Often Hushed

Chapter Eleven (Part 3)

Thank you to @jellie__! Without you I'm not sure if I would have been confident enough to update again.

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At first I snort. But then I study the familiar stranger with new eyes. There have been differences, I'm not crazy. My arms cross almost inherently, almost like I'm trying to cram the rising hysteria through my skin and back into my chest.

I lean forward carefully, plaid fabric bunched in my fists which are cupping my elbows, and take a whiff. Sure, he smells like sour wine and shadows and stars, just as the first "him" did. But there's something deeper, there's something else, something besides the clothes and the crooked smile and the slightly lilted words.

Then there it is. The elusive difference, the tiny string of a language that only my Wolf-enhanced glands can understand. This Moondrunk smells like blood. Or, more specifically, his hands smell like my blood.

My lips draw back over my teeth but the crazy bastard does something I don't expect- he holds out his left hand for me to inspect, palm up. Moondrunk's lean fingers almost seem to shimmer, like he'd absorbed some of the moon's rays and they are now slowly escaping.

I take his hand and cock an eyebrow, turning it over and studying his fingers. The Wolf's palm is really large in comparison to mine. It's probably the length of my palm plus the length between the first two knuckles of my middle finger and is patterned with lacy white scars that swirl into the meat of his skin like milk being poured into coffee. His fingers are long and lean but also seem well-used... the male version of my mother's artist hands. Each finger is tipped with wide nails that catch my interest. Mud and something that smells like bad wine or maybe vinegar has been ground into the beds of his nails, the tips of which are crammed with dirt and blood. I bring his arm closer to my nose, pulling along the man who only looks a little impatient. The blood stuck in his fingers is mine and mine alone.

"How?" I begin to ask, trying to give him back reign of his arm by letting go of my surely too-tight grip.

Moondrunk shakes his head simply and puts his hand in front of my face again, palm up.

I force exasperation into my voice, brows furrowing, trying to understand.

"What do you want me to do?" I say.

He lets out a peal of laughter that's so loud and so sudden that I flinch away.

"Bite me," he says.

"What!?" I demand, shoving his hand away again. Moondrunk's eyes turn dangerous and dark and wild. Rogue-like. Uncontrollable.

"Bite me!" he insists and I can see the battle in his eyes for control over some force that's making him shake. "I can only show you if you bite me."

"I'm not a fucking vampire!" I yell at him, feeling the pricks of angry tears in my eyes. Why is this making me volatile? What's making him volatile?

Moondrunk's eyes finally loose all of their past playfulness.

"I told you to..." he starts to roar, pacing towards me. His bare feet kick up dust.

I hold my ground until he's close, he's so close.

"Bite me."

And with that, as my mouth opens to respond indignantly, the fingers of the same hand that he had offered me so politely a few minutes ago are shoved between my teeth, forcing back my tongue and making me gag.

I scream with rage, choking and tasting the dirt and my blood and the salt of his sweat shoving into my throat. The yell comes out as more of a gurgle, and my gaze meets Moondrunk's. He's still wild.