“It’s not fine, Vanessa. It’s absolutely unacceptable. We’re filing an injunction and making a complaint with the bar against this firm.”
She listened as he paced and raged, citing every bit of legislation he could argue in her favor, every case that had previously been won, his annoyance redirected at her when she remained steadfast.
“I don’t want you getting involved. This is my career, Gray. We all have to make sacrifices; we’ve all made sacrifices before and will have to make them again. This isn’t any different.”
“I would never accept this. These are not the sort of concessions that should be asked of us, any of us. We shouldn’t have to —”
“Maybe you haven’t. You,” she spat in frustration, “but the rest of us normies have to make those sorts of sacrifices. Most people don’t have daddy to call to snap his fingers and make everything work out in our favor. This case has nothing to do with you, and I don’t want you involved!”
“Vanessa, that’s my name over the door, not yours. My reputation in our community. And I’m not going to tolerate this sort of —”
“I don’t want you getting involved!”
Her voice rattled in the corners of the room, rising in volume and pitch until he finally stopped talking. His mouth pressed in a flat line, and his dark eyes narrowed at her until they were little more than black slits in his face. She didn’t want to have to make the accommodation, but she didn’t want him stepping in for her. She’d already known then they were the source of gossip, and it wouldn’t do to fan the flames. Like he said, his name is over the door. You have nothing except everything to lose.
“I-I just want to get through this, alright? Don’t look at me like that. I’m doing the right thing for our client, and I just need to get through it. I’m still coming over on Tuesday, though?”
He’d turned away from her and took his time answering.
“I can’t, I’m sorry. The smell of that garbage you took is making me sick. You should probably go.”
She’d felt his words like a slap, stinging against her skin, her mouth hanging open in disbelief. He grimaced, pulling a face as if he’d swallowed something rotten, and she’d felt a tidal wave of rage surging through her, wanting to do nothing more than pick up one of the heavy office chairs and bash him upside his perfect, stupid jaw.
“It tastes like a dirty penny.”
“Grayson,” she gritted out, furious with herself for being so close to tears, “I hate you sometimes. I hate you so fucking much.”
She was the one who had to do this; she was the one who would be putting her body through something unnatural. He didn’t have to like it, but a smidgen of kindness would be nice from someone who allegedly loved her. Why would you think that? He’s never said it. He’s never shown you that he might. You’re a monthly diversion, something to stick his dick in. That’s it.
“We have that in common, at least. I hate that you’re doing this. So, I suppose we’re even, rabbit.”
She’d shaken with barely suppressed rage the rest of the week. It was somewhat gratifying when opposing counsel was chastised by the judge for the fact that any of them were there, but she’d not forgotten the source of her anger, returning to her apartment for less than an hour before filling her gas tank and following the GPS directions to the lake. She would be there waiting for him in the morning, would be there waiting to tell him what a fucking asshole he really was, and that she was done. He could find someone new to chase because she was done being his prey, done being his verbal sparring partner, done with him.
Her anger had lent itself to a heavy foot, and she’d arrived at the cabin far earlier than she’d thought the trip would take. Everyone experienced the change differently, and she never remembered what it was like to be an apex predator for a short while every month, but she knew the moment she stopped, walking between her car and the cabin doors, what it was like to be prey.
She could feel the weight of heavy eyes on her, could sense his heat, could hear the heavy panting breaths. It might not even be him, she realized. There were other wolves out that night, other wolves prowling beneath the full moon. Her heart was beating so loud and fast that she was surprised it wasn’t causing a shift in the air, palpable friction around her. Just move slowly. Move slowly to the door, and you’ll be fine. She had barely taken another step when she heard the growl.
She’d always been extremely fast, was light and quick on her feet, and she sprung towards the cabin, clattering up the steps and throwing herself at the locked door. Locked. She couldn’t remember if he locked the door the previous month, only that they had arrived early enough to put the bed to use, knotting her in his man skin one final time before he had her as a wolf that night, and that she had woken the previous morning in the crook of his arm, her nose against his sternum and his hands in her hair. The keys lived in the same key ring he used for his truck, the sleek luxury sportscar remaining in Bridgeton each month. The keys might well still be in the truck, for she had watched him toss them back in through the open window on more than one occasion; convenient for a fast getaway, he had laughed. The truck was parked away from the cabin, in a cleared-out, paved-over space near the road, and she would need to get there.
It was a straight line from where she currently cowered on the cabin’s front porch, and she’d already run from whoever was there in the trees once. They would overtake her quickly, now that she was coming from the staircase, without the cover of her car. Vanessa gathered herself, steeling her nerves. It might be Grayson, but it could be anyone. She took a running leap off the porch, over the steps, sliding in the gravel for the space of a heartbeat before she was off, around the other side of the cabin, moving toward the lake.
In a matter of seconds, the beast was in pursuit. Her heart climbed into her lungs, making it even more difficult to suck in a breath as she raced forward. The wet smell of the lake rose around her, muddy and green, and she careened around the back of the house, nearly losing her footing in the damp grass. She could smell him behind her, could hear him in pursuit, gnashing teeth and hot breath, and she wondered if he could smell her fear. All around her, the sounds of the forest at night had gone silent — the crickets were holding their breath, tree frogs gone mute, the belching bullfrogs in the
water vanished. Nothing existed except for the gathering growl behind her and the sound of his loping pace, not even needing to run in his pursuit.
She had just crossed the small mound leading to the dock when she made her fatal mistake.
Meaning to zig when she ought to have zagged, she was tackled in the grass. Her body rolled, feeling the squish of mud between her fingers, a rock beneath her lower back, and then the press of a massive body over hers, hooked claws grazing her skin as her wrists were forced above her head.
The smell hit her nose, and she whimpered, arousal flooding her core, for, of course, it was him.
She would know his scent anywhere and would never be able to smell anyone else ever again, but she didn’t know if he would be able to smell her through the wolfsbane. He was huge and hulking, pitch black with shining eyes that reflected the moonlight and teeth she could have seen ten paces away, teeth that were currently snapping at her neck.
“Grayson . . .”
The first bump of his cold, wet nose against her skin made her gasp, teeth glancing off her skin as he nipped at her arm, at her shoulder, at her hair. She hadn’t realized she was crying until a rough tongue swiped over her cheeks. Inside, her wolf was screaming. It wasn’t right! It was unnatural to be bound in her bones this way, and her wolf writhed, wanting to run with him, where she belonged.
