why Asil’s last words had made him so angry.
Charles shut the door and silently held out the flowers. But there was a savageness in the tension of his shoulders and body language that made Anna put her hands behind her and take a step back. She didn’t want anything to do with Asil’s flowers if they made Charles so angry.
He looked at her then, instead of through her, and something tightened further in the muscles of his face.
“I’m not Leo or Justin, Anna. These are yours. They’re pretty, and they smell good, better than most flowers. Asil has a hothouse, and he seldom cuts the blooms from his plants. He was grateful for your help this morning, or he wouldn’t have done it. That he could goad me when he gave them to you just made him a little happier. You should enjoy them.”
His words didn’t match the fury she could smell-and even though Charles thought she didn’t use her nose very effectively, she had learned to believe it over her ears.
She couldn’t manage to meet his eyes, but she did take the flowers and walk into the kitchen, where she stopped. She had no idea where she could find a vase. She heard a noise behind her, and he set down on the counter one of the pottery jars from the living room.
“This should be about the right size,” he said. When she just stood there, he filled the jar with water himself. Slowly-so not to spook her, she thought-he took the bouquet, trimmed the ends of the flowers, and arranged them with more expedience than art.
The sudden shock of fear, followed by shame for her cowardice, took her a while to work through. And she didn’t want to compound matters by saying the wrong thing. Or doing the wrong thing.
“I’m sorry,” she said. Her stomach was so tight it was hard to breathe. “I don’t know why I get so stupid.”
He stopped fussing with the last flower, a purple one. Slowly, so she had plenty of time to back away, he put a finger under her chin and tilted it up. “You’ve known me less than a week,” he told her. “No matter how it sometimes feels. Not nearly enough time to learn to trust. It’s all right, Anna. I am patient. And I won’t hurt you if I can help it.”
She looked up, expecting black eyes and met golden instead. But his hand on her was still gentle, even with the wolf so close.
“It is I who am sorry,” he said. Apologizing, she thought, as much for the wolf as for his brief display of temper. “This is new to me as well.” He grinned at her, a flash and gone. The oddly boyish expression managed to make him look sheepish despite a certain sharp edge. “I’m not used to being jealous, or having so little control. It’s not just the bullet wounds, though they don’t help.”
They stood there for a while more, his hand under her chin. Anna was afraid to move for fear she would provoke the rage that kept his eyes wolf yellow or do something that might hurt him the way she’d hurt him with her flinch. She didn’t know what Charles was waiting for.
He spoke first.
“My father told me that there was something bothering you when you left the church this morning. Was it Asil? Or was it something else?”
She took a step sideways. He let her go, but his hand slid from her face to her shoulder, and she couldn’t make herself take another step and lose that touch. He was going to think she was a neurotic idiot if she didn’t get a better grip on herself. “Nothing was bothering me. I’m fine.”
He sighed. “Six words and two lies. Anna, I’m going to have to teach you how to smell a lie, then you won’t try them with me.” He pulled his hand back, and she could have cried out at the loss-even though part of her wanted nothing to do with him. “You can just tell me you don’t want to talk about it.”
Tired of herself, Anna rubbed her face, puffed out her cheeks, then blew like a winded horse. Finally, she lifted her gaze and met his again. “I’m a mess,” she told him. “Mostly I don’t know what I’m feeling or why-and I don’t want to talk about the rest yet.” Or ever. To anyone. She was a stupid coward and had gotten herself into a situation in which she was helpless. When they got back from the mountains, she would find a job. With money in the bank and something constructive to do, she could get her bearings.
He tilted his head. “I can understand that. You’ve been uprooted from everything you know, dumped among strangers, and had all the rules you knew pulled out from under your feet. It’s going to take some time to get used to. If you have questions about anything, just ask. If you don’t want to talk to me, you can catch my father or… Sage? You liked Sage?”
“I liked Sage.” Did she have any questions? Her irritation at herself transferred to him just fine, even though she could tell he didn’t mean to treat her like a child. He wasn’t trying to be patronizing, only trying to help. It wasn’t his fault that his soothing tone put her teeth on edge-especially when she could tell he was still angry about something. Did she like Sage? As if he had to go out and find friends for her.
She was tired of being afraid and uncertain. He wanted questions. She’d been taught not to ask-werewolves keep secrets as if they were gold in a vault. Fine.
“What was it that Asil said that pushed you from irritated to enraged?”
“He threatened to try to take you from me,” he told her.
She thought over the conversation, but didn’t see it. “When?”
“It takes more than this attraction between us to seal us together as a mated pair. When he told me that you didn’t smell of me, he was telling me he knew we haven’t completed the mating-and that he considered you fair game.”
She frowned at him.
“We haven’t made love,” he told her. “And there’s a formal ceremony under the full moon that cements our bonds-a wedding. Without those, Asil can still make a play for you without retaliation.”
Yet another thing she’d never heard before. If she had been ten years younger, she’d have stamped her foot. “Is there a book?” she demanded hotly. “Something I can look up all this stuff in?”
“You could write one,” he suggested. If she hadn’t been watching his mouth she’d never have seen the flash of humor. He thought she was funny.
“Maybe I will,” she said darkly, and turned on her heel- except there was nowhere to go. His bedroom?
She shut herself in the bathroom and turned on the shower to hide any sounds she made, a second barrier because the door she’d locked behind her wasn’t enough.
She stared at herself in the mirror, which was beginning to fog. The blurring reflection only enhanced the illusion that she was looking at a stranger-someone she despised for cowardice and uncertainty, who was good for nothing except waiting tables. But that was nothing new; she’d hated herself ever since she’d been turned into this…this monster.
A pathetic monster at that.
Her eyes looked bruised, her cheeks pale. She remembered her panicked retreat from Charles’s brief show of temper, how she’d helplessly apologized for forcing her company upon him in this expedition. And she despised herself even more. She didn’t used to be like this.
It wasn’t Charles’s fault.
So why was she so angry with him?
Viciously, she stripped out of her clothes and stepped into the steaming shower, feeling some relief as the pain from too-hot water sliced through the stupid tangle of emotion she was wallowing in.
And in that moment of clarity she understood why she’d been so upset by the end of the funeral-and why she was so upset with Charles in particular.
She hadn’t realized how much she wanted to be human again. She knew it was impossible, knew nothing could undo the magic that had been forced upon her. But that didn’t mean she didn’t want it.
For three years she’d lived with monsters, had been one of them. Then Charles had come. He was so different from them; he’d given her hope.
But that wasn’t fair. It wasn’t his fault part of her had decided that she wasn’t just leaving her pack, she was leaving the monsters behind.
He’d never lied to her. He’d told her he was his father’s enforcer, and she hadn’t doubted it. She’d seen him fight, seen him kill. Even so, somehow she’d managed to convince herself that Montana would be different. That she could be normal, could be human, every day except for the full moon-and even that would be different here, where there was room to run without hurting anyone.
She should have known better. She did know better.
It wasn’t Charles’s fault that he was a monster, too.
