The feeling was so strong, that if the rules of nature were the rules of humans, he would have claimed her right that minute, fought a battle against other males for her. And won. Whatever he needed to do so he could call her his. She’s the one I choose, he wanted to tell all the other males. That one. But he knew there was far more to it than that. His instincts, though—the ones that had been sharpened so he was more animal than man—were strong and needy. Because his instincts had meant his survival. And to push them aside felt like a kind of giving up he was not used to or ready for.
He had no idea what the rules of town life were, no idea how to live by them, or if he even wanted to. That was the thing about nature—there were . . . patterns. He wondered if people had patterns too and thought they probably did not.
At least the girl didn’t seem to. Harper.
He wondered what other people would say if they knew what he was thinking about her. That he wanted to mate with her. Not just once, but over and over again until he was full and satisfied like the days when he stole a hive from the bees and stuffed himself with golden honey, his lips sweet and his fingers sticky.
Would they call him a beast?
Or did other men have these same feelings? Did other men, ones who’d lived in civilization, picture mating with the woman they wanted to claim? Bright, clear pictures that filled their minds and tightened their bodies? Was that normal?
He couldn’t make himself care.
Those feelings were part of the deep-down whispers. The scents that moved from her to him and back again. And, his thoughts were his own. They belonged to him. They were the only thing that hadn’t been stolen.
He coughed loudly and her big eyes opened slowly. She blinked for a minute and then sat straight up, moving her hair out of her face, and wiping the trail of drool on her bottom lip. “Oh, I must have . . . just . . . dozed off for a second.” Her eyes darted away like she knew she was lying. That need to smile came again and as she started to stand, he turned away, grabbing his bag.
“Is there, ah, somewhere I can clean up?” she asked.
He turned back to where she stood, moving from one foot to the other. “There’s a shower out back. And whatever else you might need.”
“Out back?” She glanced out the window and then met his eyes again, telling him with her expression that he was definitely not giving her what she “might need.”
He felt ashamed. Heat moved up his neck, but he nodded. “There’s a bucket hanging on the water pump.” He knew she was used to inside bathrooms. He’d been used to that once too. In the long-ago time. Now he could barely remember what hot water felt like. He wished he could give her hot water.
Her eyes widened, but she set her shoulders straight. “Then I’ll just . . . freshen up . . . out back.” Her cheeks turned light pink, and it made his stomach muscles jump. She gave him one last big-eyed look and then turned, grabbing her gun and rushing out the front door.
He watched her close the door behind her, collected the small bag he’d packed, and then he left his house too.
She walked from around the corner a few minutes later, her hair stuck up on top of her head. She looked pretty in the morning light, wrinkled and fresh at the same time, and his blood started doing strange things inside his veins again, rushing quickly, and then slowing, making his brain feel sleepy. He turned his back on her and started walking. She could follow, or not. He heard her truck door opening and closing and then her quick footsteps.
She looked at the knife strapped to his hip. “Expecting trouble?”
“No,” he said quietly. “Expecting dinner. If I’m going to be out today, I want to bring back something to eat.”
“Oh. Right. Yes, of course,” she said. “So, you’ll just use that to . . .” She paused for a long time before finally saying, “Get dinner.”
He squinted ahead, then glanced down at her. Her expression made it look like she had a small, pointy rock in her shoe, and it made him