in. It creaks slightly as I crack it open, my breath held in my lungs for safe keeping, but when no one is there waiting for me, I release it, relieved.
I step into the space, and the smell of Tyran wraps around me like a poisonous snake. I’m not sure if his entire home smells like him this strongly or if this is his bedroom. Either way, I’m not going to stand here naked and risk him barging in here, frying my ability to think with something other than my vagina.
Looking around, I don’t spot a closet door. There’s only the doorway I’m standing in and one that I assume leads out into the hallway. There is, however, a large armoire with an equally large dresser taking up one wall. Quietly, like I’m sneaking around instead of doing what I was told, I tiptoe to the dresser and start opening drawers.
I find what looks like hand sewn boxers, socks, pants, shirts and a couple drawers of clean bedding. I try on a pair of boxers, but they slip right off me, so I fold them back up and return them. Moving to the armoire, I pull open the doors and discover animal pelts that have been sewn into coats and shawls, plus some scuffed boots and folded blankets at the bottom.
There’s one small cubby that has what looks like smaller versions of the various pants and tops I saw in the dresser, and I even spot a skirt. I pull them out, holding them up, but worry slinks through me when they look too small. There’s no underwear of course, which has me setting the tiny skirt aside.
I step one foot and then another into the suede animal hide pants and pull them on. Surprisingly, there’s just enough give to the material, and I’m able to pull them all the way up. They’re tight, so I sure as hell won’t be doing any lunges in these things, but it’s better than free lipping it all around this place and hoping Tyran doesn’t read into it the wrong way.
I pull the shirt on, expecting it to be smallish too, but to my surprise it’s big. It’s also white, which doesn’t do a whole lot to hide my nipples without a bra. The neck is supposed to tie closed, but the neckline is so damn big it hangs off of one shoulder and the sleeves drape well past my hands. Rolling my sleeves as I go, I move back into the bathroom to have a look. Yep, just like I thought. I look like some braless pirate pilgrim who stole a shirt four sizes too big.
Surveying the state of my outfit in the mirror, I try to come up with a way to fix it. I tuck the front into the ties of the pants which sort of helps, although the Musketeer vibe is undeniable. I snort out a laugh and let go of how ridiculous I look, because it could be worse. I move back to the bedroom to see if there are any shoes to go with this little number. A pair of swashbuckling over-the-knee boots would be in order, but as I root through the armoire, I realize that everything is way too big. Grabbing a pair anyway, just to see if I can make them work, I plop down on the side of the bed to try them on.
Just as I bend down to slip a foot in the buttery looking leather, a distinct scent hits me. It’s Tyran’s, but there’s a layer of something else mingling with it. Boots abandoned, I lean over to smell the bedding. I pull it back and practically shove my face in the pillow. Immediately, an image of Strawberry Bitch waves to focus in my mind. I jerk back sharply as though the bedding just took a swipe at me. Quickly, I reach over and grab the pillow from the other side of the bed.
Maybe I’m mistaken.
Maybe this is a guest room and I’m reading the situation all wrong.
I bring the cotton and downy feathered pillow to my nose and inhale. A deep growl resonates in my chest as my wolf and I find only Tyran’s smell here. So this is definitely his room, which means…
I launch to my feet and start to pull at the clothes from my body as though they’re infested with fire ants. The shirt, the shoes, the pants, they all come flying off, while my entire body