That’s better. Now I can see to work. A flat sheet covers Killian’s lap, and that’s okay, too, for now. I press my fingers to his bare chest. It’s firm. I squeeze his biceps. They’re hard, too. Good. Very good.
I lick the smooth muscle. He lets out a throaty moan. He tastes perfect. He’ll do.
Now for the nest. I kind of tumble out of bed, trailing sheets, and I glare at it. It’s all wrong. And he’ll need to get up.
“Go stand there.” I snap and point to the corner by the door. He can stand guard. That’s where he belongs for now.
Killian frowns, and he doesn’t go. Goodness gracious. It’s not hard. “Go over there so I can fix the bed.”
“It needs fixing?”
Obviously. I grunt. I don’t have time for this, and frankly, the bed needs more than fixing. I’d burn it and start fresh if I could, but that would take too long.
“Are you okay, shy girl?” he asks cautiously.
I will be once the bed isn’t all jacked up. I grab the fitted sheet and tug it free. Finally, he gets a clue and hops up, stalking over to hover by the hamper. Not where I told him to go. My wolf and I growl under our breath. At least he’s out of the way.
I strip the sheets down to the mattress pad. It smells new. It can stay.
The position of the bed is okay. I push the frame a few feet either way to make sure, but it’s fine. Unless it’d be better a little to the right. No. It’s good. Centered.
Killian inches forward and moves the mattress in the direction I’m pushing. And now it’s too far to the left.
What is he doing? I don’t need help. This is my job. My wolf snaps her teeth at him. He raises his hands and backs away.
“All right. I’ll stay over here.”
He watches intently as I remake the bed, occasionally stroking his hard cock. That’s okay. As long as he stays out from under foot. He’d only mess it up.
I get everything put together, but it’s not right, so I take it apart again. At some point, Killian goes to his closet and comes back with a stack of blankets. Some are good, but some reek, and they have to go. I throw them out into the hallway, but even with the door shut, they bother me, so I take them out back and shove them into a metal trashcan.
Killian tails me, which is fine, because his scent masks the blanket stink. And the trashcan stink. And I don’t like the smells coming from the nearby cabins, either. Too plastic, chemical, processed.
I need nose plugs like swimmers have on TV.
And food.
I’m ravenous.
I head back inside, stopping in the kitchen.
“I’m hungry.”
“Okay.” Killian already has the refrigerator door open. “What do you want?”
“Meat.”
“I don’t have any defrosted.”
Frozen meat? That’s wrong, too. I huff and head back to the bedroom. I’ll finish my nest and then go hunting. There’s just enough time if I hurry. The hour’s growing late. But that doesn’t make sense.
None of this does.
But that doesn’t matter. The nest is the only important thing, and I’m almost done. I pile a down comforter in the middle and cover it with the best smelling sheets and the contents of the hamper. There’s not much. A few pairs of jeans and Tshirts, but it’ll have to do.
I stalk around the bed, examine what I’ve made from all angles.
“I need more.” I catch Killian out of the corner of my eye. He’s leaning against the wall, still watching. He’s wearing drawstring pants now. When did he put them on?
“I need those.” I snap and point.
“My pants?”
I snap again. He needs to listen.
“Una, I’m not sure you know what you’re doing,” he says in a very rational tone which makes me want to rip off his face.
I bare my teeth. Arrogant male. I know what I’m doing.
And it’s so damn hot in here. “Put them on the pile.”
I let my wolf growl at him a few times so he knows we’re serious while I throw open a window. The moon is full and high. I draw the night breeze deep into my lungs. It’s cool and sweet.
My body is a live wire.
The ache in my bad leg is so faint it hardly registers. There are so many more things to feel.
Like my breasts. They’re full and tender. And this bra has got to go. I peel off my top, fling it into a corner, and send my bra sailing after.
Out of nowhere, Killian plunges between me and the window, snatching the curtains closed.
“No.” I slap his hand and go for the fabric.
“You’re not giving a show to whoever walks past,” he growls.
“I want to see the moon.”
He’s tense, and he grabs my wrists so I can’t pull the curtains back open, but his voice is conciliatory when he says, “I know, shy girl. Next time, I’ll take you out to the old dens, okay?”
Yes. That’s where I’m supposed to be. Deep in the woods behind the old quarry. Surrounded by bark and brush and moss. Stone and soil. Running water and the hum of winged insects and croak of bullfrogs in the rushes.
That’s the right place.
“Take me there now.” I turn, and he’s right there. So close. So sweet smelling. I brush my nose across his pecs, listening to his heart pound. Ka-thunk. I remember the sound, but it’s fainter in my memory. He was smaller then.
“I can’t,” he says. “It’s not safe without scouting first. I’d need other males to guard us.”
“Okay. Go get males.”
He chuckles, gently prying my fingers off of the curtain. “I wouldn’t be able to tolerate other males around you like this.”
“Like how?”
“You’re in heat.”
“No, I’m not. Heat hurts.”
His eyes crinkle in sadness. “No, baby. It doesn’t.”
But I’m nodding. “Yes, it does. It’s the most awful pain you’ll ever feel.” My eyes brim with tears.
I tug my hand from his and wander back to my nest. I don’t want to think about it. The memory of the blackberry patch pierces the muzzy languor in my brain, and I don’t want to go back to reality. I want this. Even if it’s foolish. Even if I shouldn’t.
I expect Killian to follow like he has been, but he stays at the window, although his eyes track me.
“I’m so fucking sorry,” he says.
No. I don’t want to go down that path. It’s ugly, and I’ll remember, and I’ll hurt. That’s not what I want. I unbutton my skirt, letting it drop to the floor, twisting my waist. That feels better.
I peel off my panties, too, and stretch my arms way over my head, arching my back. Now I can breathe.
Killian’s wolf rumbles. I smile. I like him. He has never betrayed me.
The air in the room is thickening, and it’s a heady scent, like incense. Toffee and sweets fresh from the oven. My tummy growls.
“I need to feed you,” Killian murmurs, his gaze riveted on my body, raking down the slopes of my breasts, feasting on the slight swell of my belly, the curve of my hips. He scans my legs, and the scars are nothing to him—instantly dismissed—as his eyes travel past my knees all the way to my bare toes.
His cock is hard, and his wolf is loud in his chest.
He wants me. Which is right. As it should be.