Primals (Reverse Harem 1)

My heart stills. “Sebastian?”

“Have you ever had a head injury before?”

“No.”

“A serious injury?”

“Not really. Just some scrapes. Why?”

He doesn’t answer. I get up and head towards the window, examining my reflection in the glass pane as I put my hand on the side of my head, my fingers rubbing against my scalp, which is no longer throbbing in pain.

No bump. No cut.

Strange. I was sure something had hit my head hard.

I take the bandage off my arm, gasping as I find the skin smooth where a gash should have been.

What the hell?

I turn to Sebastian, eyes wide. “What have you done to me?”

Chapter Two

~ Sebastian

“I DIDN’T DO ANYTHING to you, Clarissa,” I say this in front of the locked door to the spare bedroom. I’ve been saying it for a while now and it’s getting old.

As before, all I get are sobs, her thoughts too muddled for me to read.

My fists clench. I have no idea what to do with a crying female. I do know enough to realize that while tearing the door down could solve the problem, it probably won’t. I don’t need that kind of drama.

Finally, I give up. “If you don’t believe me, there’s nothing I can do.” I shrug and walk away. Let her deal. She obviously doesn’t want my help.

&nbs

p; I get out of the cabin, ignoring the wind that has started to swirl around me and the snow is up around my knees as I run to the woods. There, I scoop a ball of snow and hurl it against a tree, the white sphere splattering into countless tiny puddles.

Well Fuck.

I don’t know why the hell Clarissa won’t believe me. OK, so she doesn’t know me. That should soothe my battered ego some, only it doesn’t. My word is sacred, and to not be accepted as such leaves a raw and bitter taste in my mouth. Hell, even if I’d wanted to do something to her, I couldn’t. Primals are bred. Not made.

Leaning against a tree trunk, I glare up at the gray sky, resenting the clouds, resenting the weather that brought her here. I never asked for company.

She’s not a primal. At least, she doesn’t smell like one. In fact, she doesn’t smell like anything I’ve ever known. She’s a unique potpourri. There are some familiar notes, though – that acidic, slightly salty odor that is distinctly human, the scent of flowers, mint, smoke, dog fur.

And in that brief moment before we spoke, the scent of desire.

The mere memory of it lights a fire in my veins, especially those in my crotch.

Desire.

The females of my kind are not gifted with it. Only the alpha male is. If he wants a mate, he takes her and she submits. No questions asked. She does it out of duty, not because she wants to. She just takes, not gives.

And yet, that scent off Clarissa has made me think of all the things she can give me and of all the pleasure I can give her. Nothing has ever been more arousing.

I sink into the snow, willing the icy pile to douse the prickling heat in my body. I gather some of it in both my hands as well, washing my face in it and running my hands through my hair.

I want to take her but I can’t. I don’t even know what she is. She can read my mind and I can read hers as if we were part of the same pack, of the same breed and yet, she clearly feels no urge to submit to me as she would if she was of my pack. Quite the opposite. She defies me. In addition, she heals faster than I ever have and yet, she has no knowledge of that kind of healing until now.