Author's Note: Sorry it took so long to get this chapter out. I didn't realize it had been so long since I updated. Also, I wasn't really feeling my song choice anymore which didn't help cause I listen to the song while I write to try and set the mood and what not. Anyway, I found another song so from here on out I'll probably be writing to Safe and Sound by Taylor Swift and The Civil Wars. I don't generally care for Swift, but I love The Civil Wars and this song is so haunting and really just fits with the mood of this story. And I'm apparently very long-winded as this may well be the longest author's note I've ever written and I'm sorry about that too. Hehe Thanks for taking the time to review. I appreciate it.
She pulled into the garage and stepped out of the car, quickly walking over and hitting the button to close the door on the off chance one of the neighbors might be watching. Walking to the passenger side, she opened the door and stared. He looked like he was passed out, his head tilted to the side, almost resting on his shoulder.
He was so pale.
Her hand reached out before she could think better of it and she let her fingers brush his jaw. His eyes flew open and she couldn't stifle a startled jerk, though she didn't drop her hand. She'd saved his life, after all. She decided she was allowed to touch him if she wanted to.
His eyes were clearer than they had been, the haze of pain that had covered them was receding, though not completely gone as he stared up at her. They remained unmoving for a moment, loath to break the silence.
Finally, she inhaled deeply and dropped her hand. "I need to get you inside, can you help me do that?" she asked.
He gave a short nod, eyes closing and jaw clenching as he gathered himself. She leaned down and again slung his arm over her shoulder as he pushed himself up while she pulled. He still leaned on her heavily as they made their way through the house toward the stairs, but she thought it seemed a little less than it had earlier.
"Where –" he took a shaky breath, "parents?"
"I don't know," she shrugged. "Not here. Out of town for a few days."
"Convenient," he ground out.
"Normal," she answered. "They take off when life gets to be overwhelming for them, or so they say," she huffed derisively. "Life apparently overwhelms them at least once a month. Not sure where they went this time," she shrugged. "As long as it gets them out of the house, right? I'm sure there's a note around here somewhere," she said absently, cutting herself off when she realized she was babbling and he probably didn't care about the vacationing habits of her mother and step-father. She kept her mouth closed and concentrated on helping him remain upright as they made their way slowly and painstakingly up the stairs.
Shoving her door open with her foot, she walked with him to her bed and helped him lower himself slowly onto it, barely giving a thought to her eight hundred thread-count sheets other than to decide that she'd probably have to burn them or something since she doubted the blood would come out of them completely.
She stared down at him, bloody and struggling for breath. He seemed too large for her bed, too large for her room. "What do I do?" she asked, reaching hesitantly for him with the half-formed thought in her mind of helping him take his jacket off.
He caught her wrists in his hands before she could touch him and she froze, her face entirely too close to his as she stared into his eyes and couldn't hold back the thought that she'd never seen anything more beautiful in her whole life. She wanted to run her fingers through his hair, to wash the blood from his face, his hands, his body.
Her thoughts cut off as his hands tightened on her wrists, his nostrils flaring as he stared unblinking at her. A shiver worked its way up her spine, radiating out through her body. Her wrists trembled in his grasp and he blinked, his grip loosening as he sank down on the bed. "Sleep," he murmured wearily. "I just need sleep."
His eyes drifted shut and his breathing evened out. It seemed like only seconds to her and he was asleep. She carefully pulled out of his grasp, his hands relaxed now. Her own hands rubbed together absently as she looked at him. He fell asleep with her watching. Did that mean he trusted her? Or was he just too tired to care? Did she want him to trust her? Yes, she decided, she really did. And not just because it probably wouldn't end well for her if he didn't. She wanted him to tell her the truth, to tell her what he was beyond the half-formed idea in her head. She wanted him to trust her with the truth. She wanted to matter to him...
She gave herself a mental shake. She really had to stop thinking that way. It was irrelevant whether she mattered to him or not, as long as she rated high enough that he wouldn't try to, like, eat her or something. Her face flushed as that thought brought on a flood of mental images that she really shouldn't be thinking of. Ever.
But she couldn't push them away as she stared down at him They only grew more vivid, more real until she could practically feel his hands and lips and tongue. She swayed on her feet, taking an almost involuntary step toward him before managing to stop herself. She was not going to touch him. No matter how much she wanted to.
Scratching absently at her hand, she looked down and realized why her hands were itchy. They were covered in dried blood. Derek's blood. She shuddered as she realized just how much of his blood was on her. On her clothes, her hands. She couldn't stay like this.
Moving away from the bed, she walked to her bathroom and shut the door. Turning the water on, she stripped her clothes off and threw them on the floor, mentally consigning them to the fire along with her sheets. Stepping under the spray, she realized that she hadn't thought to lock the door. It probably wouldn't have mattered if she had. From what she'd seen, if being practically ripped open and losing more blood than should have been possible hadn't stopped him, she doubted the lock on her bathroom door would have given him pause. Still, she always locked her door. Even when she was the only one home.
She stared down at the pink-tinged water as it slid down the drain, watching as it started to run clear and contemplating the unlocked door. She wanted him to trust her, but did she trust him? Past experience with, well, practically everyone she knew told her she shouldn't, but he had driven her home, and told her she could come back, and tried to get her to leave him and save herself even though there was no guarantee that he wouldn't have died if she'd actually done it. He had been nice to her for no reason, and she had wanted to touch him for no reason other than the fact that she just wanted to. Not because she was afraid. Not because she wanted him to save her. No. It was just because she wanted to.
Turning the water off and stepping out, she couldn't suppress a giddy smile as she wrapped herself in a towel. This was the first time she could remember ever wanting something with no ulterior motive in mind. She just wanted... him.
Reaching for the nightgown on the back of the door, she drew it over her head and reached for the doorknob, stopping when she glimpsed herself in the mirror. Sleeveless white cotton that draped halfway to her knees, the words virgin sacrifice ran through her mind before she scoffed at her reflection. "Melodramatic much, Lydia?" she mocked quietly. Besides, she hadn't been a virgin since... Shaking her head, she cut off her train of thought before opening the door.
He was still asleep, breathing still deep and even. He hadn't moved an inch. She stared at him as she walked around the bed, watching his face for any movement. A groan. A twitch of his eyelids. Anything. But there was nothing. The only movement was the rise and fall of his chest. She probably should have been surprised at the relief that nearly buckled her knees when she saw that he was still breathing, but she wasn't. She decided that relief at his continued existence was really the least weird thing that had happened that night.
Glancing out her window, she realized how late it was. Or early. The sun was beginning to rise and the events of the night were finally catching up with her as she yawned, unable to stifle it. Staring longingly at her bed, she reluctantly moved on from that fleeting idea. Just because she wanted to touch him didn't mean the feeling was mutual. He might not take waking up beside someone he didn't remember going to sleep with too well. She did trust him, at least until he gave her a reason not to, but that was no reason to be stupid. Caution was never a bad thing and she didn't have a death wish, but there was also no way she was sleeping on the floor either. Glancing at the chair in the corner of her room, she gave the bed a final forlorn look before walking over and sinking down onto the chair. Pulling her legs up, she curled into herself and watched him in the early morning light before her eyelids became too heavy to hold open and she let sleep take her.
He came awake slowly, blinking in confusion for a moment at the unfamiliar surroundings. His fists clenched in agitation before a familiar scent hit him and he relaxed as memories from the night before washed over him.
She didn't leave him. Even after he'd told her to. Even after she'd seen his eyes. She had to have known, had to have realized that he wasn't... normal. Still, she didn't leave him.
He swallowed, turning his head to find her with his gaze. The room was dim, the light from the setting sun fading, but he found her easily. She was curled up in a chair, her hair covering half of her face. His eyes stayed on her as he sat up, his stare tracing along her bare arms, her smooth legs.
He gingerly swung his legs over the side of the bed, sitting still for a moment and assessing his now-healed injuries. His wounds were gone, only a slight pulling from newly healed flesh alerted him to their former presence. He was covered in blood, but none of it was new and – a growl worked its way up from his chest almost before he realized what he was smelling. Her blood. Her blood was on his hands.
His gaze shot to her as she jerked awake, startled by the deep growl that he forced himself to stifle as she stared warily at him. She was cautious, though not yet frightened and he knew he should stay where he was, but all he could smell was her blood and all he could see was her delicate skin ravaged by his claws in a fit of madness that he couldn't remember.
He tried to seem non-threatening as he rose from the bed and started toward her, knew he failed as her heartbeat quickened, her breath coming in shallow pants as she tried to sink further back into the chair. He wanted to tell her not to be afraid, that he wasn't angry with her, that he would never hurt her. But the words lodged in his throat as he tried to remember whether he already had hurt her.
He couldn't seem to make his jaw unclench in order to ask the question he didn't want to know the answer to. Her heartbeat sounded in his ears and the scent of her fear coated the back of his tongue and he could only stare at her, his gaze roving over the parts of her he could see, searching for injuries and finding none.
Her hands were gripping the arms of the chair, her knuckles white and he knew his continued silence and rapt stare were doing nothing to alleviate her concerns. Still, he couldn't speak. Instead, he sank to his knees in front of her. He made no move to touch her, just stared into her eyes and tried to calm himself as her breathing and heartbeat gradually slowed.
"Did –" his voice rasped in his throat like sandpaper and he swallowed before trying again. "Did I hurt you?"
She stared at him, her brow wrinkling in confusion as a shaking, "What?" emerged from her.
"I can – I can smell your blood on my hands," he ground out, fists clenching. "Did I hurt you?"
She shook her head slowly, eyes never leaving his.
He wanted to believe her, but he had to know. "I can smell your blood," he repeated. He could feel the growl welling up in his throat, didn't try to stop it as it emerged with a harsh, "Tell me."
She jumped a little at the hard command, her voice shaky and stilted as she said, "It's nothing. Just – your... claws. You just – held me too tight."
He swallowed hard, his eyes closing momentarily, stomach clenching in fear. Please. "Show me," he said, watching as her gaze widened and a blush spread across her cheeks, traveling down her neck, her chest. His hands twitched slightly as he fought the urge to run his fingers along the fragile ridge of her collarbone.
"It's – it's really nothing," she said again, her voice shaking with apprehension.
His gaze snapped back to hers and he couldn't stop his eyes from flickering, couldn't stop the growl that ripped from his chest with a guttural, "Show. Me." Knew she was afraid once again, could smell it in her scent, see it in the way she trembled, but he had to know... had to make sure.
He could turn someone if the claws sank deep enough. He'd never done it, but knew it was possible and the thought of her with his gift made him want to scream. He couldn't bear the thought of her undergoing the change, of enduring the pain he'd long since gotten used to. Couldn't bear to think of the arrows and bullets of hunters tearing her flesh. He did not want that for her and the fleeting thought crossed his mind that he would rather slit his own throat than subject her to it.
She moved slowly, bare feet lowering softly to the floor as she stood. He could see her shaking, could hear the racing of her heart and it once again reminded him of a hummingbird. He remembered their first meeting, remembered the feel of her as she struggled, the way she carried his scent. Even now, her shower hadn't washed him away completely. She still smelled of him, of his blood. A tremor of desire shook him and he swallowed hard, staring up at her.
She released a shaking breath, her hand clenching in the fabric of her nightgown before slowly raising one side of it. He watched as more of her pale leg came into view. His hands itched to shove her back in the chair, to pull her knees apart and lick a trail up the inside of her thigh, to bury his face between her legs.
Fuck.
He closed his eyes, breathing deep as he struggled not to touch her. Not to fuck her until she screamed for him.
The rustle of the fabric sliding against her skin stopped and he opened his eyes, staring at her hip and the tiny marks that disappeared under the edge of her panties. His gaze narrowed on them as he sought to block out everything else. Reaching out slowly, his fingers brushed her skin as he edged the side of her panties down until he could see all of them.
A wave of relief hit him as he gently ran his fingers over them. They were small. He had barely touched her. Barely marked her. He wanted to lick them.
She trembled under his hand, her own hand losing its grip on her nightgown and it slid down and pooled around his wrist. His fingers ached as he tried to pull them away from her soft skin. He took a deep breath and – fuck. Fuck. She didn't smell of fear anymore. Her scent was deeper and richer and wet and sweet and his hand clenched in her nightgown, shaking as he tried to resist the urge to tear it from her.
His body trembled and it felt as though his free hand was made of lead as he lifted it, his fingers tangled in the fabric of her gown and he pulled her to him slowly. His breath left him in a shaking rush as his heated forehead pressed against the softness of her stomach. Even his toes clenched as a soft whimper escaped her.
He could feel her shaking fingers run through his hair, pulling gently as she tilted his head back. He stared up at her with eyes he knew were flickering and could do nothing to stop it as she fought for breath before uttering a whispered, "What are you?"
Nothing before I found you.
His throat ached to say the words, but he clenched his teeth. Rising slowly to his feet, he pressed closer, pushing her backward gently until her back hit the wall. Did she know? Telling her would put her in danger. So much danger. Still, it was all he could do not to speak. He wanted her to know him. To know what he was and still want him. "What am I, Lydia?" he asked instead, his voice a low growl.
Her hands fisted in his shirt, pushing softly against him as a shaky whisper left her, "The Beast of Gèvaudan."
He ran his hand down her leg, his fingers sliding against the sensitive underside of her knee before yanking her leg up and around his hip. Her gasping cry made him close his eyes and lean his forehead against hers as he fought the urge to drop to his knees again. She was so fucking wet. He didn't even have to touch her, he could smell it all around them. He wanted to tear his jeans open and slam into her, mark her, make her scream. But he needed her to say it first. His voice was a low, guttural growl as he repeated, "What am I, Lydia?"
She struggled to get the words out, her eyes wet as she stared at him, her voice small and trembling as she hesitated before saying, "A big wolf."
"Good girl," he growled before fitting his mouth over hers. His hand fisted in her hair, angling her head as she opened her mouth to him and he thrust his tongue inside.
Sweet. The word stuttered through his mind as his tongue moved past her lips, her teeth. Thrusting deep before sliding against the roof of her mouth. She was so sweet. He tilted her head further, kissed her deeper, growled in frustration when it wasn't enough. It wasn't fucking enough. He needed more of her. Needed her closer. Around him. Beneath him. Hot and wet and tight and begging.
His other hand reached down, slid behind her knee and lifted. She cried out against his lips and her hands gripped his jacket as he ground against her. Fuck. He tore his mouth from hers and buried his face in her neck, breathing deep and trying to hold on to at least a sliver of control. But he couldn't. He had none left and the feel of her against him was driving him out of what was left of his mind.
He thrust closer to her and she flowered open to him as he ground against her clit, feeling her heat even through his jeans. Each thrust pushed the breath from her lungs in hitching gasps and it was the most beautiful fucking sound he'd ever heard. His eyes squeezed shut and he clenched his teeth as her heart sped up and her legs started to shake in his grasp.
"Please," her voice was frantic and gasping and pleading as she begged him, fucking begged him, to make her come. He bit down on her shoulder, bruising her but not breaking the skin, to stifle the howl that instead emerged as a ragged growl as he thrust hard against her, his movements rough.
Her shaking increased, her breath stopping completely for one heartbeat, two, three, before a sobbing, desperate cry of, "Derek," was torn from her as she shook and cried and trembled in his grasp and he changed his earlier thought because that was the most beautiful fucking sound he'd ever heard.
Her body was still shuddering, her legs practically vibrating in his hands and he could feel her wetness soaking his jeans, his dick. Her shaking fingers released their grip on his jacket and slid up to run through his hair, fisting gently and bringing his head up to hers, she stared at him with tear-bright eyes before bringing him down to her and kissing him gently, sweetly. She brushed her lips against his softly before sliding her tongue into his mouth and finding his. No one had ever kissed him like this, ever touched him like this. As if she cared for him, about him, and it was almost enough to make him forget how very much he wanted to be inside of her, surrounded by her. Almost.
But already he felt the beast rising as he kissed her harder, lowering her legs to the ground and fighting against a triumphant smirk when her knees trembled, refusing to support her for a moment. His hands encircled her waist, holding her up as she glanced up at him through her lashes before quickly dropping her gaze to his chest. Even through the flush of her orgasm, he could see a fiery blush suffusing her face and he bit back a laugh. He'd just practically fucked her against a wall, and still she blushed for him. It was... adorable. She was adorable.
And he officially sounded like a pussy.
He gave himself a mental shake, trying to think of all the reasons he shouldn't be here. He wasn't prepared for this. He had too many responsibilities. The Alpha. His family. The weight of their ghosts crushed him and he could not abandon them, even now. He had to be strong, and she would make him weak. Even as the thought crossed his mind that he needed to leave, had to leave, his hand lifted and he ran the back of his fingers across the line of her jaw. His gaze dropped to her lips, swollen and bruised and... bloody. Her lips were bloody.
Grasping her face in his hand, he tilted it up to him. She stared up at him in confusion. He couldn't taste her blood, couldn't smell it. It couldn't be hers so – fuck. The blood that had been on his face earlier... His blood. It was his blood staining her lips.
His hand tightened on her face and she made a small noise of protest as she watched him warily, but he barely heard her. His eyes focused on her lips as he leaned in closer, his shuddering breaths ghosting over her lips, followed by his tongue. He pulled her bottom lip into his mouth, sucked on it and barely resisted the urge to bite down. To mingle their blood. To mark her with his bite and his scent so that others would know that she was fucking his.
His mouth moved over hers roughly, tongue thrusting deep. Her hands lifted to his chest and made a hesitant move to push against him, but he grabbed her wrists and held them against the wall. All he could smell and taste and feel was how much he wanted her. Needed her. Would lose his fucking mind if he didn't have her. It was anathema to him that she might not feel the same.
She tore her mouth from his and turned her head to the side. His lips moved to the fragile column of her neck as she managed to rasp out a shaking, "Wait."
He growled against her skin, everything in him urged him to keep going. She was his. His. Why the fuck should he stop? But he could smell the acrid scent of her fear shooting through the desire and he groaned harshly, scraping his teeth across the sensitive skin behind her ear before lifting his head.
"What?" he couldn't help the harsh growl of his voice and she trembled against him. He felt the anger rising in him, rivaling the desire and he struggled to rein it in. To control it. She was so fucking breakable.
"Stop," she breathed, her voice small. He doubted he would have heard her if he'd been human.
"You want me," he ground out, anger flaring in his voice, his eyes. "I can smell it. Five minutes ago you were fucking begging me to make you come." He leaned in closer, caught her earlobe between his teeth and bit down gently before whispering, "And I did. And you fucking loved it."
She said nothing, her eyes fixed on his chest and he could feel his own eyes flickering in mingled anger and desire, his hands tightening around her wrists as he growled, "Is this a fucking game to you, Lydia?"
"No," the word flew from her mouth and she finally lifted her gaze to his. She shrank back at the anger in his, tears trembling on her lashes as she stared at him and said in a small voice, "I just... I just wanted to make sure you would stop if I asked you to. I just wanted to make sure," her voice broke and she lowered her gaze as a tear spilled down her cheek.
He couldn't swallow. Couldn't move. Couldn't fucking breathe.
His mouth felt like it was full of ashes, his chest aching. It felt as though she had reached inside him and ripped his fucking heart out and it hurt worse than when the Alpha had tried to tear his damned guts out.
He couldn't look at her. His gaze lifted to where his hands still held her wrists in a grip so tight his knuckles were white. He dropped them and stumbled backward, bile rising in his throat, choking him. He wanted to fall to his knees, to beg her forgiveness. He did neither.
Moving as fast as he could on shaking legs, he stumbled down the stairs, trying to block out the sounds from upstairs as she slid to the floor. Unable to move fast enough, her sobbing reached his ears as he ran from the house and out into the night.