Curse of Ferreus

29 - Nothing Like Them

I wake feeling satiated and warm and comfortable— a new, strange sensation. And one I'd quite like to bask in. My head is all light and airy with sleep, and for a while I simply lie there and savour the peace and the tapping of raindrops on the window. Time slides away without sticking.

Rumpled bed sheets cling to my form and there are arms wrapped loosely around my torso. Rowan. The sheets smell of musk and cinnamon and other pleasant things— a scent I recognise as his.

He's pressed up against me and, as the fog of sleep sharpens to clarity, I realise he's naked. And so am I. A blissful shudder slides down my spine as I recall last night and our tentative haven, as I feel him in his entirety melted against me. I needed him like oxygen, last night, as though I'd been drowning and he reached down and pulled me to the surface. It was a desire I'd never felt before; one that stole my breath and tugged those desperate noises from my throat and sent unease scattering.

But it's not long before reality surges forwards. I'm naked in a werewolf's bed and he's got me pinned. Desperately, I try and rationalise. Try and breathe through the discomfort lancing liquid fire through my veins. I've never woken with someone before. I've never done the things I did last night before. This is what is supposed to happen. I'm supposed to lie in his arms and like it.

I will not fall into a Haze. I won't. I'm the one in control. I'm not in danger.

I do not descend, mercifully, but discomfort lurks. It's all so new — this warmth and bliss — and I'm not entirely sure what to make of it. Last night, I didn't fall— but I don't want to push my luck until something snaps.

So I take a deep breath and recall what he told me days ago, out in that pitiful training circle before Lachlan pinned me.

Tap tap tap.

Without a word, without a reprimand or groan of complaint, Rowan stirs and releases me and shuffles back, giving me some space.

I turn to face him, not wanting this shade of peace to end just yet, and I find him blinking blearily and smiling at me. Not annoyed at my tapping out. Huh.

"Morning," he greets with a lazy stretch. His hair is all tousled with springy curls in a way that has some part of me longing to run my fingers through it. The sheets are gathered at his hips and I find my eyes wandering off on a little exploration of his lithe form, appreciative and eager. A wave of his scent floods my nose; a pleasant aroma that tugs at my straying thoughts.

"Why do my clothes smell like you?" I blurt out.

He frowns, peering at me through a sleepy chocolate gaze as he melts against the sheets. Clearly, whatever it is he thought I was going to say, that wasn't it. "Come again?"

"The whole room smells like you— it always has."

"Oh, uh... Well, this used to be my room," he admits, offering me a tentative little smile, though, as I watch, it takes on an almost sad quality. "Back when my parents were alpha and luna. And when they died, and their power passed to me, I had to take their room. Tradition, and all. I wanted to feel close to them, so I didn't mind. I had this room kept exactly as it was— even left some of my clothes in here, for old time's sake."

I frown a little, thinking of the way I'd been drawn to the comfort of this room and decided to call it my own, back when living with werewolves seemed like a horrible, foolish idea. "That's a weird tradition. You're sleeping in your parents' bed?"

He narrows his eyes at me, even as a smile tugs at his lips. "I redecorated, obviously. I didn't want to feel that close to them."

I snort tiredly, rolling onto my back and gazing up at the ceiling.