Book 1
Ranked #1 in badboys: May 2018
(Unedited)
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The Wulf family is infamous in the werewolf community. Their family was the first. The origins of their kind. They are more aggressive and beastly. Their wolves more ruthless and blood thirsty. Th...
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Stepping out of the shower, the steam coming off her, now red skin, made her sigh. She had never felt so clean and relaxed. For the first time in a very long time, she felt real, like she wasn't just a punching bag for others.
Opening the bathroom door, she stepped into the main room. An unfamiliar feminine smell lingered in the air as if she had just missed the person.
She pulled the fluffy white towel tighter around her as she moved about, following the scent to a small pile of clothes placed on the half-moon table near the door.
Grabbing a pair of jeans and one of the two t-shirts, she pulled them on, squirming slightly at the lack of underwear.
She slipped on a sweater before she wrapping the towel around her hair and rustled it in a quick damp dry.
Once the towel was returned to its rack, she moved about the place, looking into each door, each closet, even each cabinet, investing everything. She had never had so many places to store things, she didn't even know what to put in any of the places, she had never owned enough clothes to fill the closet even halfway, or the mahogany dresser set against the wall at the foot of the bed.
Everything was so bright and clean, the bed was covered in white fabrics, each so white she worried that she would dirty them as soon as she touched them.
The carpet covering nearly the whole of the place was cream and plush, as pristine as the day it was laid. The tan furniture in the sitting area was positioned to face what she noticed, upon a closer look, was a built-in fireplace that sat below a wall mounted television.
She was looking at the shelves built into the sides of the fireplace when a knock sounded on the door. Before she had a chance to make a sound or move, the door opened to reveal Fury, his hair stuck up in different directions as if he had been running his hand through it repeatedly.
"I brought you some food," he said simply, stepping into the room and placing a plate of steaming food onto the table.
"Thank you," she whispered, shyly as she moved away from the sitting area. He shrugged, watching as she moved closer.
He noticed that she had a way of walking that seemed almost soundless. Her body seemed cautious with each step as if she was waiting for it to hurt. Somehow she made it look natural, fluid, almost seductive. He knew though, that she had no idea about any of that, to her it was just the way she walked.
She sat down in the wood chair, gripping the fork in her hand as her stomach twisted. How long had it been since she ate? She couldn't remember.
