Bewitched (Betwixt & Between #2) - Darynda Jones Page 0,42
don’t.” I needed him to understand. “I can’t imagine how hard that must’ve been for you. I only meant that perhaps the reason your speech was delayed was not because you were a wolf, but because your father . . . well, killed you.”
The muscles in his forearms flexed as he curled and uncurled his hands into fists.
“Maybe that’s why the boy withdrew, and the wolf emerged as the dominant personality. The ruling psyche.”
“From trauma?”
“Yes.” I stepped closer. “Roane, you were literally killed by your father. That had to leave a mark.”
He nodded.
“Hey.” I elbowed him in the name of camaraderie. “My mother tried to kill me too.”
His gaze traveled back to me at last. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” I ignored the pang in my chest. “I don’t remember it.”
We watched as the last wolf ran into the dark, his jaws full of a late-night snack.
“Now that I think about it, how did the boy’s father trap you? Wolves haven’t inhabited this area in decades.”
“He trapped me on the outskirts of a wolf sanctuary near Ipswich.”
“For real?”
“For real.”
“See? Dicks.”
The air took a decidedly chilly turn, and he grabbed the bowl, checked a water tank near the back porch, and headed inside.
I followed.
Without looking at me, he set the bowl in the sink. “Does it make me more palatable?”
“I’m sorry?” I leaned against the counter. Our counter. The file folder with the messages still sat on the table, the seams glowing brighter than before.
When he turned, his olive gaze was harder than I’d ever seen. “Does knowing I was once a real boy make me more palatable? More acceptable?”
He started to walk away. This perfect being. This stunning entity who’d lived a life I could hardly imagine.
I stepped in front of him.
He kept his gaze downcast.
Was he embarrassed? Again? We’d gone through this when I first discovered what he was. “Don’t you dare.” I whispered the threat, hoping to soften the delivery.
Other than his jaw flexing under the pressure of his ire, he didn’t move. A dark red lock of hair brushed a wide shoulder.
“Don’t you dare think me so shallow.” I reached up and pressed a palm to his stubbly beard, and he let me. It was softer than I’d imagined. “Don’t you dare believe you are ever unworthy because of your incredible past. Do you know how many people would kill for such an existence? The fact that you are the boy as well as the wolf? Icing on the cake, but only because, in a way, he lived. His mother did get to see him grow up. Her dream came true. And you would honestly think me so shallow, Roane Wildes, to be repulsed by your heritage?”
He winced, but just barely.
“You’ve clearly never met a female. Of either species. There’s not a single one of us who would be repulsed by you. Quite the opposite. Or did you completely miss the longing gazes today in the café.”
“Why?” His glittering olive gaze locked with mine.
His question felt genuine, like he honestly couldn’t understand how I would not only not be swayed against him due to his history but would find it appealing. And it was the most adorable thing I’d ever seen.
I looked down at his ankle. Or, more precisely, at the scars on his leg above the top of his work boots. Where the trap had been. Where his life had taken a drastic turn. I dropped my hand to his abdomen.
It hardened beneath my touch. And yet, he made the softest, softest sound.
Encouraged, I stepped closer, rising onto my toes. It was my turn to nibble. When my mouth reached his ear, he wrapped a large hand around the back of my neck and held me to him. His other snaked around my waist. Pulled me closer. “I just have one question,” I whispered.
He backed me against the counter. A place I was growing very fond of. “What would that be, Ms. Dayne?”
“Do you remember licking my fingers in my dreams?”
He leaned back, the look of surprise on his handsome face undeniable. “That was you?”
“You mean, it really was you?” I stared in wonder. “You’re the finger licker?”
He started to step out of my embrace.
I tightened my hold until he gave in with a heavy sigh.
“I was a dog,” he said, embarrassed once again. “And you have delicious fingers. You can’t blame me.”
With a grin I constructed from sin and mischief, I revisited one of my favorite vacation destinations by nipping at his ear.