Midnight Wolves

Chapter Eighteen: Villain

The day was spent in various states of silence. Callie was exhausted from watching over him and so spent most of the day sleeping. She woke at some point during the afternoon to find midnight nestled in the bed behind her, an arm casually strewn across her waist.

She carefully stood up, his arm thumping against the mattress as she stretched. He didn't move and she left him where he lay, moving into the kitchen in search of food. She grimaced at the contents in the cupboard, and eventually headed outside in search of something more palatable.

Abandoning her clothes, she transformed into her wolf form and headed into the dense undergrowth. She took a moment to explore, drinking in the scents and sounds. A soft breeze brushed through her fur making her wolf shudder. She liked it here. It was calm. Peaceful. Secluded.

It reminded her of living wild again, but without the fear of what lingered in the shadows, because here she was safe. She knew in her heart that midnight would make sure of that. He'd said it himself, no one gets in without him knowing. So she was safe. Safe with the half-rabid demon wolf who roamed the valley. Her wolf huffed out a laugh.

Something small flickered in the undergrowth and Callie followed it, spying the rabbit casually making its way through the field. She stalked it carefully, every footstep light. The rabbit stopped, nose flicking as it chewed a piece of grass.

Callie moved, swift and efficient.

With the rabbit hanging from her maw, she trotted back towards the shack, pausing as she felt his gaze. How she hadn't sensed him before, she had no idea. His gaze was a physical weight against her. It grounded her, gave her something solid to cling to.

He was leant against the side of the shack, ankles crossed, arms folded across his chest. A small smile played on his lips as she neared him, dropping the rabbit at his feet.

"When I woke up, you were gone." His voice ghosted over her. Her wolf cocked her head in response. "I didn't like it," he admitted, leaning down to run a warm, calloused hand over her flank. Her wolf leaned into his touch, her face nuzzling his leg as she swept past him, her tail catching and twisting around his leg.

He gave her a moment before following her into the shack. By the time he made it inside, she'd dragged her clothes on, a small smile playing on her lips the entire time. When she came back out to help him prep the rabbit, his eyes slid towards her and her blood heated in response.

Warmth pooled in her belly, rising through her until every breath was shallow, tainted with a feeling she didn't want to acknowledge. But she felt giddy, light, renewed.

They worked side by side in silence. She chopped vegetables he'd pulled from a small patch to the side of the shack while he prepped the rabbit, a pan already heating on the stove. She smiled quietly to herself, marvelling at the domesticity of their actions. Two of the most powerful wolves in the vicinity, calmly, quietly cooking dinner together. She felt his eyes flicker from her to the task at hand. Every time he spared her a glance, her blood heated and images of what they'd done – and nearly done – on the sofa earlier flickered through her head, bringing a rising heat to her cheeks.

-

Could he tell her that he was going to keep her? No. He supposed he shouldn't. Not yet.

His wolf whined in response, as unhappy with the delay as he was.

But he shouldn't, right? It seemed too soon. They barely knew each other.

But didn't they? Know each other?

He had confessed his worse sin to her, and she hadn't even blinked. Hadn't bolted for safety. Although, when he'd woken alone, her scent fading in the bedroom, he'd wondered if maybe...maybe she'd made a run for it. Maybe she'd been lulling him into a false sense of security. Making him think she wasn't afraid of the mate-killer, half-rabid beast.

So he'd hunted her. His wolf raging against him. Of course, by the time she'd spotted him, he'd regained his control, even managed to transform back into his human self and throw on some clothes. She hadn't seen him, or sensed him, when he'd first found her. His stealth was his strength. No one sensed him unless he wanted them to.

And this she-wolf. His she-wolf, as he had begun to refer to her in his head, he wanted her to sense him. To see him. To want him anyway. And she had. The way she'd responded to his touch...her breathy moans still haunted him, driving him from the task at hand, tightening his chest. He yearned for her. Wanted for nothing but her.

But he couldn't tell her.

Not yet.

But one day he would, and there would be no going back.

If he was a better man, he might have let her go. But he'd never pretended to be a saint, and she already knew he was a villain.