Scarlett Romero has spent her entire life as an ordinary citizen; going to school, getting a job and definitely not killing people in the middle of the woods on a Friday night.
Until one Friday night, she does.
All she can remember is acting out of...
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Chapter Thirty "It Wasn't This Difficult When I Rehearsed It"
Scarlett's POV:
It's the heat that wakes me up. Achilles holds me tight to him, pressed against my back, thrown over my legs, wrapped around my stomach and cradling my head. His fur is soft and tickles my skin, his heavy breaths hitting the back of my neck.
I groan, my foot numb under his paw. I shake it a little, trying not to wake Achilles. My efforts are for nothing, and before I've even twitched a toe, Achilles is hovering above me, face pulled into a silent growl and muscles tense, ready to pounce.
I blink up at him, smiling wryly. He doesn't move, eyes glowing the brightest I've ever seen them, a mixture of Alexander's green and Achilles' blue. The lycanthrope keeps silent, staring me down as I start wriggling away from him.
He snarls as I try to push him back, and he presses his body closer to mine, so I'm pinned to the bed and trapped under his weight. I sigh lowly, falling limp and turning my head to the window, away from his harsh glare.
The moon is high in the sky, the only light in a night of sheeted rain. I don't know how long I've been unconscious for; if Meredith's death was an hour ago a week ago.
"You have to let me up at some point," I whisper hoarsely, throat like sandpaper. I know he's- they're both mad at me for leaving the house by myself, but there's nothing I can do about it now.
"Don't. Never," Achilles growls, words like the crack of lightning.
"I need to clean my injuries, Achilles. Otherwise, I won't heal properly, and you wouldn't want that, would you?" I coo as innocently as I can with a voice like a chainsaw. Achilles gives me a look, like I'm the most predictable creature on the planet, and I drop the act.
"Already clean."
I stiffen, closing my eyes for a brief moment. It would be hard to get me clean with rain-soaked clothes on. It would be equally as hard to keep me warm. Yet, I woke up hot as hell and cleaned of any infection.
"Achilles," I say with eery calmness. "Where are my clothes?"
Laying under a giant wolf with only undergarments on doesn't entirely bother me. He's an animal, I'm human, and all Achilles is worried about is keeping me alive; and if that means taking off my outer clothes, he'll do it.
What does bother me is the fact he's not just wolf, but wolf-man. The man under there is also concerned about keeping me alive, but he's attracted to me too. At least, I assume that's what him making out with me means.
"Clothes on desk chair," Achilles frowns. "Alexander said shouldn't do it. But you hurt and we couldn't fix with clothes covering. He wants me to tell you he didn't look."
