King of Beasts

Chapter 7

One more branch, she told herself breathlessly.  Just one more branch.  The twigs clawed at her skin, tore the pale, soft flesh.  Her ankle was threatening to give out after each time she hauled herself up and her cast was torn and filled with leaves and foliage.

God, she was tired.  A deep sort of tired.  She’d spent the past few hours limping her way into the shadows and darkness of the woods and then another hour drowning in her own panic.

What was happening to her?

She wrapped her good hand around the rough bark of a branch and pulled, her lungs aching, her muscles screaming.  She felt incredibly stupid.  Stupid for crashing her damn car that night, stupid for just sitting in that healers room and waiting for herself to heal enough to run.  Stupid.  Stupid, Charlotte.  She should have run the moment she had a chance.

Finally, only because she had no strength left in her tiny limbs, she rested herself on a thick branch with her back against the trunk of the sturdy oak.  She was cocooned with branches, mostly hidden by leaves, and she closed her eyes tight when she had a moment.

The night was cold and bit at her torn up skin, made her crane her neck up to find the moon through the last few leaves above her.  Stupid.  God, she was so stupid.  Stupid for staying, even more stupid for running.  How far had she gotten?  A few miles?  How had it taken her a few miles to realize she had no idea where she was in this forsaken forest?  She felt like she was going to pass out.

Stupid, Charlotte.  So, so stupid.  Why’d she have to just sit there, and stare at him, and get lost in those blue eyes for the thousandth time?  Why’d he have to—to look so human?  Why’d he have to look so human and look so beautiful?

Why’d he have to kiss her like that?

And why’d he have to go roam the streets of her tiny little town just hours afterwards, and make it feel like he’d somehow . . . betrayed her?

She stared up at the moon through leaves, feeling lost and exhausted.

.

.

Gabe couldn’t help it.  The king of the beast, the man to rule them all, had lost control.

At first he’d blamed her.  After all, she’s stared at him with her wide green eyes like she wanted him to touch her, like she was waiting for the touch of his lips on her.  He’d only meant to wake her up from her nap so she could eat and she’d just sat up in that tired way she did, rubbing her eyes, and then she’d looked up at him and then just sat there.  Staring.

Maybe it was because he’d come back from a run, and his shirt was thrown on the front porch drenched in sweat.  Maybe it was because she hadn’t seen his bare chest since the night Gabe had found her, but even then it was covered in her blood.

He shook his head, growling low at himself.

He’d lost control.

There seemed to be no reason not to take three long strides across the room and bend down so one hand was on the bed beside her hip and the other was brushing across her cheek, listening to the sound of her soft gasp, feeling the way his hand zapped with some sort of intense electricity.  She hadn’t given him any reason to stop himself from lowering his head and brushing his lips across her cheek, so soft, she’d been so soft.

She’d practically asked him to kiss her, hadn’t she?  The way her eyes fluttered closed so her eyelashes hit his cheeks, the way she sighed against him.  She’d basically asked him, right?

She’d tasted like peanut butter.  When the hell had she eaten peanut butter?  And her good hand had reached up and touched the side of his face, her fingers trembling as they ran down his jaw line and she felt so good, god, she felt like two hundred years worth the wait. 

He admitted, standing on the outskirts of her town where he used to perch each and every night, that he shouldn’t have done it.  Just the day before he’d listened to her for two hours as she cursed him out and his entire beastly town.

He might have lost control.

She’d just—he’d waited so long for her and he—his wolf—he couldn’t help it.  He couldn’t help it.

She’d slapped him, sure, and that was rough.  And she’d stood up even after she cried out from her leg and then limped to the opposite corner, pointing her finger at him and screaming at him to leave, get out, who the hell did he think he was? 

What else could he do but run?  His mate, that perfect human being, had been terrified of him, rejected him.  She didn’t want him, didn’t want him near her and he got . . . angry.  Angry because, damn it, he didn’t even know why.  He just felt somewhere deep inside that she’d hit him hard and he wanted nothing more than to lock her in a closet until she had no choice but to accept him.

Maybe he thought coming out here would put normalcy into his life.  Calm him down.  It had done the exact opposite.  He stood in the trees and listened as a wolf howled in victory.  Another mate.  Odd, considering just a few weeks ago he had another pack mate had found their own mates.  That was . . . close. 

He stood there for an hour before his wolf ripped through and then paced there, still trying to gain control back, before he lost it for the second time that day.

He didn’t care if Charlotte didn’t want to see him, if she was scared of him.  She’d kissed him back, damn it, and that stubborn girl was going to see him even if she didn’t want to.  She was his mate, and she needed to realize it, and she needed to accept it. 

No- no she didn’t, she was perfect, she could take all the time she needed.  He just—just a touch.  He just wanted to hold her hand while she slept on her right side because she never slapped him and ran from him then.  God, what was he doing?

What the hell was Charlotte doing to him?

He shifted mid step as he got to the healers home.  It was late, and the old healer was asleep.  He’d kept some clothes in her living room since Charlotte was staying here, and he threw a pair of shorts on before bounding up the stairs, slowing outside of her door so he wouldn’t wake her.

He’d talk to her in the morning.  He’d explain himself to her, explain everything as best as he could and then he wouldn’t lose control ever again.  He’d wait another two hundred years if he had to for her to realize that Gabe would be with her forever, would do anything she ever wanted, and maybe then she’d be the one to lose control and go to him.

But when he opened her door quietly he only saw an empty bed, the blankets thrown back, her crutches missing, and the stale scent of her on the sheets saying she hadn’t been here for hours. 

He blinked, slowly, staring at her blankets for longer than necessary as though she’d magically show up.

Then the next moment he was running faster than he ever has, entering the forest where he could smell her panic, her fear, and followed it like he would break apart if he didn’t.  That’s’ certainly how he felt, though.