Moon Claimed (Werewolf Dens #2) - Kelly St. Clare Page 0,61
wolf.
His answer filled my head. We never drive if we can run, mate.
Pulling back my forest calm, I shoved my wolf away, trying to conceal my triumph. Wolves could mind-speak in a partial shift.
Facing the waterfall again, I focused there instead of on the cracks and pops behind me.
“You’re happy with yourself? Why?” Sascha’s smooth voice washed over me.
“You know, driving has its perks. Mainly that you’d be wearing clothes right now.”
“I didn’t think nudity bothered you,” he said, walking toward me in his birthday suit. “Or is it just my nudity that makes you squirm?”
He had to use that word in particular.
Turning, I fixed my eyes on his mocking face. “What are you teaching me today?”
He stopped before me. “Why do you smell like sorrow and stress?”
“I told Rhona the truth of what happened during the capture meet. And about the meets and what it means. She’s not happy.”
Dang it, I couldn’t help glancing down. He was a work of art, for shit’s sake. Hard abs were the bridge between wide shoulders and hips that were built to fulfil all types of fantasies. There was no other word for his powerful physique than gorgeous, and I couldn’t help but notice this beauty didn’t feel distant and cold like the waterfall at my back.
“I’ve waited a long time for you to look at me like a woman looks at a man,” Sascha said softly.
I politely returned my attention to the guy’s face. “I appreciate nice bodies.”
“Nice bodies or just mine?”
He could smell a lie. “I’ve always appreciated men’s bodies. I have the power to look but not touch.”
“Can you think of another man after what we shared?” He stalked closer. “It’s been impossible for me to look at another woman since I first saw you. After tasting you, it’s like women no longer exist.”
“Doesn’t that bother you? That you’ve magically been told to want me and so you do? If you were really attracted to me, then you would have been after Rhona long before I arrived.”
His mouth crooked, and I tilted my head back, challenge in my gaze.
“Rhona smells like cut grass—”
“I love that smell,” I shot in.
“—that’s been in the compost heap for three weeks.”
My mouth snapped shut. That didn’t sound so pleasant.
“You—” Sascha wrapped his hands around my upper arms. “—do not. Your actions tell me that you have a beautiful mind and heart as well as an exquisite body. I don’t know how I got so lucky.”
Someone was counting their chickens before they’d hatched, but his slightly baffled tone made my stomach feel strange. “What do I smell like?”
He placed his mouth next to my ear. I swayed into him, feeling some of my exhaustion seep away.
“Like vanilla and oranges.” His words warmed my insides. “Like liquorice and pumpkin spice.”
All food. Typical.
Giving up, I rested my cheek against his chest. I just needed a little zap of energy after the last few days.
“And me?” he asked.
The word compost lingered on my lips, but if I insulted him, this contact would end, and I needed it. “Pine. Sweat. Musk. River water.”
He hummed and the pine and river water scents intertwined.
“Are you happy right now?” I murmured.
“Yes.”
Huh. “What does it mean when a scent pulses?” The description didn’t jive with my human notions, but it was the best way to describe Rhona’s sudden shift in scent during the head team meeting three days prior.
He pressed his nose into my hair, inhaling deeply. We were bodily pressed against each other now. “Shock, perhaps.”
Shock would suit what happened. I was certain Rhona had realised in that moment that the head team weren’t at her beck and call.
“If something smells rotten, is it a lie?”
“No,” he answered, and I wrinkled my nose as his pine smell decayed.
Lie.
I shifted on the spot, worming closer. “I’ll take that as a yes. Are you the only person who has four smells? Apart from Rhona, everyone else I’ve sniffed only has one.”
Like Wade’s salted caramel or the animal who smelled like spice.
“Sometimes family members will have two—or even three scents if you’re very close. Lovers can have two after a while. To my knowledge, only mates share four.”
Interesting.
“Magic voodoo,” I murmured.
“The mating call drives my wolf and me through the meets, but it does not make me like you, nor make you like me. That’s why there are seven meets, so we can determine the other’s worthiness. Like an arranged marriage, respect is something that comes if both sides are willing. The mating call is