Hope(less) (Judgement of the Six #1)

He cleaned up the tools and disappeared downstairs. I wondered if he would come back in his fur and eyed the plate I’d set on the table for him. We had eaten together before but always with him in his fur. Before I could stop it, an image of him trying to use a fork for the first time popped into my head. Quickly squashing it, I sat down to wait for him in whatever form he chose. I would not underestimate him again. Nor would I thoughtlessly remark on his table manners no matter how poor they might be.

The soft tread on the stairs warned me that he remained a man. He sat across from me and dug in. He didn’t eat like Clay-the-dog, or use his hands, but had perfectly normal table manners. He even used his paper napkin, though his beard did shred it in his efforts to keep himself neat.

“What are the chances of trimming that beard?”

He calmly used his napkin while he finished chewing and then flashed me a full view of his teeth. His canines remained completely elongated as if he still wore his fur. I froze briefly, fork suspended midair, and then gave myself a mental shake. The view scared me, but I reminded myself of Sam’s words. I had nothing to fear.

“Do they stay like that all the time?” I wondered.

He didn’t answer but continued to eat, clearing his plate. Curious, I continued to watch him hoping he’d give me some type of answer. When he finished, he moved to the sink to wash. I didn’t want to give up. Not bothering to finish my own breakfast, I followed him, leaning against the counter so I could study the little bit of his face I could see.

“Is this something you don’t want to talk about?” Typically, when he walked away, it meant the end of the conversation. But he’d made me really curious.

He shrugged. Okay. Not a closed topic.

“Is it something I need to guess or can you explain it to me?” I felt like I played the twenty questions game.

He turned to study me for a moment, and then went back to washing his plate and fork. Taking the hint, I cleaned up my place while he moved to clean off the stove. Drying my plate, I tried to figure out what to ask next. Yes, no, questions only. It would help if I knew if they stayed like that all the time, but he hadn’t answered that question. Perhaps asking about them embarrassed him. When he returned to the sink, I briefly thought of letting the subject drop, but his body language made me reconsider.

Arms crossed, leaning against the kitchen sink close to me, he studied me. Not just looking at me, but studying all of me as if he weighed a decision. I couldn’t help but look back. Standing just a few inches apart, the close proximity brought the corded muscles under his snug t-shirt to my attention. Downright drool worthy. Giving no indication of my thoughts, I considered reaching out to touch him. Just to see how he felt without fur. But his possible reaction stopped me. I meant what I’d said to Rachel. Clay didn’t act like other guys… yet. I didn’t want to push my luck.

With a sigh, he uncrossed his arms and leaned forward. His movement shot a wave of panic straight through me and I froze. Had he caught me eyeing him up? Did he think that meant I wanted him to try to kiss me? I didn’t know what to do.

The moment he smelled my fear he pulled back, shaking his head slowly.

I could read his disappointment from his body language. He didn’t completely move away, just back enough that I no longer freaked out. I caught the glint of his eyes behind his long hair. Calm. Patient. So not about a kiss. Then what?

“You’re trying to explain the teeth, right?” I sounded pathetic, like a child needing reassurance. I tried not to fidget on top of that.

He gave me the reassurance I needed anyway in one of his rare nods.

Okay. No kissing. Just him moving closer. He slept at the foot of my bed. No big deal. But he had fur on when he did that. Now he looked… I eyed him again. My stomach did a funny flip. Maybe my fear wasn’t about his reaction, but mine. Control. I took a deep breath.

“It’s okay then. Go ahead, explain.” I waved him back over and he moved closer. “I’ll behave,” I promised quietly. I saw his mustache twitch with a quick smile. The canines explained some of the facial hair, but the full-bearded crazy man look seemed overkill.

Slowly ducking his head, he moved in again. I pushed the fear back and held still. Keeping his hands loose at his sides, he continued his slow approach until his whiskers tickled the side of my neck and collarbone. There he paused and inhaled deeply. His warm exhale sent goose bumps skittering over my arms.

As soon as he inhaled, I knew what he did and though I didn’t move, fear blossomed. Heart pounding, eyes wide, I waited for him to finish scenting me as a werewolf would a potential mate, not a distant inhale, but an up-close sample of my scent, infinitely more potent. Bracing myself, anticipating some type of slip in his highly praised control, he merely leisurely inhaled once more and then slowly lifted his head, exhaling as he went.

With his face still inches from mine, he displayed his teeth again. The canines had grown even more pronounced, the surrounding gums swollen from their thickness.