exhaustion tugged at him like the thickest quicksand. He needed to rest. Never before had he felt like if he didn’t sleep, he’d die.

What’s wrong with me? He rubbed his eyes and rolled back his aching shoulders.

“This isn’t their territory,” she said. “Norseton is, and that’s not exactly walking distance from here. Why are you so suspicious of them?”

“Why did you call someone in Norseton? Shouldn’t you be more suspicious?”

“No.” She pushed the topmost blankets off the stack and rooted out one that didn’t have too many moth holes, and that wasn’t completely coated in dust. When she shook it out a bit more, he could see that most of the fabric appeared to be clean enough, though it’d probably reek of age.

“Why not?” he asked.

Using her hip, she bumped the settee closer to the heater. “Because I choose to. I’ve got to trust somebody, and trustworthy people in Fallon are in short supply.”

He sure as shit couldn’t argue with that.