he whispered. “Is own face.”
The stranger in the mirror drew back his lips in a silent snarl. Fenrir flinched from that feral, wolfish expression. The image seemed to ripple, threatening to blur into a different shape.
He closed his eyes, concentrating for a moment on his other senses. The faint, lingering taste of mint in his mouth from his toothpaste. Cool air across his damp, freshly scrubbed skin. Smooth tiles under his bare feet.
Human things.
Trying to hold on to those sensations, he met his eyes in the mirror once more. He pressed a hand against the glass, palm to palm with his reflection.
“This is my face,” he forced out, slowly and clearly. “This is what I look like. This is my true self.”
“Fenrir?” The doorknob rattled. “Did you say something?”
“Just talking to myself.”
With a last hard stare, he turned away from the mirror. As he wrapped a towel around his waist, a prickle of unease twitched across his shoulders. He had a sudden eerie conviction that if he turned to face the mirror quickly enough, he’d catch a wolf watching him.
Shaking off the silly thought, he unlocked the bathroom door. “Sorry,” he said, going out. “Didn’t mean to take so long.”
“It’s okay. I was just starting to get worried that you’d fallen down the toilet or slipped in the—”
Darcy stopped mid-sentence with an odd choking sound. Her eyes tracked down his torso.
Alarm jolted through him at the slack, stupefied look on her face. “Darcy? What is wrong?”
“Nothing,” she croaked to the middle of his abdomen. “Everything’s fine. Very fine.”
He finally realized what was bothering her, and could have scratched his own hide for his stupidity. People did not parade around half-naked in front of each other. No wonder she wasn’t able to look him in the eye.
He gripped his towel, wishing he could pull it up higher. His ears felt hot. “Sorry. Should have got dressed again. Wasn’t thinking.”
“Hey, it’s nothing I haven’t seen before.” Darcy’s voice returned to her normal light, amused tones, though she still looked somewhat pink. “You worked out the shower, then?”
A pained grunt escaped his lips. Not all the time had been spent studying his own reflection. “Eventually.”
Darcy flashed a grin at him. “All a bit more complicated than cocking a leg, huh?”
He knew she only meant it as a joke, but it still cut. Something must have shown on his face, because Darcy’s smile faltered.
“Sorry,” she said. “Too soon. I didn’t mean to make light of what you’re going through.”
“Just don’t like—” He stopped himself, and tried again. “I don’t like being reminded that that’s how others still see me. As an animal.”
“I don’t see you as an animal,” Darcy said, softly. Then she cleared her throat, blush deepening. “Uh. Guess you’d better go put on some clothes.”
That would, he was distantly aware, be the sensible thing to do. But he couldn’t make himself move. She was so close…
No.
The thought bit him like an insect between his shoulder blades. The sharp sting snapped him out of her entrancing eyes, back to sense.
No. He couldn’t reach out to her, couldn’t pull her against him and bury his face in her glorious, fiery hair. No matter how much he yearned for her touch, she wasn’t ready. She wouldn’t ever be ready if he kept acting like a stupid beast.
But still…
Touch her, whispered some deep, muffled instinct. Need her, need our mate…
“Fenrir?”
He shook his head, caught between conflicting urges. His skin felt too tight over his bones. A dull itch nagged at him, in the middle of his back. He rubbed at it absently, but couldn’t quite reach it.
“Nothing,” he mumbled. He turned away from her, away from temptation. “I’m fine. Will get dressed, then can talk.”
He could feel her stare on the back of his neck. “You don’t look fine. Is that scar bothering you?”
Surprised, he glanced back at her. “What scar?”
“That one.” She stepped closer, gesturing at him. “Right here, between your shoulder blades. It looks redder than it did the last time I saw it, back when you first turned human. Maybe your shirt aggravated it. Was it a recent injury?”
“No.” Bemused, he twisted, trying unsuccessfully to inspect his own back. “Never been hurt there. Not as far as I know, at least. Where is it?”
“Duck down a bit and I’ll show you.”
He knelt, facing away from her. Putting one hand on his shoulder for support, Darcy traced a twisting, S-shaped line down his back. As she did so, a confused jolt of sensation burned