warily. There’s a foggy glaze in her eyes, and worry fills me that she’s more injured than I realize.
I coax the drink into her mouth, and once the cool water touches her tongue, she grabs the glass and greedily consumes all of it.
When she finishes, she lowers the glass. Her distrustful expression is back, but fear lurks behind it.
It feels as though someone punches me in the gut. I rake a hand through my hair and take the glass from her. Fuck, I’ve blown this.
But even though nothing about this is working out, I’m still glad she’s here. I have no idea why, but sitting here with her, when she’s not fighting me or trying to escape, a strange feeling of contentment slides through my veins.
You’re seriously fucked up, Ward.
I fill the glass again. When I hand it to her, she takes it hesitantly and our fingers brush. The second we make contact, she flinches and yanks the glass away before drinking it.
I sigh heavily. Everything about this was a bad idea. And on top of that I have no idea what she’s thinking, and it’s driving me crazy.
“You must think I’m a real maniac,” I finally say, anything to break the silence. This close to her, I can smell her underlying sunshine-and-caramel fragrance, but now it’s lined with sweat and blood. I try not to dwell on that.
When she doesn’t answer, I reach into the bag behind me, all the while keeping a close eye on her in case she tries to bolt again.
“Hungry?” I ask.
She stays quiet, so I pull out a packet of granola bars. “Chocolate chip or honey nut?”
She wraps her arms around herself. “What do you want from me?”
Her voice is low and trembles with uncertainty. My shoulders sag, and I grind my jaw, but the second my teeth grate her eyes widen, so I make myself stop.
“I don’t know,” I finally say. I hand her a chocolate chip bar, and after a moment, she takes it.
She’s still wound as tight as a drum, but when she peels the wrapper back, I breathe a sigh of relief. At least she’s going to eat.
But she doesn’t take a bite, instead she asks, “What are you?”
That barely controlled fear tinges her words again, and I curse the beast for making an appearance like he did.
Knowing there’s no point lying, and hell, she’s already seen me shift so it’s not like I can effectively hide anything from her anyway, I reply, “A werewolf.”
Her eyes grow as wide as saucers. “A werewolf? Like in the movies?”
“Yeah, like in the movies, except my wolf…” But I can’t finish my sentence. How do I explain to her that my wolf has turned rogue? That he’s no longer like other wolves that live as one with their human? That being on my own for so long has turned him savage and murderous, and now, there’s no going back? That it’s been so long since I’ve been around another wolf that I’ve lost him to the darkness and I’ll never be normal again?
No, it’s probably best not to tell her all of that.
It doesn’t matter, though. She doesn’t seem to catch my hesitancy. From her confused look, it seems she’s trying to come to grips with what I just revealed.
“So, that thing that you turned into…” She swallows audibly. “That was you as a werewolf?”
“Yes, although, when I turn into him I’m not really me, I’m him, if that makes sense.” I sit down on the floor beside her but make sure to keep two feet of distance between us. For the first time since taking her, her gaze isn’t darting around looking for an escape, and I don’t want to scare her by sitting any closer.
“And is that why you took me?” She pushes a long strand of dark-brown hair behind her ear. “Because of your … err … wolf?”
“No, he didn’t want to take you. I did. If it were up to him, he’d have eaten you by now.”
Her jaw drops, and the granola bar clatters to the floor. I grimace when it lands in a pile of dust.
“You’re going to eat me?” She tries to back up more, but there’s nowhere for her to go. She’s already cornered, quite literally.
“No,” I say sharply. “I won’t let him do that.”
But her chest rises and falls quickly despite my reassurances. I try to ignore how her breasts heave up and down, but I can’t help noticing for the merest second.