The Spirit Walker (BOOK ONE): The Ripple

Chapter Thirty-Eight: Fish-Food

I fidget with my jewelry and smooth my hands down my ankle-length, tasseled suede skirt. I am warm- uncomfortably so- and cold all at once, as I await Calum at the base of the stairs.

I think of the photographers that I was informed would be present at the docks, and my stomach flips over at the thought of them capturing the expression on Calum's face when he looks at me. That tight, pinched, cold, angry one that reveals the depth of the new cracks in our bond.

I think I might be sick.

A cold sweat breaks out on my brow, and I sway a little where I stand. How are we going to make it through the introductions with Laird Drummond, much less the rest of the Tour? How will we be able to hide what has happened? How will we...

"Let's get this over with," Ness grumbles, and the nausea worsens even as my belly flips with desire when I sense Calum's presence. I throb, painfully, and let out a hiss through my teeth at the intensity of the sensation.

I peek at Calum out of the corner of my eye, and see that his jaw is clenched tight, his brow furrowed, his gaze pointedly averted from me.

My heart sinks.

"Smells like we can still use the pheromones, after all. They don't even need to touch anymore," Ness grumbles under her breath, her nose scrunched up in disgust.

Mortified, I shrink into myself, and stare down at my hands, absently spinning the ring on my middle finger.

"They're going to have to, though, for the photographs," Arran mumbles, his voice filled with concern.

I peek up at Calum through my lashes and see that he is gritting his teeth, as though the thought of being anywhere near me disturbs him. I swallow hard, my throat tight.

The nausea gets worse.

"Come," Calum orders, the first word he's said to me since I fell apart under the play of his tongue, and that one, small syllable is enough to make my nipples tighten painfully.

Saliva gathers at the back of my throat, and my forehead beads with cold sweat as I follow him to the closed door and reluctantly take the arm he offers.

The instant we touch, the world falls away.

I am back in my bedroom, my legs splayed wide, ankles locked behind his head, my back arching off the bed as my heels dig into his back. I pant, my knees trembling, and I can feel his fingers inside me, as though they never left. As though we were never interrupted.

Calum growls low in his throat, and the muscles in his arm go rigid under my hand. His breathing is harsh, ragged, his nostrils flared, his eyes black with desire.

He looks like he's on the verge of losing control.

For a moment, I imagine what it would be like if he did.

If he shoved me up against the wall, hiked my dress up over my hips, and found me slick and aching with want for him. If he lost all sense of decency and reason and became the beast I glimpsed the other night. If he bent me in half and buried himself inside me and pounded into me against the wall, regardless of who was watching, seeking his release.

At first, the arousal I feel at the thought is so intense it is physically painful. The tug in my lower belly manifests as a swollen sort of throbbing in time with my heartbeat, a rush of desire flooding from between my legs. But then...

I can't count the number of times I was taken like that, before. By someone more beast than man.

Master.

And Calum is so much bigger than him, so much stronger.

I flinch away from him.

I don't realize I'm shaking until Ness steps beside us and lays a gentle, reassuring hand against my shoulder. Calum's entire body is turned from me; the space between us might as well be a river of rapid waters.