Vivian Cole is close to starting her junior year of college. She's out for one last run in her home state of Louisiana when everything changes for her.
Saul Moses is the Alpha of a dying pack in Alaska. When on business in the South, he encounters...
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I quietly unload my clothing bags when we get back to Saul's house while Heidi helps Frankie with the groceries. "There's a washing machine," Heidi calls out to me, "on the back porch. You'll have to hang them to dry, though."
"What is this, the 1700s?" I grumble to myself as I mount the steps to the house, making my way past the kitchen and dining room to the back section. Sure enough, there's a dinosaur-age washing machine that I'm sure will explode if I even touch it.
No dryer, though. Why have one and not the other? Whatever. Instead of sorting anything, I just dump all my thrift store items into it, toss in some of the powdered detergent, then press a bunch of buttons until it turns on.
"You turned it on hot. Do you want your clothes to shrink?" Unbeknownst to me, Christian had been lurking by the door, observing my struggle.
"Well there aren't any settings on here. Just the knobs."
"Yeah the words rubbed off a long time ago. You just have to know them."
He comes over, turns off the cycle I have on, and adjusts it to cold. "There you go."
I don't thank him, just move around him into the house. I know I determined that being nice was the path of least resistance, but that doesn't mean I'm going to go down that path. No, I'm going to make this way harder than it needs to be. And it's going to be fun.
"You're welcome!" He calls after me as I mount the stairs. I mimic his voice in a dopey tone as I move unnecessarily loudly up the rickety steps. I don't think Saul is sleeping, but if he is, I want to wake him up. He doesn't deserve peace.
I burst into the room, uncaring of his space or concentration. He doesn't even look up from the book he's repairing atop his desk. I notice it's one of the ones I chunked at his head yesterday, the cover old and tattered. It was probably already on its last leg, and my throwing it didn't help. I don't feel guilty though. I just shrug, plod over to the bed, and vault myself back onto it carelessly until my head hangs off one side.
He still hasn't said a word or paid any attention to me, which I'm not sure is a good thing. The point is to bother him, but he doesn't seem very bothered. I finally raise my head up, neck straining, as I stare at the back of him.
Bulky muscle peeks through the contours of his shirt and I pout out my bottom lip—nice—before remembering what I was doing in the first place. "So, if I'm momentarily staying here, I'm going to need a room." Last night, I slept on the floor, not wanting Saul's grubby and horny hands on me. He didn't do anything to indicate he was horny, but I just know that's what's going on in his pervy, kidnapper mind.
"This is your room—permanently."
"Oh, so you're moving out?"
He tosses me an agitated look over his shoulder before going back to what he was doing. "I'll take that as a 'yes,'" I glance around. "Y'know, even though I'll only be here for a little while, I still might redecorate. Everything in here is so old and gross. Especially these sheets." I wrinkle my nose at the perfectly fine flannel sheets on the bed. There's nothing actually wrong with them, I just want to create frustration. "Besides, do you think I'd want to sleep on a bed where you've fucked Heidi? No thank you—"
