Drawing Blood

Chapter Twenty-one

I don't remember entering the shop, but I do know the fresh air and slight rain as I crossed the road to walk towards it, had been a welcome relief.

Adam had been wrong about me hating him, but he had been right about me being afraid. Something had shifted when he had picked up that photograph. Something I couldn't explain. It was like a door had opened inside him, a door leading directly to his soul, a place he had sealed off a long time ago. For a split second I was able to peer into the room where he kept it, before he switched off the lights again, leaving me in darkness. It had been a strange thing to witness, and I had struggled to make sense of it, given his previous behaviour. One day he could dominate, throwing his weight around without even considering my feelings, casting me into turmoil; the next, he was vulnerable, showing me a softer side that had me longing to be closer to him, coaxing me from my shell, into safer waters.

His last instructions for me were not to stray further than necessary, and I didn't disobey. I wanted things to be calm and relaxed between us. Easy. There was a lot to do, and I needed us to be on the right page, instead of reading from the same book, starting on different paragraphs. I could do without worrying about his emotional state. It had occurred to me that his emotions could be like the tide, coinciding with the full moon. I'd worked out he was eight days away from his next cycle, and like the sea, his moods seemed to flow during the first half, becoming warm and inviting. They would ebb after that, and he would withdraw, growing stormy and dark, as he grew closer to his transformations.

Having gotten what was needed, and having spoken to Will on the phone, I let myself back in, preparing myself for what lay ahead. If I started after lunch, I could get a lot done by night fall. Will had been specific in what he wanted me to bring back, and was heading out when I had called him, to double check in case I'd forgotten anything. Apart from the polite niceties, his tone had been curt, and expected. He managed to tell me he was going out with Henry for the weekend, before bringing an abrupt end to the conversation, poking at my frustration the only way he knew how. It was just like him to leave me feeling exhausted without even lifting a finger. A part of me wondered if it would be easier for me to just let him distance himself, be childish, make things straightforward for when I had to leave; rather than waste my time, forcing me to be the only adult in our already fractured relationship.

I was still cursing him, and had thrown my keys down onto the dining table, when I ran into Adam coming down the stairs. I drew to a complete halt when I saw him. Drying his hair with a towel, his movements were slow and unhurried, and it was obvious he had just emerged from the shower. He'd thrown on a pair of jeans, but that was all he was wearing. As he reached the bottom step, I noted he'd stuffed a t-shirt into his back pocket, presumably meaning to throw it on before I came back. He paused when he caught the look of horror on my face. Realising I was gaping at his stomach, at the deep, ugly scars that were serrated into his flesh, he faltered. "I wasn't expecting you back so soon," he murmured. Then, "Did you manage to get everything you needed?" Our eyes clashed and he made towards me deliberately, taking the bags from my hands before I could drop them, I presumed. He clocked the tiny beads of moisture clinging to my hair, and when I said nothing to him - could say nothing to him - he spoke again. "Raining again, I take it?"

He didn't wait for my response. He turned on his heels, disappearing down the corridor, into the kitchen; his bare feet hardly making a sound as they padded over the polished floor. It was a few minutes before I could do the same. I shook my coat off, slipping my own feet out of my trainers, before joining him. I gasped when I saw he the same type of scars running across his back.

"It looks worse than it is," he said, hearing me.

"Is that what Dan did to you?"

Laying the towel over the radiator, he pulled on his t-shirt, taking the upsetting sight away from me. He reached across my path, careful not to brush against me, and took up the kettle, filling it with water. "No," he said. "I healed from that fairly quickly. All werewolves have the ability to heal quickly."