18 - Loathing Lull

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When I wake surrounded by warmth, I forget about home. I forget the ache in my legs, the blood gushing down my arm that dried. Tears have glued my eyes together and my throat feels too rough. I feel the slight balancing in his arms. We're still in the forest but the sun has long gone down.

I don't need much light to see him. Skin replaced by a dark armor, still hot to the touch. Cradled in his chest, as he marches to his home. Back there. Despite the wolf nose and ears sprawled back, I recognize him. His dark eyes focused, breathing even. He's terrifying.

A mix of a wolf and a man, taller than he was, shoulders wide enough to encompass my form in his arms. It doesn't feel like fur, his skin. It's smooth and regular. My head is laying against his chest. I forget the cold. I wrack my hands together. If he was going to kill me, he would have done it by now.

His wolf face turns to me and his feet stop. His lips can't hide the fangs that slip past. I can't read his face like this. My eyes widen, but I've cried enough, my eyes still sting. I forget to breathe, frozen in his warmth. He doesn't say anything, stares at me, at my hands and neck. Did he bite me?

I manage to detach my hands to raise one to my neck. He watches the movement, nose scrunching. There's nothing. No blood, no scratch, not an indent of his teeth. I release a sigh. Thank god. He growls quietly, I feel the rumble more than I hear it.

« Angry. » he grumbles but it sounds weird behind his teeth.

I must be too tired for my body to react because all I can manage is a quiet laugh. Dry and raw with my hurting throat. I could have guessed that. He shakes his head at my answer. Have I turned mad? I don't have the energy in me to fight him. The fear has left me numb. He marches on.

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The next time, I'm stirred awake by a growl. It's still night time and I see the trees pass us. I'm still warm and feel a sneeze building up. His arms circle me closer, my head lays in the crook of his neck. The dark skin has been replaced with his usual tan one. My bare arms and cheek touch his warm skin, his shirt probably forgotten along the way.

I feel feverish but can't move away, rid of energy. My unfocused gaze still catches forms moving alongside us, behind branches. Escort or ambush? I squeeze my eyes shut to alleviate my aching head. I manage to rise a hand to move my head over his shoulder, violently sneeze a few times. He doesn't stop moving, uses a hand to push me down onto his chest.

I see the figures behind the trees, behind the snow and the fog that clogs my mind. Other wolves, by their imposing stature. But their shoulders are drawn in, their mouth shut and no growl to echo Milo's. It's fear in their eyes, carefulness in their steps, in the distance they keep with us. Milo's eyes move back to me, but I'm focused on his scowl and when I return his stare, all I see is sadness.

The shadows leave us after a while. We must have crossed the border. Milo has stopped making sound and I can't help but stare at his tears. Anger builds up in me despite the fear. My emotions are always all over when it comes to him. I feel the need to wipe his sadness away, but can't help but to hate him and all he is. I feel like screaming despite the ache in my throat.

« Why are you sad? » My voice is low and broken, barely a whisper above the wind. His eyes snap to me first. His steps are slower but he keeps on walking, nose flaring.

I hear him breathe in, sharp intake of air and his lungs fill up by my shoulder. His stare leaves me for the trees and for the night sky. I look up as well, the grey cloud fill the space, I can't see the moon, nor the stars. Both our breaths rise up, I don't understand why mine is more visible when it's his body that melts the snow. A coughing fit burns my lungs and I curl onto him.

My eyes close despite me when lean into him further, press a palm to my frozen lips and the other to his warm chest. My fingers clutch his collarbone and I manage to breathe again. I groan at the fever, frown at the lulling heat and pain. I hum when a scolding palm cradles my cheeks, feel his lips on the crown of my forehead.

« Because I want you happy. » His voice is even lower than mine was, strangled voice barely grazing my frozen hair. I feel another hum leave my lips, but I don't register the words, fall back asleep instead.

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The sound of water awakens me. It's too hot and I feel sweaty. My headache has lowered to a dull scratch but the fever still numbs my body. I feel him before I see him, my back against his bare chest, the skin of my thighs against his, the small hair of my stomach rising with his palm. I don't have the energy to raise my body out of the bath tub, only manage to cling to the arm around me.

We're not naked, only down to our underwear but sitting in his lap has me choking on a shallow breath. His palm ignores my hands and puts my body onto him further. His other locks onto my jaw and forces me to part my lips, to take unwanted breaths. Despite the low fever still running, I can feel his teeth coming on the soft skin of my neck.

« What are you? » my voice is raspy and strained, it's hard to talk with his fingers prying my mouth open. I remember the look the other gave him, the way the alpha to be seemed just a bit cautious around him. All the wolves I've ever seen, in pictures and reports, looked like regular wolves except bigger. I've never seen one stand on two feet.

« Different kind » his voice in the crook of my neck brings butterflies to my stomach. His tone curls my toes and I fight the curling of my body, clench my muscles to ease the effect of his voice and hands on me. Has he decided to stop using the phone? Have I lost that privilege ?

I never knew there were different species of werewolves. That was never taught, was it kept secret by us or by them? He takes a finger I hadn't noticed was strained in his lips and my head rolls back against him. I hate this, hate how powerless I turn when his skin grazes mine. I feel my throat vibrate, feel his shake under my neck.

« Bad one » my eyes snap open but the heat has me senseless. I only manage to gaze at his hand on my stomach, at his hand that comes up to grab my throat and throw my head back by the jaw.

What can be worst than a wolf? I remember his wide shoulders and dark skin that feels more like an armor. Dogs don't feel so scary now. Unlucky, how unlucky am I? To get mated with a wolf and with one that even calls himself bad. Worst than them.

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« What kind? » my voice is muffled by the silk sheets. I passed out again. The fever has left for fatigue. Fear for hate. He must have move to the dead because I'm fully dry.

I lay on top of him, just like the first morning, unable to move. The cuts on my skin have healed like they were never there, that's why he wouldn't tell me how he healed my head then. Why he was embarrassed. A hand on my hip and another around my back but I don't have the energy to rise.

« Night wolf » his chest vibrates under my ear, face laying on his skin. I don't know what that means. Even if he chooses to speak now, his words are still cryptic. I blame it on him instead of the langage barrier.

I turn my head to look at his face and find his eyes already on me. Purple rings around his eyes and reddened skin. I'm tired. Bitter that I can't control my life. Sad that I'm always crying, sad that he is too. Angry that I feel too much empathy for him despite everything.

It leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. That if we had met around the city, I would have looked at him. I would have pinched his red cheeks. Stared at his broad back. Smoothed the line his brows furrow when he reads. Swiped the sirup he somehow always gets on his nose during breakfast.

Instead I hate him. Because he's the reason I'm stuck here, far from town, far from family. Feeling homesick and powerless. It has been too long since I've felt this weak. Because being with him feels like a step back. Like fate doesn't care about what I've been through.

"What difference does it make?" My voice is clearer but he jumps at the quiet words. Probably thought I had fallen asleep. The sadness leaves his face for fear again. I don't understand why. He has me stuck with him anyway, I hate him already anyway.

He really can't control his face, because he looks frightened. Always wears his heart on his skin. His handsome face turn boyish again, like a young boy that woke from a nightmare. Like a boy that has seen too much, that felt too much. I remember the others wolves, never coming to see him, always keeping their distance. How only the alpha to be seemed confident enough to fuck with him, to anger him.

A warm palm comes to hid my view, nuzzles my face onto the skin of his chest. His fingertips are rough against my eyelids, he hides again. I wonder if it's the drowsiness, the exhaustion or the stress that has him telling his secret. Or that he thinks I'm too tired to remember in the morning. Too angry to care. We spend a few minutes like this, his warmth might just lull me to sleep. His palm leaves my face to pat my hair instead.

"Not for killing humans. Wolf to kill wolf." His voice is raspy, like he might be crying. I wonder if it's for him or for me. My eyes are closed under his touch that hasn't stopped. But I feel the scowl on my face, raise my arm to grab his arm around me because he sounds like his heart broke. Like self hate, like loathing. Like loneliness.

His rough palm stops on my neck, with a soft but ever present caress. My throat clogs and my fingers dig into his arm. I feel my body shake but I relax onto him, his hands stop. I open my eyes and his have closed. Tear tainted cheeks and scowl embedded. I try to relax my fingers, let the tips gently swipe back and forth against his arm.

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As usual, I'm open for corrections and questions !